pourmybones
A place where I vent and write my thoughts down
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Latest Posts by pourmybones
Do I know what it means to be a woman? Do I know the difference between a man strutting out his weight across the road while a woman shies off to give way? Do I know what it means to be a woman in a world where several of us are raped, killed, used, exploited, discarded, murdered, ripped, scrunched up, unwound, run over, violated, pried into, scraped, annihilated? Do not teach me my genitals; I know full well that they betray me to a life of suffering. To be a woman is to be a sacrifice, something to settle for— nymph, virgin, innocent, beautiful, motherly, young all at the same time. It is not enough to be one, or several; we must be all. Anything less is unacceptable in front of a measly appendage. I am something to be given away, something to be pursued, something to be caught despite what I may have to say in such a manner. I am something bartered; something sold (hopefully in pristine condition for that is where my value is), a commodity, a trophy at best; vermin, sad, unagreeable, used up cunt at worst. Wicked fruit bears a wicked tree, bears a wicked fruit; but perhaps mine is a dried up, rotting thing. The apple does not fall far from the tree, but its branches are tired; it crumbles under its own weight, crumpled over like a weeping willow next to the cedars and oak trees.
I have found that safety is to be undesirable.