Poem About A Statue

Link to article: Poem About A Statue.


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[[include component:preview
text= But not the one you’re thinking of.]]
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[[include :scp-wiki:theme:black-diamond]]

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[[include :scp-wiki:component:author-label-source start=--
|name=xexnoncores
|no-right-margin=*]]
**This work contains CWs for:** transmisogyny.

Poem About A Statue by [[*user xexnoncores]]
[[include :scp-wiki:component:author-label-source end=--]]
[[>]]
[[include :scp-wiki:component:info-cw]]
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[[module CSS]]

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@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Emilys+Candy&display=swap');

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[[/module]]


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your name is Percival Darke. [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-9433 SCP-9000-ARC] came into existence by your word.

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in 1973, there

was a statue pointing north—

slender fingers, muscled stomach, it

asked nothing of you, and yet—

breasts that could be

pectorals—

your eyes wandered over

plush hips

slender feet

she, He, it, you stared—

you felt the prayers of 

the Virgin Mary entwine with

the sluts of the slums 

praying to St. John,

their bodies halfway to ugliness,

halfway to salvation and 

a hot meal,

halfway to femininity, 

the clothes it demands—

but this statue has none.

its alabaster flesh

weaves like silk between 

hand-carved rolls,

thighs liable to bruise,

broad shoulders that long

for a coat

a dress

a suit

a tie

your tie.

…You?

He is capitalized 

because we revere God

and all His masculine glory

even though you 

have long abandoned Him—

one could say 

money was your idol

but that would imply 

You are not the altar,

you are not Baal,

You are not the bull

with horns stretching to heaven

…no, that just doesn’t fit. 

a crown of horns

would be too heavy 

upon your head

too heavy upon

this painted statue’s face—

but this, you think,

this is what the company demands—

alive and well, since 1858

the bank accounts, the credit cards 

(females can’t obtain those on their lonesome yet)

they all have mouths too

why must this statue point?

why must its nakedness

inspire gross queries

that travel down its stomach and between its—

its…

…what are those?

if You look too long

your throat turns to bile.

Your hands shake to destroy 

and waste the precious coin

spent acquiring this pernicious thing.

it would scream no plea

if You took a hammer 

and beat down upon it,

but everyone is talking about it now.

your employees are asking why it was made.

can You give an answer?

do you even want to?

can Your body justify it?

it is, after all

halfway to 

disarray

halfway to 

the bodies on the streets 

thrown out

for their crown of horns.

and in your heart

without implicit knowledge,

you too have pieced together 

this fear.

this penniless, moneyless, dirty existence

worth less than soil

and the worms that shit within it—

who is John when it is Mary?

in the business we call that

a calf slaughtered for veal

but in the jails

where they drag the 

undesirables off to

they call that

a vulnerability-coded meal.

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when You auction off this statue,

You will tag its ear.

and nobody will know 

because you will rip it off 

before shipment.

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[[/=]]

Poem About A Statue

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