November 20th, Year of Silence

A child will make of herself a prostitute, if that is what she must do. A woman is much the same. It is easy to sell something, when you are not aware of its true value.
Perhaps, this is only my way. An incest survivor, who feels less and less like one.

I explore new ideas, not with the intent to discover, but to satisfy curiosity. I learn what it means to accept what was, what is, and what will be. I hide my mistakes, not out of shame, but because the lessons have been extracted, and it is no longer necessary to castigate myself.

My words are not medicine, and they are not meant to be. I have a voice that sounds like a disturbed whisper, drenched in honey. It cannot sing faithful lovers to sleep. I would not want it to. I am small, unable to stop an army’s destruction. Humanity is still young, and unprepared for peace

November 20th, Year of Silence

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