i don't have a title for this, and i'm okay with that

i am tired of self-masticating

self-deprecating

self-hating

praying for the virgin mind

i am self-resuscitating
hand and fingers animating
the lost grey
electrifying my cunt, clit, lips, folds
oceans, lands, scattered territories
under one flag
eve and i reclaim our bounty

here i stand before you drenched
in urine in cum in shit
in blood in sweat
in tears
but it's not my shit
and it's not my piss
and it is not my cum
i'll lay claim to the tears
the tears are mine

but

actually

i'm lying

i'm lying to you

it is my piss and my shit
and definitely
that is my cum
i'm laughing
but still crying
still crying because
it FUCKING HURTS to slice open my belly
and show my guts

i hope you appreciate it
i did it for you - all of it

i want to embrace you
squeeze you blue
share this filth with you
pump blood all over your
clean.white.shirt.

don't you want to fuck me now?
reach your hands in and caress the pulsing matter
let the slick life pour through your fingers
rip out the bits that make you sick
that piss you off
that get- in- your- way
so you can
see what the vagina sees
when you try to make me cum

but you can't make me do anything

This poem is from a few years ago. I can't place it exactly in my life, but it's definitely post-undergrad. I've been thinking about changing the "see what the vagina sees" line to something like "see what happens", but I'm torn. I also sometimes end this with "that I don't want to do." At the moment, I like letting that remain unsaid. I'd be interested in thoughts on either matter.