the poor disillusioned woman

“woman” says she doesn’t feel like a woman without a man – her logic, “who is woman without man… ”

…the poor disillusioned woman.

because from the man’s rib she was formed, so she feels to be fully woman she must be close to her maker, by his side where she was birthed – where she ‘belongs’. but she is deceived as to where she belongs because she does not even know who her maker is. so she finds herself unfulfilled when lying, filled, rib to rib with her a potential “maker”, trying to fit the pieces of this man-woman puzzle.

she doesn’t feel the completeness she longs for. rather she feels even emptier inside as he withdraws his jigsaw piece from this ill constructed puzzle. so she moves on, feeling as though the fit wasn’t quite right – wasn’t quite the key to unlock this world she dreams of.

she dreams of perfection. she dreams of a soul mate. she dreams of a love full of laughter, a love that will never make her spill her porcelain  jar of tears. she dreams of soft words, kind hands, tender kisses. she dreams of a mutual understanding only The Maker Himself could have created.

so she moves from one man to the next – in search of her maker, the one. through seas of hungry sharks that want nothing but to feast on her lady lumps she swims with no life jacket or oxygen tank just in case she sinks or gets weary of swimming. she finds nothing.

rather she finds herself in a turmoilous sea, far out of her depth, where the seas take advantage of the fact that she is not a fish and cannot live under water. so the waters of her search fill her with salty misery and she hates every man because his anatomy has misled her into believing that she fits perfectly with him.

for some reason the failure to find her maker does not lead her to question her logic or her technique. rather, in her state of misery and disillusion she continues to search on the basis of faulty logic – finding nothing, and  nothing finding her.

so she continues to lie with her bare sin skin to his, hoping she’ll be able to match her extra rib to his missing one – but nothing. she continues to search with the hope that somewhere in one of these beds, next to one of these bodies she will feel something. she will find her maker – the one.

she doesn’t realise that her maker is greater than he that has lain with her. that to be a woman is to learn to be w/o (without) man first, before she can start trying to complete a complex soulmate jigsaw puzzle. the poor disillusioned woman….




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