femininity or the lack thereof

There is no place to rest the grief
that threatens to buckle the knees
of the hollowed frame you inhabit. This grief,
will expand like a balloon in a space that is too small.
When it finally pops,
you will let it leak from you in the seclusion of a bathroom,
while he lays feigning ignorance on the other side.
And you will step out with shiny, white pearls,
pulled into a smile, practiced and pretty,
cheeks painted in a youthful pink.
You will crawl into bed with hollowed eyes.
Your soul laid bare in a sandwich,
of unfamiliar bed sheets and eyes filled with greed,
so delicious he must consume it completely.
And you will beg with blood dripping down your chin,
for more, more, more,
as vicious teeth sink into your throat,
ripping and shredding at your femininity.