by Jordyn

You cannot bite and claw and cut a pomegranate the way you can an apple. A flaw in God's creation. To have an apple is something that can be done thoughtlessly, a menial task in the pursuit of nutrition. To have a Pomegranate is not a task but an activity. She demands that you be an active participant in her murder. If you were to bite or claw or cut her like an apple, you face would come away splattered and stained. She’s a fighter. To have a pomegranate demands your full attention. After cracking her open, she demands that you gently pull her apart and pluck each individual seed. She demands that you be an active participant in her murder. After she's been robbed and laid to rot, she looks you in the eyes and makes you look at what you’ve done. The indents of herself reflected in her suspiciously human-like flesh. The stained fingers you used to defile her. Your mouth is still watering with the taste of her as you collect her ravaged parts just to throw her away like trash. Like woman, God created her soft and breakable, locking all the important parts inside. Like woman, God created her in the image of violence. But that wasn’t enough, somehow being created soft and breakable wasn’t enough. Like woman, she has to be considered her most beautiful ripped open. Whole and healthy, she could be anything, but broken, ah, there's a pomegranate. They don’t paint portraits of pomegranate whole, they paint her broken. Oh, isn’t she beautiful. Wars are not fought for the right to love a woman, they are fought for the right to rip her open. Oh, isn’t she beautiful. But that's not enough either, the beauty they find in her ravaged state isn’t tragic or important, but sensual, sexual, fertile. In this game, the kind boys play and men recreate, suddenly pillaging is love and ravaging is affection and they aren’t scooping out her insides for themselves. no. Its for our own good, and if we’d be honest for one fucking second we’d know that I actually wanted it, even begged on my knees for it.