they say girls don't touch themselves
that's a man's job
you pluck the hairs from your ****** skin
prepping for the feast that shall inevitably last forever
the blood has spilled
a ritual you long wished for
and at times
wish to take back
there is a mark upon my *******
they are plump now
tender and sore
my legs quiver often
but they say don't touch yourself
don't please yourself
that's a man's job
but my legs still quiver
my mind wanders where it's told not to
it was supposed to feel like spring
like dew in the morning on wild grass
im reaching for soil to bury my hands in
maybe they'll come undone
they'll unclench themselves
from blood stained palms
and soak the earth that will swallow me whole
maybe in another life
i'd become a rose
i've always yearned to be seen
to be watered
to be held close
inhaled
and exhaled
the sweetest breath to bare
hang me to dry so my petals unfurl to the ground
and you'd pick me up
place me in a pretty wooden box for safe keeping
-deangeline