Would It make a difference if my hair were straight or wavy and my eyes green instead of mud brown?

Would it make a difference if my voice was soft and calm instead of harsh and stern?

Would it make a difference if my skin where pale and my waist slime and petite?

Would it even make a difference if my name was Sara or Megan, Jennifer, Julia, Rose, Tiffany, Karen or your favorite, Susan?

Would it make a difference If I said yes more often or if I let you touch my intimate spaces-

you know, in between my legs or right beneath my chine or lower, my breast where you so often stare?

Would it make a difference if I let you speak to me anyway you wanted, as if I were still your little

slave girl shackled up mouth so thirsty for water ten drop of your spit would suffice.

Would it make a difference if I let Susan come to our house and enter our bed and do that thing

with her tongue that you so badly want me to do?

Would it make a difference if I ignored all the news, right?  As if my damn skin, my ass, eyes and

my very existence weren’t the topic of choice of every other channel.

Would it make a differece?

Would- it- make -a difference if I did all these things to please you regardless of whether or not it pleased me.

 

Are you listening?

 

Can you hear the words that are coming from my mouth?

 

Because its same mouth that said I loved you and the same mouth that said it loved

me is standing before me asking me, no- telling me I am not enough.

The same mouth that told me I was like the warm ocean breeze

that whisper secrets into his ears and made love to his neck and left roses

 down his spine and when the morning came the smell of fresh bacon and

 grits and warm coffee filled your room and then I let you touch me.

 I let you have your fill of me. I gave you access to my body and my soul

 and the same mouth that took the air from my lungs and left my muscles sore and

 my heart out of tune is standing here before me.

 

Telling me… I- am- not- enough.

Tell me then.?

What will be enough?