Killing the Form
Am I allowed to disrespect the form. Am I allowed to instead proclaim that he’s raped me. That it just happened. And that I was small and formidable, a fruit or something else taking in from the sun and expanding. Am I allowed to say that I didn’t write it for you. Am I allowed to say that I’ve fucked four women and three men and owed nothing in the aftermath. Am I allowed to say that I didn’t do it for him or because of him, or to heal, or to mitigate the universe’s monopoly on wellness – but to be an organ in post survival, a dim sound existing retroactively, a full circle sold.
“In what way is the instinctive connected with the compulsion to repetition?”*
Breasts, is that all you got?
Blck, is that all you got?
I am happening in public & cannot bear the trope of it
I am taking it off.
to make blck