I had this dream once
of a beautiful love
full of laughter, cuddling, and hope.
Instead I found a thing
What is thing?
Thing is a man who claims my body.
He treats me like I am only a commodity.
Netfllix is on, but his hand just gropes
my lying body.
I stand up, “Take me home”
I had not even a license to go home;
My parents did not know.
I could never rely on my father for a ride,
So instead I lay back down and I let this man
Ridicule me with his strong movements, away and into me.
“End, End, End I begged the air
Fake, Fake, Fake the air breathed back.
I am wearing a glittery dress, my shoes are killers
They are beautiful but they ache my bones
We stand on the dock outside a ball
He pulls out a note, “Marry me”
I hear the echoes of my many stifled cries
This is it, it will never be better
I was entrapped by a fear to face the world alone
You see my mother she never knew how to breathe
unless my dad sternly told her to keep doing it.
Yes? I grabbed the ring and put it on my finger
That’s not the way. But if he was going to make me a wife,
I wanted to place the bondage on my own arm,
The bondage twinkled, it seemed beautiful,
But it was only an illusion.
So one day as we lay playing connect four,
I hit this man’s head. I awoke from my sleeping syndrome
And my fist hit his skull, he looked at me shocked
He tried to grab me, and one last time I let him have me.
Is this the story of one man, or is this the story of the misogynists who
have walked and claimed to map my body?
Glamor kills. What does this mean and how is it relevant?
The glamour of a pretty love story, the glamour of drinks, and patios
I sit in some dark bar, I turn to the erotic dancer next to me and I say
We are all performers, You are performing for everyone, and I am here
performing for him, I laughed and she laughed at the absurdity of the truth.
Liquor fades, I wake up and run away from all the careless sins
from all the shackles of money and illusion.
I begin to breathe again.
I seek not a man but me.