If I die this instant will you be more content with the morning news? Will your coffee taste better? I am not your fate. I am not your government… I am not your mother, not your father or your nightmare or your health. Furthermore, I am not a fence, not a wall. Furthermore, I am not the law or actuarial tables of your insurance broker. Furthermore, I am a woman with my guts loose in my hands, howling, and it’s not because I committed hard-kiri. Furthermore, I suggest either you cook me or sew me back up. Furthermore, I suggest you walk into my pain as into the breaking waves of an ocean of blood, and either we will climb out together and walk away.

The Moon Is Always Female: Poems