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[info]emillionmods [Apr 15th, 2018 @ 9:31p]
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[May 8th, 2017 @ 11:45p]
They say I’m a beast and feast on it, when all along I thought that’s what a woman was. They say I’m a bitch. Or witch. I’ve claimed the same and never winced. They say I’m a macha, hell on wheels, viva-la-vulva, fire and brimstone, man-hating, devastating, boogey-woman lesbian. Not necessarily, but I like the compliment. The mob arrives with stones and sticks to maim and lame and do me in. All the same, when I open my mouth, they wobble like gin. Diamonds and pearls tumble from my tongue. Or toads and serpents, depending on the mood I’m in. I like the itch I provoke. The rustle of rumor like crinoline. I am the woman of myth and bullshit. (True. I authored some of it.) I built my house of ill repute. Brick by brick. Labored, loved and masoned it. I live like so: heart as sail, ballast, rudder, bow. Rowdy. Indulgent to excess. My sin and success—I think of me to gluttony. By all accounts I am a danger to society.
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