Real women don’t blush

Real women don’t blush

they crib, they cringe, they cry

but never blush

for it’s dangerous

that rush of blood to the head

you never know what it may bring forth

what beast it may procreate

the crimson on her blue black swollen lips

may be the harbinger of the devil without

hidden beneath the smile

the layers of pain

and the countless sacrifice

may be a monster

so innately familiar

that it may actually scare us

to look at a mirror image

and clumsily joke about its antecedents

what do we do then with things beautiful and wonderful?

we crush them, and make sure nothing survives

for it is the law of God

from a rib she came

and only a rib shall remain

we must kill the womb

for it is a diabolical tendency

a feature of our better selves

we, the children of God

we inherit the earth

and we get to destroy it

that right can never go to a woman’s head

or her crimson cheeks

Real women don’t blush

they ask to be rescued

they need men to enslave them

for only slavery can truly liberate them

we, the men, are the Death gods,

we do not like colour

in her life

or her cheeks.

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