"Transcendental Consciousness" drabbles by Samantha Grace Bishop

Attunement

Transcendental Consciousness

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?