Post the Eighty-Forth or For Cherríe

I am not

Your daughter

The apple that slipped

Through your brown

calloused mouth

Was never meant

For me

But I see


Within me

Our vision clouded

By the heartache

De nuestra Madre


¿Por que?

¿Por que?

¿Por que?”

Why did they


my Daughters?


With a body

That betrayed me

Mi india


My gender

@ odds

There is no factory setting

But they told me

I was built


And so

Do you


Yo sí sé

Que somos


Because who else

Could see


My queer brown (trans) woman


About witchymorgan

I'm a 22 year old womanist, sex positive, pansexual, polyamorous, queer, bruja, transwoman. Social justice activist by day, social justice activist by night. Fun! View all posts by witchymorgan

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