Little Girl

Just because your feet fit perfectly in your mother’s shoes that does not make you a woman.  Little girl. Cherry popping.  I wonder of you put lip stick on your vagina, Draw pubic hairs with your mother’s eye liner.  I wonder of you try on tampons just to see what a penis feels like.  Only difference is you pull out when you want to.  I wonder if you rape yourself in your sleep, too young to ever understand how to love yourself properly.  Sticking your Crayola fingers in between your thighs, It always hurts the first time, Maybe tomorrow you won’t cry.  I wonder if your mother recognizes the blood stains in your Cinderella underwear or if she cared enough to acknowledge they were there.

 And a part of me wants to blame your daddy. But some fathers are like God; you never see them but you know they exist.  And some little girls would rather give their life before letting their dead beat dad save their lives. I wonder if you stuff your bra just to distract people from your heart beat. But the Corona of your breath does not have the similar residue on your teeth.  You are still a baby.

 And Kotex and pampers are 2 different brands for a reason.  And penises and pacifiers are not both made for teething.  And the thirst of your soul will never be quenched with a man’s semen.  Who cares about your bra size when you see cups as half empty. I am sorry that Beyonce made you trade in your Halloween Custom for a freak’um dress.  But Halloween is not the only day that exposes damsels in distress.  Just tell me, how long will you let yourself for susceptible to cat calls and whispers just to get a fucking glass slipper? You know the same men you are waiting on to come and save you are the same men who’s cum made you. The same men who put you on ships for 76 days and raped you. The same men who will tell you that knights in shining armor will make you feel protected.  These are the same men writing scripts for the Disney Channel convincing you Princess Tiana and Pocahontas was never molested. Save your soul.

 Because the coldest nights are not the ones alone, the coldest nights are the ones spent holding yourself realizing your body is hallow.  Pick your pinks back up, enjoy the days when you and Dora the Explorer can still relate because soon blue won’t have all the clues and the dales of dragons will be locked away in safes. Did you ever read the fine print on growing up?  Is that you have to face to responsibilities and monopoly money will not pay for your mistakes.  You go ahead and Tell me who finger fucked your childhood out of you and tell them I challenge them to a thumb wrestling match for it back. Because that’s just how much I love you.


By Jasmine Mans.


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