objectification of women
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Women aren't property
Until they are.
Paraded down the street
Beautiful and silent
Forced to produce
Without any question
Stroke the male ego
Protect their status as human
They gave me a nametag and a uniform
I count coins and wonder "who will be hungry today?"
Sausage-like fingers grip thick wads of bills and sticky cards
I tap on the screen and say "seventeen dollars"
You propped your torso above the sweaty mat,
resting on tense arms, arms
rippling and sculpted and
wrapped in serpentine tattoos
I'd long stopped crunching my body into a pretzel
Look at me up and down as
You lick your tainted hungry lips
Does my meat not appeal to you?
Does my pale skin not make your mouth salivate?
As I put my body on display for you to
Hi!
I’m a fan.
Or should I say,
I am a breathing sex toy,
screaming ATM machine,
teeny-bopper obsessive drama queen?
I am nothing!
What’s funny is talking about celebrity culture—
