The Men Sound The Same.

All men sound the same to me when they are laughing at me. I like hearing it, the sound of ridicule bouncing off my shoulders, down my back and travelling slowly to the tips of my toes where it remains trapped along with the pooling blood. It feels good to be ridiculed by women too but the laughter of a man feels *different*. I believe a woman can reject me as laughable and still want me, but I don't believe a man can. I believe all women have different laughs, different intentions, different desires for me but all men sound the same when they laugh at me. 

They do the same, they want the same, they even fuck the same. Not *all* men, of course, they're not a prototype, but all the men that ever loved me. All those that ever yielded power over me. All of those men, they sound the same, when they laugh at me. 

And I like it. 

I do. 

I've begged for it. I've begged to have their faces inches away from my cunt while I fucked against the reverberant air; between their resounding laughter and my quivering clit. I've begged to rub myself against their ridicule of me and drenched the air with more droplets of shame. I like hearing them laugh *at me*. I do. 

It just *strikes* me though. It strikes me how when I close my eyes all the laughter from my life coalesces into the laughter of just one man. The only type of man who knows how to love me. Maybe the only type of man I can let love me. 

The type of man who finds my helplessness amusing. It makes him laugh to watch me suffer the same way it might make one laugh to watch a chicken  try to solve a math problem. Perhaps it's not my suffering that amuses them but my hopefulness that it will end. I like a man who crushes my hopes, by laughing at them. I'm the wide-eyed sort. I really am. I paint black and blood but I dream in rainbows. Not literally, I can't handle seven colours together, but in essence. I dream of happiness and wonder, of kindness and magic, of reason and civility. I believe in those things, but I love weathered cynics who cut me down everyday. I like people who step all over my hope. 

Like rotten sadists who laugh when I try to protest or fight. 

Their laughter undermines. It sounds like a disapproval of my state of being. 

I like when men disapprove of me, I like it most when the disapproval is about my body's attempt to express desire. It sounds like they are telling me it's bizarre that I expect to be desired or wanted like a person. Who am I to be a person? This things are odd to feel but I can't unfeel them, they come so naturally when I close my eyes. And he laughs at me and it sounds like..all of them. 

All of them. 

They're all built into its fine bits. Inextricable from one another. Indistinguishable. I can't tell whose original laugh this is. They all sound the same as they are relishing the joy of orphaning me and taking me for their own. Each time, teaching me a new life by doing the exact same things. 

And then laughing, as I grapple, and fall short. 

Laughing as I contort myself into uglier shapes and forms for their amusement. Laughing as I deign to show my pleasure between my legs or I dare to display displeasure on my face. 

And it feels good to be an object of ridicule. 

It does. 

Until I wonder if this would all feel so good if the love were gone, because the last time it felt so good I looked back to find only grave and perilous errors. 

Yet I do this again, I weep when you laugh as I wet the bed. It sounds the same. You all sound the same, but I'm different now, aren't I? I'm stronger, I'm wiser, I wouldn't make the same mistakes? 

I'll never know. I'll never know unless I have to look back and find you in a place where I stopped loving you. Right now, I cannot conceive this place. I hope never to have to. 

So right now you laugh and I cry. 

While I wonder, why do all men sound the same, when they're laughing at me?