Seventeen.


My incredible beauty. And my sieved confidence.
Pave my way to solace.
Where the cobbled bricks grab sticky feet.
And the tipping toes miscalculate dexterity.
Soothing words drifting jagged.
Slipping scant sincerity. Petty theft of security.
Help me. I’ve been robbed.
Seeking comfort under native skin.
Abrade, disintegrate, neglect. Me.
In return, you will receive my favor.
Museums and miming. Glass boxes. This cage.
Mystify and disturb. Unsettle, unnerve.
My happiness, wholeness, sexuality and purity.
Draconian vortices. Unwarranted discipline.
Dysmorphia. Condemn me to worthlessness.
In my highest achievements.
For Eve knew not of the crime she committed.

Pearls... for me?

And, as a woman should,
I rise, poised, and continue to serve him.
Gently.
Like nothing happened at all.

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