Men are raised with an immutable belief of the engineered female: pieces of us are exchangeable and revolvable between women as easily as what we are taught of doll bodies, from breasts to buttock to brain lobotomies, with the sole purpose of male supplication.
A wire armature strung with pieces and parts by coarse words, interchangeable, forming a bloody halo around her disarticulated heart. A homunculus of sex. An automaton.
This is the subconscious inheritance of a female history informed by scalpels.
D.S. Weeks is a half-writer and whole-artist and current-student. She lives in rural south with her dog and a notebook in every bag.