Metamorphosis

She is sitting, full of exasperation.

I'm... a scandalous woman. A pencil in hand, and I kill you. Destroy me with dishonor, gag me... of your own hands. But I do not guarantee that you will reach to your goal. It's true ... I have demons in me, and often, they need to express themselves. My dark places give me, a feeling of deformity. To listen people, I'm sick as seen on the TV or maybe worse, I have not verified!

- Please forgive me for not be sweet, not to be crybaby, not to be jealous and of not be dependent. Once again, my mouth is brutally honest. I'm exhausted to comment, how one feels when one is censored? I can not confide to you, it's not it will happen tomorrow.

- There is no place to hide me. Can you see beyond my skin. I have something other than my forms, my ass. I'm not to you, I'm not what you think. I do not want be a possession, I want be a juxtaposition.

I'm just a woman. A woman, they love to hate!

You say that I'm sad ... I guess I am. Even if I don't know, this feeling. Because it makes me feel happy, my mind is shuddering ... That for me, is impressive. Impressed, I suppose I could be, but rarely this is happened, but it depends on what you propose to me.

They say I'm scary ... I suppose I could be. Because when I speak, I'm fear. My mouth, my pencil, my paper, my writings are dirty ... I suppose they should be. Just declare that you don't hear me, you don't read me. Love me or hate me. I don't care about you. Crucify me or save me, but of what, do you know it? It doesn't matter.

You are not as clean as you claim. Do not tell me I can not make you want to scream, run. You're so beautiful when you lie to me, criticize me. To love songs, never makes me cry. I do not think you have the choice, there is more truth in your voice. Fill your hole, which serves as your mouth with mud. My writings define my desire. You're nothing to me.

Welcome to my world, dirty raptors. I welcome you in my world, it's as you had hoped? I'm not trapped in this bloody princess. I have the devil in my hands, and that I can not help it.

- Please, would you not touch me? Please, can you don't watching me? Please, could you, don't to see me, like of your prejudices, you have learned? Please, could you just for a moment, look beyond what your eyes, can see?

I'm not unsympathetic, I am not an object on a shelf, that you can manipulate to as you wish, and return it to its place, as you want, there is a difference.

- Who do you love, the one who writes, or the one who thinks. Who thinks that what she writes, or the one who writes what she thinks. Do you want to love the one which is front you, or one that creates so much terror?

I am the woman ... who ... Ah! And then again. With this story, I feel like "abnormal"

However, if you could know ....

Karole McDowell 2004-2009 © Reproduction is prohibited without permission from the author.