Am I not pretty enough?
What the fuck is pretty anyway?
Do I not workout enough?
Am I not on the same hypes and drugs and drinks as everyone else?
Am I not on the same rollercoaster of routines and work of sleepless drones?
Do I not live fast enough for you?
Am I not forthright enough, demanding enough, shocking enough?
Am I not tall enough, too bulky, too reserved, too quiet, too confused for you?
Too little to be involved with
or too big of a person to begin understanding?
Am I too rigid and formal for you; are you angry I tighten up when
I let you touch me?
Or are you intimated when I make you drip desire all over me
and I make you touch me there?
Am I too sophisticated for you; too intelligent, am I too bothersome?
Am I not a bad girl enough for you? Because you seem to like whatI give you
in the dark.
Do I make too much effort over you?
Do you run away because I fuss and fondle over you when we say we
love each other?
but you pull out too soon for that.
Am I too difficult to comprehend, too broad, too much danger and disaster
and sadness and realism for you to deal with?
Do I not change my ideas, swap decisions enough for you?
Am I not a good little lier?
Am I not good enough in bed?
Or are you worried I’m faking it?
Do I not want you enough? When really, i’m itching all over to have you to myself.
Or are you scared I’ll start using you for sex and desire and
like you do me?
Am I not tattooed or scared or brazen or daring enough?
Do I not try and meet your friends, while you hide them away because I
can’t get too attached?
Do I look too lonely for you?
Am I not needy enough for you?
Do I not party like you?
Do I not make moves like you do?
Do I look beaten and bruised and battered and scared of you?
Because I have every right to be.
Sometimes I need to hit myself with spirits to remind myself how unpredictable
and unbelievably cruel you can be.
You get to slide your eyes all along me when I walk past, on my way home.
You get to ask me questions that are only designed to pry my legs open.
You get to glide your hands around me and daddy me long past bed time.
You get to buy your way in to get me closer.
You get to make your intentions too clear, and no one stops to question you.
You get to wait and watch and steal a glance or graze your fingers up my skirt,
without a flinch.
You get to own me whenever you feel like, send a text or blow a kiss.
And I’ll be a fool to cave in, and be blamed for doing so.
You get to use me for your rough release; i’m left tender and raw and you love seeing it.
You get to push and pry and tease and taunt,
just fuck me already so I can cut these damned strings. It’s all you ever want, even if you
tell me it surely isn’t.
I’m your animal, your toy, your prize and your trophy.
So fuck your opinion.
Keep your approval personal.
So fuck your designs; your proof I’m dexterous and skilful for being fun, not for
Keep your work in storage; placate me and say they’re failures.
So I ask you, am I pretty enough?
Or am I too self aware of your righteous bullshit?