The Inner Monologue of Venus.

The Inner Monologue of Venus
I was bloody from birth as we all were,
so when will the painters and sculptors
understand that my body is not a treat
to be consumed with eyes and brushstrokes.
Yes, the curves of my hips roll like honey drips,
but it is not my definition of womanhood.
Where in these pigmented oils lay my soul?
A truth written by Marissa Medley

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