Being a woman is everlastingly the weirdest and most wonderful place in which I could have landed as a soul. It's horrible, because the objectification continues in a myriad of hidden, perverse, twisted and unexpected ways. It's wonderful, because the power that lies within the conundrum of being a coveted yet all-encompassing societal object is vast, deep, never fully exploited in magnitude.
The innocence the power. The sheep in wolf's clothing. The man in woman's. The power in innocence. The breasts that clothe the power. This costume, this entrenchment of baby hormones, this wonderful cultural masquerade, this incredible depth of feeling and exquisite strength. Empathy as strong as the pull of moon beams.
Take me as a soul object.
Place me in biological and culturally constructed Woman.
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The innocence the power. The sheep in wolf's clothing. The man in woman's. The power in innocence. The breasts that clothe the power. This costume, this entrenchment of baby hormones, this wonderful cultural masquerade, this incredible depth of feeling and exquisite strength. Empathy as strong as the pull of moon beams.
Take me as a soul object.
Place me in biological and culturally constructed Woman.
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