Naked Among the Thorns

She spends most of her time undressed, passed from sweaty hand to sweaty hand in the land that belongs to men.
Long ago she gave up the right to call her body her own,
Trading it to the merchants in exchange for paid bills and filled bellies at the dining table.
Uneducated, she takes her daily lessons from the unsheathed shafts of many men
Who have better use for her femininity than she does.
Exposed among the thorns, she opens up,
Unfurling her delicate petals, parting her soft lips wide,
Permitting the thrusting; the pricking and digging of her depths.
She is a mine and they are searching for gold,
Relentless in their pursuit of her wetness
As they do to her what they aren't allowed to do to other roses.
Other roses that are nurtured and left to bloom in peace.
And what is sown eventually becomes what she reaps;
The thorns leaving thorns inside of her after they have withdrawn themselves from her.
She becomes bitter and her heart becomes encased in that prickly thing,
Until she convinces herself that this is what God put her on the Earth to do;
To open her legs and feed the hungry men who knock on her sepulchre,
Offering them the death that her vagina has become.