Have you ever felt a vagina? Really fucking felt it. Pushed your hands through the sides and felt your fingers plunge back, like old school slime. If someone takes your pants off do they even appreciate the thought you put into the underwear you wore tonight? Does he remember, do they remember, does she remember, that a vagina is a home. That brother bears might live in, or the three little pigs. Jack and the beanstalk might have been trying to climb through it. The gold, we found out, is your clit, sister. No one liked to talk about vaginas then. Dirty word, lets spit on it, don’t you dare say that, Jesus—he wouldn’t want it. But I want it. I want to say vagina.

What is it like to put your lips into a pussy and know that you’re plunging into a home. A house on fire, I’ll say, that bleeds from the inside out. Every month there are water slides, and some of us like to grow out our hair because we think america was better when we didn’t have to cut parts of our body to feel beautiful. When vaginas just loved the earth because all that we were were neanderthals undaunted about what our own vagina should look like, what it should do for the world and what it shouldn’t. No one thought twice when girls licked their lips. No one thought twice when girls felt their vagina because “wow” we say, “thank god we can make ourselves cum.”

Maybe i don’t have a pussy yet. I don’t know if i feel like there is something so structured inside of me, like a home. one day I’ll have the best vagina and my cunt will be painted in gold, the kind of paint that sticks forever. and when I cum, it’ll be red glitter. Whoever is so lucky will step out of my home, shades of color on his face that the boy will hate, unless he is like me. I will look like a masterpiece, in a home of light.

Home of pussy, a home of women.