I understand why you worship women.
You were born to serve us. You can’t pull your eyes away from our breasts, our legs, our manicured nails. When we walk past, you breath deep the scent of our perfumed skin. And when we sit beside you, our thighs very nearly touching yours, your mind locks on to the electric inch of space between your flesh and ours.
You marvel at our beauty, our understanding, and our power. We have the ability to create life or take it, to make it wonderful or miserable. The world begins and ends by our collective choice.
That’s the reason you worship women.
I know the reason you worship me.
You were born to please me. I draw out your secrets and use them against you. That’s a promise as well as a threat. I slide into your mind and twitch a bent finger for you to follow. And you do, because only by surrendering control do you find freedom and my smile is your redemption.
That’s why you worship me.