Amid the brown- and black-skinned, my skin shines, it is so pure.

He entrusted us with the first battle of Helter Skelter.

He sent us on our mission, to pitch the first battle of the Race War.

He kissed my forehead. He told me—You are beautiful.

Because I had not known this!—in my soul I believed that I was ugly.

Because at school, in all the schools I had gone to—there were jeering eyes, cruel laughter.

Because, when I was not yet twelve years old, already dark hairs grew thick and coarse on my head and beneath my arms and at the pit of my belly. In that place between my legs that was sin to touch. On my legs that were muscled like a boy’s, and on my forearms. Wiry hairs on my naked breasts, ticklish at the nipples.

Yet of my body Charlie declared—You are beautiful.

Except: blood, like sludge, oozed between my thighs. A nasty smell lifted from me.

Go away, you disgust me, Charlie said.

Because you are saying—The poor girl!—she was abused, hypnotized.

Because you are saying—She wasn’t herself.

Because none of that was true. Because love is a kind of hypnosis, but it was one I chose.

Because Charlie favored the pretty ones, even so.

Because I hated them. Because I had always hated them—beautiful women and girls.

Because it is not fair that some that are sluts, are beautiful like Sharon Tate, and some are ugly like me.

Because when we were done with her, she was not so beautiful.

Because I would not do it again!—I promise.

Because I stuck a fork in a man’s belly and laughed at how it dangled from the flab of his belly, but I can scarcely remember.

Because I have been washed clean of these sins through the grace of Jesus.

Because I am a Christian woman, my Savior dwells in my heart.

Because I was not evil, but weak.

Because I was a “criminal” in the eyes of the law but a “victim” in the eyes of God.

Because the swastika scar between my eyes calls your eye to it, in judgment. Because you think—She is disfigured! She bears the sign of Satan, she must not ever be paroled.

Because the scar is faded now. Because if you did not know what it was, you would not recognize it.

Because I was a battered woman—a therapist has told me.

Because my case should be reopened. Because my incarceration should be ended. Because I have served my time.

Because sin has faded in my memory.

Because where there was the Devil, there is now Love.

Because in the blood of the dying I wrote on the walls of the fancy house—DEATH TO PIGS HEALTER SKELTER.

Because it was not to be that I would have a baby—so it was fitting, she could not have her baby.