Dear women

Every time we speak about love
my mind melts a little
I can't figure out how your gears turn
the machinations of your consciousness
pulling a dozen tangled strings
yet still maintaining clarity
why you want to own your lovers
and cut yourself off to the world
to preserve it
even if you really just want to be single
all these little rules, pretenses
I don't understand
how you pop in
and then pop out
how you can beg for love
and face a thousand storms
and then one day
decide to slice a heart
and smile at the blood on your hands
who is this bitch inside you
feeding on the blackness, deep inside you
the pressurized hate, long ago fermented
who is her father, and where was she born
how can this woman still be a mother?