Sad Egos

I leave the warmth of a café and the comfort of coffee
To face the dark, violent streets
Littered with the muffled voices of women
Who were caught on the pavement
Their hair and fingernails scattered in the wind.
The forgotten, the ashes, the bloody hearts.

A pile of poems for all the men
That never asked about the circumstances of my life
That never saw me until I was in their view
That never thought I existed before them.
They say to forget about the before.

The Aztecs cut out hearts to keep the sun coming up
That bright ego that needed feeding,
From virgins and spoils of war.
We can't break away from this sad ritual,
I found Monica's fingernails under a tree
And I won't forget about the before,
I won't forget about the superfluous sacrifices
Of this sad ego.