Yes claim us and label us
Put me us on offer until our shelf life is no more
And then we will gather dust
Like a forgotten jar in the back of your cupboard
I’m a toy, broken, but a toy none the less
Passed around from one owner to another
Because the space between my legs is a threat
What it threatens I dont know what
But the power it has over people
Men kill for it, they fight for it
And I need my label
So I can be put in my place
On the shelf where I belong
And there I will stay.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem