The Venus Trap

I told you to be a good girl and make sure your dress was starched for church. You sat there with acid in your look, but you obeyed.

Because you were good and sweet then.

I ensured that you didn’t wear the make up and oils of the heathen women, so as not to contaminate the eyes of innocent men. I always knew your body was too shapely–rounded–like the curves of a loveheart, the arcs culminating into a point of desire. A soft, rose coloured Venus Trap set to enslave the souls of wandering brothers. You remained untouched, untampered.

Because you listened to me then.

I told you to shut up when the following were speaking:

Men.
Elders.
Pastors.
Friends.
People who were smarter than you and prettier than you and understood their Bibles and the importance of obedience.

You were nice then. Understanding.

But one day, your star fell and you plummeted from Grace.

When that happened, you never returned.

 

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