Bitch Goddess

And so the new avataar was revealed Mongolian Bitch Goddess. Even I did not realize that it could be true after all, through the years, there had been harborings of dissent about my 'pure'' image ... which was getting tarnished. The yogini whore. More so of underlined thoughts than action - the first a constraint and the latter of 'enjoying life in all its ugliness and obscene sentences'.

"Wow. You are the Mongolian Bitch Goddess. I have prayed for someone like you,  I am sick of the white bitches, all of whom seem the same, are the same and have no culture."

While, I went 'Ummm' ... and thought ' Phew! How does one man recognize the innate me, that I have not seen or at least not been, since the time of puberty'.  Not withstanding that I was  preening, prissy me a bitch. A Goddess yes. Had I finally found a man?

And as he spoke and revealed his wayward thoughts of the herd,  a tribe that  member-ed a select few, and that recognition of one another was a culmination of sharing dark dreams that were revealed in a mirror. No. Not looking at the mirror but of living behind it. It was a starkness of believing in oneself  as supreme than the next human that ate large plates of unhealthy food, an American dream that spoke of obesity, while the herd watched and proclaimed ' Really?'

Between freshly made meals, gory movies, and a cat that got aroused by the scent of his glorious locks, governments were discussed, artistic pornographic photography was viewed - glossy coffee table books that made me cringe, mostly with the notion that I felt no violation, but a secret joy of living art for its sake.

And reliving the magazines that had seductive women, I bought corsets, vanilla-jasmine essences, spat on my palm and rubbed Dragon incense sticks that smelled of sex, repelled and yet thrilled. Who knew these incense could smell of copulation ... it should have been  bottled and sold to the cold ' a-sexuals' so they could relive ' The eve of Adam'.  Verily, I was growing out of my starkness of holding out on joys that a man could offer me, even though it was all words ... and a promise of " Yes we are one, we reflect one another" herd mentality.

So, I heard .... so, I tried on black pumps with heels so high, I could have just worn the shoes and lain in bed ... walking was a trick, I would master one day at a time. Even as I saw myself from the mirror that reflected my awkward wanting to please efforts, from an angle the wrought iron thorns that decorated the bed, seemed like it was on my head instead. Crucified.

Yes. I was crucified eventually for being a Madonna whore.