My sexuality is well-covered. At times, I aim to be the least desired woman who ever lived. I have not fully forgiven my body for developing against my will. I punish myself for any sexual desire I feel, no matter how weak it is. Each muscle holds a past pain, mapping it straight to a heart that cannot beat it out. It is a psychic illustration of where I have been, and what it has made of me. Pages chronicle a confusion which has left me perpetually mentally jarred.
A treasure hunter, I am out for Solomon’s riches. I want what that woman has, feel entitled to what made that man smile. Give me a life in large, glowing like a harvest moon. I will give shelter to every wolverine in my lungs. Rinse off the shame, and make it as if it never existed. No more will I shorten my name. I will not mutilate what I have earned. Let the world know me as I am.
A perversion, a depravity of the nature my father committed does not vanish into thin air. It has remained unchanged for too long. Somehow, I must find a way to alter its form.