Contortion (WIP)

If women were made from the rib of man, I will rip out every rib, one by one, with my own two hands until I am something else entirely. Through the pain and the blood and the impracticality of it all, I will remove the very thing that connects me to a concept I have no desire for. I will devour my own humanity if it means that I will not be bound by the standards that have been imposed upon me by arbitrary and misconstrued words. Even when the blood drips from my hand in waves of horror and I have disarticulated my body in an attempt to recreate myself. Even when my hands can no longer stitch my wounds back together and my head is too heavy to lift. I will be a divine being in my own right. A grotesque image of depravity and desperation.

I am not a holy creature, but still some say that I need saving by a force that even they cannot see or speak to. There is no tangible truth to their belief, but I am the proof of my own. My bones are all broken to bits from being forced into the narrow spaces that self-proclaimed “Righteous” individuals think I should be in. If I have to contort myself to fit their image, I will do so in a way that makes me even more disgusting and disfigured than I am already perceived. I will hover on the brink of being a social pariah, rearranging every essential part of my human form.

I'd rather be ugly and mutilated but happy with myself than sitting pretty and mentally unwell.