CXVIII

Portia, your like-minded body does not solely exist as to make our appetites more keen. Those men with eager attempts to compound your iridescent beauty. We become one as our bodies serve as a palate cleanser for those too weak to handle our minds. Their urges cling to our achievements, as to prevent our life’s grandness and immoralities.

AN INCURABLE YET DEVASTATING MALADY.

You are unseen by those below you and praised by those above. We together, attempt to rid our sickened selves of the constraints once placed upon our breasts. We attempt to shun the sickness of men as they suck upon our ever-lasting souls. When, to our demise, will we forbid the purge of historical sex work and forbidden power? Even so, they never seem to be fulfilled, never being full of your erotic self-love. They demand to never need our bodies, outside of the cloying sweetness of their penetrable values. To them, we are bitter souls hidden beneath our shallow body images, nothing more than the sauce to their self-image. Did we ever hesitate to frame them as monsters, readily braced for a feeding frenzy upon the feminine divine. And, to them a sick ideal of welfare, found buried in between our legs.

A catastrophe of power emerges from their kind and brutal eyes, yet met with a desire to become witness to the un-diseased woman. Ere, for that was to be true, before we needed thus policies to fall in love. The anticipation of their touch is what ills our minds to become what they are not, forcing us to grow into their faults. We are assured and brought towards their personalized idea of self-medication, a healthful state of lust, as they call it. To which, we feel estranged from our rank as women, learning ache before goodness.

WE ONLY BEG FOR OUR LIVES TO BE DEFENDED, AND NOT BY THE ILL-FATED.

We await our time to be cured. But thence, where would we be? In search of learning our own boundaries and finding lessons in the truth? You speak for all, as the drugs of poison upon his lips hinder the beauty of a women, we are all so internally felled by the thought of another. We demand a new persona, one not sickened by the touch of you.