In the beginning, God created man.

After a long day I can still smell the dust that cakes his skin. He is earth breathed to life.

God saw that it was not good for man to be alone. So he created a helper.

After causing a deep sleep to fall on the man, God ripped out one of his ribs to make her.

He knows I am made from bone. Earth is strong and unyielding and immortal.

He knows he matters.

But bones can shatter.

It’s been centuries, but I am still paying him back.

Let’s fuck, he demands.

I don’t want to.

He doesn’t care. I still owe him for the rib he sacrificed on my behalf.

He takes and takes and takes.

You were made from me, why are you trying to create your own identity?

He leaves behind purple and blue. My body aches but he continues to take.

Do I mean anything to you?

Some days I forget how fragile I am in his eyes.

I tend to the garden. I work the land and feel dirt under my fingernails.

I tell myself I am strong even when everything around me screams lies.

But then I am groped at a concert.

Then I am harassed on the streets.

Then he tells me to shut up.

And my ribs hurt.

Some times they are so tired of being beaten with excuses for his behavior that I imagine under an x-ray they would all be shattered.


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