A beautifully written piece of feminist poetry by someone who clearly understands the meanings behind not only wording but feminism. Stirred so many feelings and powerful emotions. Highly recommend you check this out!
Helen x


Booty poppin’.

Boobies whoppin’.

Jaws droppin’.

Guys floppin’.

Ms. (no)Body.

That’s what you discern in her. No: on her, not in her.

You look at her, your slapdash object, the way she looks at clothes and cloths:

feckless, meaningless surface-level garments—to you, she’s an utter Venus.

Venus. A lifeless, limbless lump of apathetic antiquity.

A marble slab of meticulous, conscientious sexual tension.

A photo opportunity—devoid of meaningful human exchange. No change or range.

An estranged, colorless, powerless, emotionally-fried hunk of ass. Gosh, I meant mass.

Venus. More than the pride beneath an esoteric pyramid cloaked in a city of lights,

she’s omnipresent; ask that weird 15th-century Italian creep who painted her… or

the weird 16th-century Italian creep who also painted her. The lanky, long list is ludicrous.

Saturation imposed on her personal space, her molded stoic gaze can only clue the scorn.

Venus. A dazzling pearl situated between…

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