UNTIL THEY GET IT
I don’t want anyone
who wants
the penetrable part of me
for their pleasure. To me,
penises look like waterlogged slugs,
lethargic and listless, defeated,
or daggers. a dumb gun
whose bullets you dodge.
And girl parts resemble wounds, wet
flesh exposed, sometimes blood, unthreatening
soft spots of entry and exit.
Who will lick my wounds, want
to heal me? The privileges of masculinity
do not tend gently, for the most part.
Where did they learn it? To push
in everything they do, entitled
to get what they want
from you, manipulate your body
pin your arm behind your back
until they get it
and where did you learn
to let them.
How do they know to push
their palms hard
between your shoulders, push you
down, probably they don’t mean
for you to take it personally
after all, what they’re doing
with their gun cocked
and penetrative, with your face pushed
away, no, what they’re doing,
what they want
isn’t about you
at all. I think you always knew.
I think you always suspected
there was something different
you could want
something softer
you could choose.
published in subTerrain