I know a whole lot of women with bodies without limits.

For the longest time, human history deemed you unworthy to have a voice and a say in shapingthe future.

Human history regarded you as a twinkling ornament hang right in the middle of the glade - to
entice different species - to bespeak their freedom from disenchantment and slavery.

In the garden of rustling blankets - fun and fulfillment is as brief as the passing of a bullet - Soon
a shrouded breeze flows around you - You loose your axe to the ruffling leaves.

Just like in the hands of a Potter - Human histroy thought they would wreck, crash and destroy
the ornament just to re-construct it again for more shows.

Crashed bodies against the walls, against the dressing table, burned bodies, forced abortions,
bleeding wounds hidden under headscarfs, bruised dorsun brilliantly dressed up with figure
belts.

I know a whole lot of women with bodies without limits.

But like Paul constantly exposed to death, fooged more severely, 40 latches minus one deep
down to the bones the scar tissue sustains you - The light gets in through the scar and with
more colors than rainbow - It transcends through the pettiness of an egotistical world.

Physical boundaries - World of darkness - The resident eveil clouding their cognitive - Selfishness...