“Sex is the complete
Giving of
YourSelf
to another person?”
Remember that?
Remember those words?
I do.
So that’s what I am…
A product,
With a price tag.
A couple months,
A few half-hearted compliments,
A purchased dinner date,
SOLD!
I’m yours now.
But the only thing I planned on giving you,
Was my time,
And maybe, just maybe
My love.
But instead,
In your reality,
I wrapped my tits,
In pink lace packaging,
and handed them over.
Happy death of my autonomy!
Love always,
ME.
Maybe they were right,
Maybe I do need,
The male gaze.
A deep voice that reassures me,
“Baby, you’re so f*cking hot.”
And maybe I am just a body,
Carrier of Sperm,
And Fetus.
A glorified mannequin,
For a sequined push-up bra.
And now here I am,
On display.
For other potential buyers,
To rate on a scale,
From 1,
To hopefully 10.
After all,
It’s not my body anymore.
Its YOURS.
You claimed it,
With a *flash*,
And a “send tweet.”
And the worst part of it all,
I thought I followed all the rules.
Good smile.
Makes small talk with my mother,
Over family dinners.
LOVES ME?
Check.
VALUES ME?
Check.
TRUST?
Check.
But what I thought was trust,
Was a transaction.
One in which,
I sold my sexuality,
My privacy,
My safety,
To YOU.
Because it was never making love,
It was making a fool out of me.