I will stand on the shoulders of my enemies

To place the angel delicately a top my Christmas tree

Their selfish acts beside mine

Only my acts so deeply rooted by my own ancestors

That they have become a catapult

An explosion of sticky wet truth

Like an orgasm at just the right time

I will not wallow I will not beg

I will not stop until the truth spores inside so many crevices

They’ll never forget it

-Saschia