Women like that are too much sin, you see.
They swear like angry race car drivers crashing their kaleidoscope hearts
They spit and claw like tigers at the men who call them sexy just to lay their lecherous hands on their wayward bodies
They drip confidence and fuck like it is a competition
They taste like wildfires and crimson sunsets and sticky honey
They drink till the lines between insanity and moderation melt into a blur of colour and the room spins in ever widening concentric circles
(Or maybe it spins because they kiss you like they want to suck your very soul out of your body)
Until you’re empty on the inside
They’re tidal waves of passion and strength
And they leave you thirsty, like an itch you cannot scratch
Although you’re drowning faster than you can swallow
They are the women men like you call sluts, hoes, and maniacs
Because their spirit alone is enough to start a bonfire in your driftwood heart
They are all you want and all you’ll never have
They are the women you love to hate
So sleep easy darling, and tell yourself, that
Women like that are too much sin.
Tanvi Mona Deshmukh is an Indian writer and poet, currently pursuing her undergraduate degree in English. She is a columnist for Berlin Art-Parasites and a part time journalist with the Times of India’s Pune Mirror. She works with Persephone’s Daughters as a prose reader. She likes books and words, cats and coffee, Nepalese food and Oxford commas, and the colour green.
