I Stare Back
I'm not you.
I don't think like you.
Dress like you.
Speak like you.
What I am is sex.
Hot, sweet.
Scandalous.
Heavy in the quiet dark spaces
where you breathe me in
then deny the taste.
Yes, sex—
quivering at the knees,
burying my tongue
down your arid throat.
Feel the bruise,
my teeth upon your lips,
drawing blood in retreat.
I will wrench
from your hungry clutches
every remnant of fallacy
you have draped in convent purity—
the sacred vows, the blessed ruse.
Pretending I am gone
does not make me evaporate.
I stand brazen,
unblessed and unapologetic.
I am brutally honest,
crude even,
fleshed out from the core,
unflinching in my gaze
on those robed in white,
whispering in polite society.
they
do not
want—
me.
