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Today I went

to Hell,

to sell my soul

to the Devil.



I don't know how

it happened,

but I wound up

buying his.



Now I own

the tortured spirit

of an angel

fallen and disgraced.



He wants it back

so it can't pass

auctioned into the

wrong hands.



The dilemma

beckons an answer

from eternities

waiting hordes.



A decision so large

the universe

holds its breath

in chaotic silence.



I don't know how

it happened

but I've ended up

becoming the Devil.



© Pagan Paul (2016)
.
glistening
there beyond the hedge is
a gibbous moon
I have been feeling stifled for a while. I find myself yearning now, for some change, sudden or otherwise. And yet constantly, I am in dread of it. But perhaps the longing will outweigh the dread, one of these days.
One morning, I decided to ask people what their favorite myth is. I asked them what myth did they think was the greatest, and the one that made a huge impact on them. The most interesting one, the myth that would keep you wanting for more. Some people said vampires, some people said dragons, some said the origin of the world, and of course, most of them said the famous Greek mythology. And I asked some, what myth do they think is the most unlikely thing to happen, what is the myth that will never be real? And I was taken aback when some said their favorite myth was **** culture, followed with laughter. As if it’s a myth, as if it’s fiction, as if it’s something that isn’t real.


**** culture is a myth. It’s not real. It’s not happening. Apparently, it’s just a work of fiction for some people. Apparently it is a myth when it’s happening everyday. It is a myth when you report it to them, and instead of asking “Are you okay?”, the first question they will ask is “What were you wearing?”. Because your skirt was the reason, your sleeveless top was the one that gave them permission. And when you told them you were wearing sweatshirt and pants, they will ask you “Were you drinking?”. When someone took away something that is yours without consent and you’ll be the one blamed. Because you were wearing shorts, because you were drinking, because you were just outside. When we teach women everything about not getting ***** but we don’t teach men to simply not ****. When our bodies are nothing to you but to objectify. When you see us and think the word sexualize. When they asked you whether you said no or stop, and if you didn’t, you liked it. It was consensual. But you never said yes, and it’s not ****, right? It is not real when people shame the victim, when the help people are giving you are words such as “****”, “*****”, and instead of calling you a survivor you will be known as “the girl who was asking for it”. It is a work of fiction when nothing happens to the ******, or when some even refuse to call that person a “******”. You will see headlines describing him as an athlete, as someone who has scholarship, any good thing but ******. It is a myth when the ****** runs free, but the victim is still suffering and constantly being shamed. It is a myth when the world thinks men who are getting ***** are weak men, when they don’t think the consent of men are also important. When people continue to joke about something that can ruin someone else’s life. Apparently all of these things aren’t real, these things aren’t happening.



But how could one person even think that **** culture is a myth? That **** culture doesn’t exist? It’s not like the trojan war, because it’s far more chaotic. It destroys and kills people. It lets bad people win and victims suffer. It’s not like vampires who don’t sleep and **** people’s blood, instead this is even more dangerous than vampires. This normalizes something dangerous, something horrible. And the people who do it, who contribute to it, and who do nothing to stop it? Are worse than monsters in mythology. And why would we even call it a myth when we learn something good in myth? When myth teaches us something good in life? **** culture is not a myth, **** culture is happening everywhere. When you turn on the television and see comedians joking  about ****, when people call the **** victim they know a ****, when people don’t believe someone when he/she reports it to them, when until now, **** is still considered inevitable. **** culture is not a myth, **** culture is real, **** culture is happening. And they say **** culture is part of the reality that we have to face, but what do we do to things that bring us no good? To things that damage our reality? We do everything we can to stop them, to destroy them, to crush them. And that needs to happen to **** culture,  **now.
When you think of me
if you think of me,
imagine who I am when no one is here. Because usually no one is here.
Imagine me smoking alone,
and hating every bone—and looking around myself.
Imagine me bathing, and In the mirror checking out, and being happy finally with what is there.
It's all I have: the fleshy bits.
Wonder about the way I wonder, and
feel one way about it. Or another.
Think about me running,
think about me crying,
I am all alone in this.
 Mar 2017 Rednaxela Kristin
Clem
I am not who I think I am—
I never said I was

Sometimes I’m
a monster—
swirling, yellowgreen skin,
bristly coils of
hair sticking
out,

strumlike underneath
your fingertips—

sometimes I’m
a normal guy,
angry and hungry
with greasy-tousled
greasy locks—

or a subaverage
woman,
curvy and compassionate,
warm *****
beckoning to all
bereft—

most often, I’m a
translucent ghost,
too little there
yet not enough gone,
genderless,
formless,
obsolete
i wrote this before halloween... hence... the title
Maybe it's time
to realise that
I do not have
to search for love
elsewhere;
not when it's etched
into my being--
my identity.

Maybe it's time
to not salvage
that love for anyone,
but embracing it
for me.
sure*, i wanted to be yours,
but, really, more than anything,
i wanted to be mine.
 Mar 2017 Rednaxela Kristin
Chloe
You don't hate yourself
because of the
shape of your nose,
angle of your eyes,
length of your arms,
or size of your waist.

Your self hatred
runs so much deeper
than those things.
And
Your self worth
runs even deeper.
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