A broken Femme has lost her sashay. It’s still there… help her find it.
A broken Femme doesn’t trust love for fear of impermanence… prove her wrong.
A broken Femme has holes in her stockings, dirt under her nails, messy hair, tear stained makeup on her pale cheeks, a dress that fits too tight and rips as she sits, a far off look in her once piercing stare… scoop her up. Gently undress her tattered layer. Hold her softly in a bath of warm water and understanding. Wash her. Reveal her pink flesh again. Comb through the snarled mess of tangled stories and disbelief. Find her eyes that hope to see strong hands lifting her up from the darkness and see her through the shadows.
Bring her back, Butch.
Be her strength.
Redefine love and trust and hope and … forever. She needs you and won’t know how to ask. Her voice is silent. Be her whisper, Butch. Find her in the darkness.
A broken Femme
needs a true Butch woman… to put her back together…