blood on hands and shaking voice
I picture the confrontation.. I know what you've done a coward behind a paintbrush he who is humble, he who is everything... lord it over the young women who look up to you like a treat to a bouncing dog dance, dance! my frustration is eternal and never-ending for this flag I'm supposed to fix with my paints as a fucked symbol of solidarity between two faceless men in suits my paints will never be anything but utility facade craft to you. I want my words to bite and my brush to cut like a sword. your paintings are empty shells, vessels of talent, wordless bodies, trapped in your gaze. release me! The dog bites at the hand that feeds it and the bitch marks her territory who gave you that false confidence? god? because I dug mine from the cold hard ground fuck you.
women should be protected in spaces for everyone. I'll pick up the sword if I have to, the world is on fire so why hide honesty? you've never hidden that you dislike me, my work, my words, why should I do the same? wipe the smug look off your face.