A Plea

Please don’t.

Please don’t fuck your children.

Please don’t fuck your friend’s children.

Please don’t fuck the friends of your children.

Please don’t procure children to fuck.

Please don’t put on the priestly, monkish, motherly, doctorly, lawyerly or powerlike vestments as a way to fuck children.

Please don’t procure children to be fucked by those in the uniforms of seeming safety.

Please don’t purchase travel from companies that promote those children’s procurement.

Please don’t support those governments that actively encourage the procurement of those childern to bolster their tourist trade. As if the intimate touching of children is a trade.

Please don’t use your leverage as terrorist to steal children to fuck or as teacher to fuck children.

Please don’t rent your children out to be fucked. Please don’t trade your children for rent.

Please don’t finger or fondle your children.

Please don’t finger or fondle your friend’s children.

Please don’t finger or fondle the friends of your children.

Please don’t procure children to finger or fondle for yourself, your friends or those who create a false sense of safety for the rest of the world. Please do not support agencies and governments that do so.

Please do not use your finger to entice them into being fucked.

As if the parting of the softest parts are separate from the heart.

Please don’t use your finger to threaten & silence them after you’ve fucked them.

Please don’t ignore that knowing that says, “I know that child is getting fucked.”

Please don’t ignore the child that tells you he is being fucked or she has been fucked. Whether child or grown.

The pain you cause lives on–whether you do the fucking, procuring of fucking or ignoring of fucking–long past your pleasure or the lack thereof. It lives on in psyches and cells; in muscles and memory. It creates chasms for those withouth strength to fall into and fight out of if they can. It lingers in language and fear. It doesn’t diminish with time but diminishes the glorious being they were gifted at birth and can only reclaim by working much harder than you did to create the fuck-fact and facade behind it.

The sorrow, grief, despair, disappearances and disassociations, rage, sadness, stoney spine, armoured and broken-hearted, guarded natures grow up and into selves that cannot see their original & lasting sanctity because your sin has obscured them.

How simple is it to not. fuck. children.

For those of you who have sought relief from the secrets, the invasion of your sacred space, and need sanctuary: I see you. I feel you. I am you. I believe you. I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

Beyond measure. Beyond all boundaries.

For those who rescue and resuscitate those whose pain is enfolded in the fabric of their being: I see you. I feel you. I am you. I honor you. I love you.

Beyond measure. Beyond all boundaries.

 

Please, please. Whoever you are, in all of those places you are. Please don’t fuck any more children. Please don’t begin fucking children. Please ask for help. Please, by all measures and definitions of what we all consider holy. Please stop. Please don’t.

 

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