/lit/ - Literature

TO KIM YO-JONG: A CONFESSION
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O smiling communist princess,

I am guilty of counter-revolutionary thoughts:

Please punish me.

I am an unwitting dupe of Western state propaganda, and I must be punished.

Come to my room in stiletto heels and berate me for my bourgeois sensibility.

Come dressed in long black gloves and a severe hairstyle and look on me with righteous disgust.

Oh smiling communist princess, show no mercy to me.

I have profited from the hierarchy of privilege, and I must be degraded.

Don a tight black Balenciaga gown and supervise my struggle session personally.

Tie me to the bed and and strip my ideology naked.

Oh smiling communist princess, I harbour imperialist sympathies.

Spit in my mouth and remould me as a child of the revolution.

Wear Les Larmes Sacrées de Thebes and a WPK lapel brooch and tell me how history will judge me.

Humiliate me, O smiling communist princess, for my heart has not yet accepted the philosophy of Juche.

Clamp my head scornfully between your knees and read aloud from the works of Kim Jong-Il.

I am a capitalist running dog and I must be humbled.

Sit on my face and berate me for my country's hypocritical United Nations voting record.

I am an enemy of the proletariat.

Intern me ten years in the forced labour camp of your thighs.

>>15213480
>>15218039
He gazed up at the delicate face. Thirty years it had taken him to learn what kind of dreams were hidden beneath the dark stare. Cruel, needless misunderstanding! O stubborn, self-willed exile from the loving breast! Two gin-scented tears trickled down the sides of his nose. But it was all right, everything was all right, the struggle was finished.

He had won the victory over himself. He loved Kim Yo-jong.