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Clam Beard No More
You said you loved me, lover, but you needed one thing to change.
So I said, let me be your changeling, a changeling for love.
You said you wanted to taste me, so I said feast, feast on.
But you said all you could taste was my lady garden.
The bush between my legs blossomed in the dark,
longer and longer into a robust pubic Rapunzel.
I felt my cheeks blush and my muscles harden.
And how do my black curls taste? I asked.
A chorus of crickets swept the bedroom.
Crows hatched. Crows flew. Crows died.
The moon cycled through her phases.
Finally, your voice, thunderous, a boom:
I want to taste your clam, your sweet jam.
But I like your cock with hair./I prefer you with none there.
You expect me to go bare?/Be my changeling for love.
The flood of justification washed over my brain:
He had changed for me—but those were habits,
nuisance character traits, flaws destined for change.
Not the way the stars had dreamt him into nature.
Still. Be a changeling for love. Trim. Shave. Wax. Poof.
Now my pussy cries red rain because the salon is a butcher.
This form of torture hails from the formerly beautiful Brazil.
'Formerly' because Brazil is no longer beautiful in my mind.
I, sans bearded clam, am no longer beautiful in my mind.
Once I quivered with delight; today I shiver in disgust.
I am a girl-child so naked that clothes cannot clothe me.
Kneel before my bleeding altar because I changed for love.
#Unreal #Sex #BrazilianWax #NoPubicHair #WaxingDownThere #BodyImage #BeautyIdeals #WhatIsBeautiful #Love
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