The Anatomy of a Target

and other fucked up things.

it was always the beginning of the end. the beginning of self sabotage as i knew it. and i didn’t know it until i found myself staring at it in the face.

it starts early, you know? men like you early. men like you sitting on their laps, weak and hairless. they like ruffled panties and sundresses. they like pigtails and bloomers and knee highs and mary janes. not all of them, of course. but most. sometimes they don’t even realize it’s in them, until they’re presented with it. until they have the opportunity to see you in this light. and you’ve been accustomed to pleasing the eyes of a man since you were a child. you just didn’t know it.

the little mermaid and her seashell tits and the way she was ready to give up everything she had, including her voice, because she fell in love with a man on the beach. how i think about all the women who risked their voice because others didn’t have one. but you don’t think about that back then. you don’t think about it because no one really tells you to. and as a girl, you don’t do or do unless you’re told.

that’s the part of you you have to kill. the part of you that needs it. that needs to be sexualized. do you like me like this? do you like me bent this way? how far would you like to see me go, go, go? but it lives in your for a long time. it’s like you were born with the expectation in your veins. you learn to spill it once a month and they proceed to tell you how disgusting you are. how you’re unclean. but don’t forget to shit out some babies after you let a man put the crown of a slave on your left hand.

you will always be punished. for exactly who you are. your chest won’t be viewed as something that nourishes the very children that are expected of you, no. you’ll be sexualized. everything you do will be sexualized. short hair, long hair, school girl, shaved legs, librarian, hairy legs, nun, virgin, whore. it all seems so normal to you. it’s your baseline and you didn’t even know it. passed down like dna itself. passed down to please. to smile more. to be degraded. when you fight back, that will be sexualized too.

dark eyes, dark hair, dark skin. he was a gateway drug into the rest of the chapters of my ruin. and the next one would be completely opposite of how the last one looked. some had soft hands or big calloused palms, angry eyes and wanted to fuck a girl that looked like his sister. or his mom. or his father. whatever issue he had accumulated over time. some you’d never even guessed they would’ve hurt a fly. you can stare for hours at a man you love and never really see through. but if you get close enough, you’ll realize the devil is just a human with a penis.

i didn’t realize at the time that it was never a question of if it would happen, but when. that delusion was not my first mistake nor my last. the benefit of the doubt never benefited me in the long run.

when it happened, the numerous times it did from childhood to my teenage years to adulthood, my brain shifted. it turned their violence into kinks. my mind normalized it, adrenaline fed my body what it needed to become accustomed. to transmute it, not just into fear but the combination of fear and pleasure itself. once the cream is in the coffee it will never be just coffee again.

and there it is. the lamb and the slaughter. your brain betrays your body to keep itself self safe.

there may be a day where you kill her or she will you. the woman who contorts herself like an acrobat. the mind that pretzels itself into its own sabotage at only the very expense of yourself. the heart in your chest wears a dunce cap, but it’s not you.

unconditional trust and love is something only dogs have. then you grow up to be a bitch.

all wolves salivate in the presence of meat. it’s natural. i’s normal, they say. so why does it feel like carnage? why does it feel like the dawn of our extinction?