I rather not talk
I do not stop to think why I just ***** you
All I know is that my shins are made of stone and my feet feel white hot

This bed is a sanctuary, a resting place for my soul after a dreadful forge that hammers me alive. Drops of myself have leaked into the furnace I live out as working days

You look straight at the other end of the wall
waiting for me to catch myself

I know only how soft you are and nothing else matters.

You were glad before I touched you

A sorry is locked inside its jail and the steel bars of yearning has its keyhole, but my other self won't pick it open. I refuse to come out.

I know only instinct
And I want you. All for myself...

The glass of wine spins on sins
Encircling the royal roulette
All rotating on a hamster wheel
Pinned on canvas and illusional walls

So tiny in errors and unbalanced books
Unaccounted annotated distributions
Twisting hands on colluded coils
Deeper projections from the heart

An eruption of the social notions
Extracted on the paradise of life
For no truth echoes authenticity
Eccentrically finding a lived reality

Plato symposiums and simulacrums
Pavlov trails of social conditioning
Sampled in tented objectifications
Functioning within the invisible rules

We sniffle as we expose the false actuality
Reactive explosions from robust heat
Unloaded rods dancing under the moon
In our tenderness rejecting the paradigm

men
only want
to have *** with me

that's it

gross

You're not a necessity,
You’re an accessory.
Stop trying to own me, talk at, and stand next to me.  

Stop playing the role of the leader- you’re less than me.
I am the boss here you have nothing to offer- see?

I am stronger, smarter, brighter, bolder-
and all you have to say is what?
“If I can’t have her I’ll hurt her.”

You think because you’re man and I’m women I’m yours,
but when it comes to offers I haven’t see anything worse.

You call at me,
Stare at me,
Swear at me,
Slimy and gross like a leach.
You taunt me and smirk at me as if I’m in your reach.

So I’ve talked to you once,
We’ve made eye contact- your point?
You’re a cog in a machine line,
a small piece,
an ordinary joint.

You’re unoriginal with your words,
even less with your actions.
I’m beautiful and talented,
So when it comes to you there’s no attraction.

You have nothing to offer me,
let me be-stop accosting me.
You’re taking up my time and it’s costing me.
Because unlike you I’m not worthless,
I’ve got ambition and drive.
I’ve got brains-not just an ***.
You’re not the reason I’m alive.

You’re nothing,
You’re worthless.
And if I wanted you, you’d know.
I’ve been trying to tell you repeatedly just where you can go.

Your offers?
Not catchy,
not tempting,
I don’t want anything less.

So sad to know when it comes to relationships-
this is as close as you ever get.

You’re ****.
You’re trash.
You confuse me when you talk.
Since when does a women sleep with someone when they gawk, or when they stalk?

You’re a coward,
You’re a loser,
Your creation was a glitch.
And though yes, I am rejecting you,
No, boy-you are the little *****.

Could it be possible that I’m worth more than my ******?
When you look at me what do you see?

Because I am frightened by your eager eyes.
I am nervous at the way you so openly ask me,
“Are you married? What is your age?”
I pray in my mind that I’m just being naive.
Not every man is seeking to make you their toy.

But as I walk down the street, foreign tongues caress my ears,
Eyes poke at my curves,
Hands reach to cage me.

I am American.
I am white.
I am a college graduate.
I have a credit card.
I have a savings account.

But these things about me are not an excuse.
My skin may shine in the sun,
my belly may be well fed,
my privilege may make you jealous,
So hate me for my birthright,
But let me be free.

I am not here to save you.
I am not here to please you.

But let this be a lesson.
Let this interaction give me courage and hope that maybe you really do only want to talk.
Let my mind stop alerting my adrenaline to run so that when I need to I can outrun you.
Let this be a peace offering.
Let me tell you that I am American,
But that doesn't mean I’m a dollar sign.
That doesn’t mean I’m better than you.
It means that I was lucky.
Know that I am sorry.

I am not here to save you.
I am not here to please you.
I am here to be with you.

Is it possible to fall in love with just someone's hands?
I hate to objectify a living being,
but his hands feel like home.
And I know it's not usual to compare someone to a house,
but they say home is where the heart is
and my heart has never been so settled.
It's probably wrong to be in love with a person's features
but not the actual person;
to move into their vacancy space and
make a home out of them
because, in return, they will fall in love with you
and you will not be able to reciporicate it.
After all, people do not fall in love with objects,
and when they do, it's possessive.
But I have always been selfish and this time is
no different.

Silent and alone, I flow through shops with so many
windows, but I see nothing except the faces around me, the ones
who might believe I'm more gossamer than the shawls and tunics
meant to disguise us all as ethereal hippies in the New Age.

Silent and alone, I stand by the fountain, waiting
for something to break the sleepiness of solitude when
two men spot me: mouths parted, eyes appraising, judging, appreciating my physical worth. Rooted in place, I smile.
Only when they look at me do I have purpose.

There's a body in the trunk
I tell the policeman
and he steps back, hands up
in the face of an invisible gun.

I'm allergic to you
I tell the boy,
because acting crazy is
the only way to make him leave.

I love another
I say to the man,
creeping fingers insistent
against soft skin.

I ******* hate you
I shout at strangers,
wicked words are unwelcome
and their desperation chokes.

I've got chlamydia
I tell another
and he vanishes,
it's my very best trick.

I did not want this
I said to drunken man,
do not look at me, those starving eyes,
you've already consumed me whole.

There's a body in the trunk
I whisper to the policeman
but he does not see it as I see it,
the empty cavern that yawns wide.

He tells me lying is a sin,
sternly pulls down whatever's left
"be a good girl" he sings so sweetly
but does not condemn what was theft.