A Letter From the Women Personally Victimized By Noah Hale

A Letter From the Women Personally Victimized by Noah Hale you latch on to the slightest indication that someone wants you because your parents sure as hell didn’t. In fact, we can thank your mom for your unresolved hatred of women, which oozes from your pores, wretched hormones warning good girls ignoring their intuition. you’ll bury them in kafkaesque gray areas, strangle them with blurred lines. friendly or flirting? cheating or comradery? you’ll lock them in cages with their ravenous insecurity, milking their anxieties for small doses of serotonin at the expense of their mental health. you’ll say they’re different, not like other girls, who you’ve told them are dull, immature, not of your godly standards. shove them in a house of mirrors, distorting their reality, their identity, so that they only see you. years later you’ll haunt their nightmares, dancing on trauma, crawling the walls of therapists, bleeding into every relationship. if anyone asks, they’re crazy, it’s in their heads, you never touched them, but your hands are coated in a cocktail of blood.