the scent of marigolds still on my hands

Where are my natural predators at?

    Eyes closed, I walk outside-

    turtle sunning on a rock,

pine needles flecking shady knolls.

A pair of dragonflies fill up my soul

          co-flying a backdrop

of parking lots, car on car;

    I'm smelling my hands still unwashed.

Whiskered and prickly tolls;

she's got a bikini bod-

        I hear some girls do,

             But only from men.

Yes, Pressure makes diamonds,

    but men set their worth.

I'd be seaweed instead,

      feeding the ocean with my photosynthesis -

No girl should be wanting to feel nothing at all.

        Prescribed Lobotomies feel distant

till I met a girl, just nineteen,

    getting shock therapy.
Bring back women braiding each other's hair;

         it would heal so much

Let's bring back red tent!

    Hear her feelings.

            Feel her feelings.

                Taste her feelings.

                    Smell her feelings.

Smell her feelings like the scent of marigolds still on my hands.

Silence, woman to woman, is where we went wrong.

                    Hear me, and I'll hear you.