women that itch

Women that itch
To give pronouns
A sound
That speak
Their words
Through tiny bubbles
Am I hub
You do commit
For faking a self
I feel is trouble
Hands buried in pocket
My five dollar shoes
I pin riots to walls
Smoke pipe
When there's blues
Should I pinch
Myself in high heels
With feet that sob
For social promotion
What's the commotion
The notion
Of a self
That's taught
A spirit that's wired
Where souls can be
A dress for a smile
A lip with a pen
Then gentle
Big words won't
Be my friend
Can I not
Be as the wind
Open as circus
Yet a creature untamed
For wild ones
Want star light
Where carousel dimmed
A creature
What else
Is a creature in pain


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