I met a young girl today and after we had a conversation, I stood up to go but she held my palms.
Her palms were so soft and cold that i wished i could have it for a day.
She said something that brought me back, “While church, state and law all looked aside, I harvested a rustling crop of rage: as a child who tilts a bubbling pot knows pain”.
This statement sums up our conversation.
There’s a great story the world is yet to hear about the female folks.
Fear of rape is a cold wind blowing all of the time on a woman’s hunched back. We cant even stroll alone on a sand road because of fear.
This scavenger fattens on the fantasies of the normal male like a maggot in garbage.