***cw/tw mention of sexual abuse and assault, as well as graphic language*
cunt. Cunt. Cunt. Cunt. Cunt.
CUNT. CUNT. CUNT. CUNT.
performing unwanted, nonconsensual cunnilingus is violence.
how do I explain to people what exhibitionism is? In the context of abuse? In the context of hyper/overt sexualization?
How do I explain that I can’t orgasm because all I see is the folds of my mother’s beastly cunt every time you try to make me see stars…
how do I explain that I was made to watch these things? It was a bonding experience?
how do I explain that I feared my own cunning vagina because it looked so much like hers?
words. words on top of words. words that don’t take away the fact that I can’t stop this memory from interrupting my new, abusive-free life.
a vagina always felt like a vulnerability. A target. Someone was always going to touch me. Hurt me. Punish me. Coerce me. How could I not hate myself? My organs? My pleasure seeking nerve ends?
Vagina are gladiators.
My vagina is a galaxy. Filled with a star dust that only I get to access.
My vagina is a temple. Only those who worship me as their religion may enter.
My vagina breathes. Talks. Communicates. It’s not your mouthpiece. She lets me know when I’m alive. When I’m lucid. When I’m in pain.
My vagina is resilient. The tissue healing, the bruises fading, the sweet warmth always radiating.
She continues to glow.
My vagina is unbreakable. And you can’t stop her.