The Fall of (Wo)Man

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What are you, Weak One?
You whose insides drip out of you like shame.
Whose worth is not marked by quality of character, but by the amount of produce seeded in your belly.
Does your existence only matter when there is fruit within your womb?
What are you?
Are you more than just a mere rib set aside to provide companionship?
To provide comfort?
Can you stand mightier than kings?
Divinely as gods?
You whose frame and feature is compared so often to that of a delicate flower.

What are you, Empty Strength?
You whose so numb, you couldn’t tell a winter wind from a knife in the back.
You who pleads in silence for a safe place to cry.
But instead follows the fold in a parade of rage.
What are you?
Are you more than just a pile of dust molded into a play thing for a fickle father?
A forever-child searching always for his abandoning mother?
You whose pride is more valuable than the opportunity to connect.
The opportunity to be human.

What are you?…
What are we?

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