4

Location

Hot room

Lights off

Dancing in a foreign and familiar place.

You come up behind me and you think I want it.

You don’t ask me if those hands snaking up my ribcage and encircling my breasts are okay.

You don’t ask me if that mouth on my neck, waiting for my lips is okay.

You don’t ask me if those hands dangerously low on my hips are wanted.

You don’t ask if those hands that hold me down hurt.

You don’t ask me if that hand squeezing my ass makes me feel good.

Well it doesn’t.

It doesn’t make me feel sexy or wanted like I was taught.

It just makes me feel dirty and cheap.

Like a one night stand, a passing thought the next morning, a conquest you brag to your friends about.

You didn’t ask me then how I felt or if I wanted that.

You thought I came here to get you off but I didn’t.

I didn’t come here to be used by you.

I didn’t come here to be treated like a whore.

But you made me feel like one

You made me feel like an object.

If you had asked me then I would have told you that I am not

an object,

thing,

possession,

one night stand,

passing thought the next morning,

or conquest you brag to your friends about.

 If you had asked me then if I had wanted those hands or that mouth

I would have said “hell no motherfucker.”

 

 

 

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