samanthabishop avatar

Transcendental Consciousness

by

Peace sells. Sex sells. My thigh high boots. Fishnet stockings. Corsets.
When I was expelled from the womb I sold peace.
Lot of fucking good it did me.

Raised in black. My secrets cloaked. My protection. My saviour.
You adjudicate. I watch your befuddled interpretations.
Your whole gender I despise.

I play the part, masking my amygdala, truncating my defences.
I'm nothing to you. I'm just another provocative acquisition.
You're just another paper scrap for my collage of hate.

Dissociation. Compartmentalization. It's a second skin.
Peace is so transitory I'm having trouble tracking.
Can I have a piece of yours?

3 comments add one below

  • avatar

    Jonathan Mills about 9 years ago

    I like this piece - it does sort of make me ashamed to be male, but a lot of things do that. I particularly like the 2nd to last line, alliteration of the t sound feels surprisingly harsh on the tongue. I'm curious - was savoir meant to be savior (or saviour), or the french word? Also think "you're befuddled interpretations" should be "your"? Thanks for sharing this.

  • avatar

    Samantha Grace Bishop about 9 years ago

    It was supposed to be saviour. The British spell checking on this website throws me off sometimes. And "your" so I fixed them both. Sometimes I write too quickly on some pieces, such as this, and don't go back to read them. Other times I dwell too much and edit and then I get stuck in what I was trying to say. Thanks Jonathan.

  • avatar

    Jonathan Mills about 9 years ago

    Yeah I do that as well. TBH the u in saviour just seems wrong to me and I'm British, could have sworn it was savior. Ah well. Good luck on your next piece.

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