Perfecting the art of Imperfection

For as long as I can remember, the only thing guaranteed to me was the look and touch of a man. That there would always be snakes willing to crawl into my body and leave pieces of themselves there; remnants that can never be washed away no matter how hard I scrub.Their venom continues to flow through my veins years after and I’m left tainted, diseased.

Sometimes I feel like the only way to survive is to continue to get bit. Because what am I…Who am I, if not poisoned? More importantly, who will I become if I’m ever cured?