Have you been waiting for me to write a poem about you?
You once said you read the others,
But I’m left wondering how many of your sweet words were
Really just fingers undoing buttons.
If you really read them,
You’d know how f ucked I am.
I guess you’re pretty f ucked up, too.

Did you expect to see,
Written on this page,
Words comparing your beautiful eyes to the
Arctic Sea?
I don’t like your eyes-
They see my soul the way I would rather not be seen.

Were you hoping I’d write about the times you
Pinned me against the wall
And made me feel wanted?
I’d believe you wanted me if you could do it sober.
The things I hate about you are the same things I hate about
Myself.

The truth is, I don’t think about you all that much. I just whet my tongue.

You speak to me
Of homemade ecstasy
As if it’s as simple as finding the perfect
Acid and
Base, when in reality
All you need is a
Top
And a
Bottom.

I thought this time was different.
I thought you loved me unconditionally,
Just for the sake of loving.
Maybe you think you do.
But people only seem to love you if they can own you.
I thought you knew me better than that.
I thought as long as my heart came home to you at night, it didn’t matter where my body went during the day.
Every time
I thought I would be okay with giving up my autonomy.
Every time
I thought wrong.
This time
I thought I wouldn’t have to give it up.
I don’t want to tell you that my collar is choking me;
I thought I wouldn’t have to

It’s a New Year
But I’m still eating chocolate cake with my fingers and
Thinking about girls and
Wondering why
I’m always finding myself owned by men.
It’s a new year but the
Same tears.
Gentle touches beat hands wrapped around my wrists and neck.
I’m choking
But all we have in the house is beer.
I just need a glass of milk.
Why does frosting make me fantasize?

Bottled up in
Ecstatic anticipation.
But at least it’s like I’m stuck in honey.
Meanwhile the
Amber drips
Slowly
Down your hungry
Lips.
Stir me into a whirlpool in your tea.
I’m
Suspended
Until you twirl your finger
                                                inside.
Dissolved.
There’s a little bit left on your chin.
And I’m sorry, Honey,
But it looks like I’m even stuck in your hair.

Maybe if I rant then I will feel better but
I am not sure if I will because
Each time I do this I feel as though
I should be mad at someone else but it is beginning to feel like
I am the problem, either
I give too little to someone or
I give too much and
It seems that too much is really
Too Much,
But I am tired of half-assing things because
I deserve more than half an *** I deserve  the whole **** thing, except
I am also willing to give my *** to nearly anyone who wants it, but
I am not sure I even want the s e x or the touch but I think that
I just want to feel worthy of something even if
I am your
Wet
Dream or
Your midnight fantasy I just want to
Be something to you
To be something to
Anyone, why
Is that so
Wrong?

I used to want to ration out my liquor,
Pouring a drop into each person’s cup-
Just enough for them to feel it on their tongue
And want more.

For some reason I wanted to pour it all into one cup
For you.

Maybe I will never know if it just got you Too drunk
Too fast,
Or if it was simply
Unpalatable.