"LUNE, YOU ARE A PIRATE AND YOU HAVE TO BE A WOMAN TO BE A WOMAN", Lune Loh
CW: Patriarchy
And they say I pirated my gender – this is not wrong, or legal. Downloaded the sway of my hips, photoshopped the noumenal tints on my lipstick, fed GPUs to my hair to render every single glistening, optical strand primed to glaze at and be gazed at. Fake it till you make up for it – replacing every single node and module on your face with light entering your system. And out comes weaves of hair hijacking the structure of Womanhood: I selected [Domesticity], encapsulated whole in the drop-down of a search field; I hotfixed my hair again while rolling a four-star dress; I almost got lost in the metropolitan circuity of girl, woman, othering, men-gazing, men-loving, Father, Daddy, child-bearing for Daddy, child-losing by Daddy... a friend laments "you are still not doing well in your place" and please, I am pirating my rightful place so well by aborting, jettisoning space-time, body parts with organs, second trimester text-fetuses, specific things Father did me, than I can birth the wet dreams of men that stalk my digitized profile. The cavities left in my body are wombs for the taking and giving – if you performed a caesarean on me, only sinuous lines of codification are cut out – histories have been sucked dry from my breasts by Women®© (all rights reserved). Becoming a pirated woman is already half the battle, won and lost.