So I have this fear right?
And it's really shiny,
Like... a knife with no handle.
And I keep holding on to it,
this blade,
Because I figure
if let it go,
I'll have nothing to protect myself with.
27 days after you gripped my left hip,
it cringed…
Delayed reaction,
opposite of the one it seemed to have that night
The way it learned into you like a whisper,
like a hand on the small,
slender,
end of a woman’s back.
Like a faint moonlit shadow waning in it’s attempts for attention,
now it is a clamp fist screeching.
Blade protruding,
yelling something about abuse.
I wish I wasn’t so accustomed to holding you,
wish you didn’t fall into my palms so easily,
wish I could clench my fist,
I crave too much the grip of a man who wants to break me
in a way he will described as pleasure.
Whisper cayenne peppered Spanish,
and rosemary simmered French into the wave of me that will unfurl like the palm I never should have left open in the first place.
You are not my boyfriend.
No matter what happens as we lay together,
no matter how much energy is shared,
how much you give to me.
I know,
In the morning,
I get to keep you part of you.
Not the residue you leave on my skin
or the scorch marks in my throat.
I will take showers,
deep breaths,
and do yoga
to shake off your pieces
and send them back to you in the mail
No claim you make to any region of my body would ever be held up in court
You have no jurisdiction,
I was never promised to you,
Nothing was ever promised to you
or my ring finger,
or this heart that never learned how to love it back
27 days after you hand,
gripped my left hip,
teeth marks were shown in my skin,
There is something so inherently inconspicuous about you,
it can only be perceived as dangerous.
The first time I considered giving up my celibacy to you
I told you I would bleed.
You said, “please do.”
The most confoundingly sexy thing I had ever heard
but I wondered if you understood the repercussions.
I've been celibate for sometime now.
Never had a sexual experience,
I fear I never will.
Muscle memory has me reliving the abuse,
reminds me of he ex-boyfriend who admired my chastity necklace in daylight,
but seemed not to see it at night,
Who knew how to beg to push in without it sounding too much like rape.
How to use words to make a blood stain less suspicious,
I am no less suspicious of your intentions.
What if I let this blade go,
what will I have to defend myself with.
If I let it go,
let someone hold my hand,
someone who doesn’t mind a little blood,
a little humanity,
a little honesty to rub off on them
Guys don’t want the mess,
spend most morning after cursing the girls
they ran through for inconveniencing their sheets
You don't want blood on your hands
and I don't want to be the one to soil you.
When asked the reasons I am celibate,
I like to make them up,
decorate them in flowers and lace.
Truthfully,
I'm just afraid.
The first time someone let themselves in
it was without my permission
and it took sixteen years for that wound just to scar.
And now you come to me
As I am 20 years of age
and wan access.
I don't have another sixteen years
to wait for a scar.
No comments:
Post a Comment