An era of feminism,
Which should never be questioned.
Empowering women
To strive, and strive again.

We speak of desexualization.
To free the ******,
Unveil carnal harassment,
And speak our minds.

But we can be sightless
Toward the sexualization of man.
The way we view testosterone
As broad shoulders and shirtlessness.

Do not sift through my words!
I believe in the power feminism.
But I am disappointed
With the sexualization of man.

We're determined to trump the blurred *****...
Yet drool over a man in Calvin Klein.
We frown upon the "Perfect Body" campaign...
But applaud a "built" man.

I wish for bodies to be just that:
Bodies.
For sexualized men and women
To be more than carved features.

He is the bottle of wine.
His quiet words filling me to the brim...
I may spill over.

Cautious are his fingertips;
Feeling like he's never felt before...
Taking his time.

He is the crisp Autumn breeze;
Welcoming the warmth of heavy fabric.
And gone all too soon.

His wit is automatic.
Intelligence and interest: in tune.
Thoughts do not displease.

He is an early Thursday;
Full of smiles and steaming cups...
Enjoying the stillness.

Thick in kindness like syrup;
Oozing with his sticky brilliance...
And I'm stuck, unafraid.

Standing in forty-degree weather;
Water threatening to change to ice.

Perhaps, the rain will cleanse me,
And I will feel pure.

Maybe their blackened fingerprints
Will fade away from my skin.

The grease from their selfish palms
Leaving without a trace.

If I stand out in the cold showers,
The storm may sanitize my soul.

And maybe,
Just maybe...

I will forget their selfish appetites.

You ask why I'm avoiding
Hands which frighten me.
You ask what you did wrong
After touching with self-indulgence.

You bring me back
To when I was nine.

I am a child
Begging... for you to stop.
Pleading;
Pulling large hands away.

But this time,
I'm nineteen.

I feel ***** once again,
And the tears aren't cleansing.
They are a reminder...
Of the innocence I never had.

Charming, he is.
Crisp like the Autumn atmosphere.

He isn't like the others;
Glancing over with greedy eyes.

Benevolent, he is.
Kind in his thoughts and actions.

Past lovers: selfish,
One-sided in their hurtful ways.

Respectful, he is.
Soft fingertips and gentle lips.

Tender to the touch;
Unlike their rough recognizable hands.

Gentleman, he is.
Holding my hand and kissing me goodnight.

Wanting to take things slow;
Unlike their eager palms.

Tranquil, he is.
Calming my nerves and fears.

Steady in his demeanor...
Constant to his very core.

I packed your red t-shirt away;
The last bit I kept of you.

Letting go is hard...
But trying to forget is harder.

I clung to that shirt for months.
It smelled of your skin.

But, when I wore it recently,
It felt wrong.

I was weighed down.
You... weighed me down.

I lifted your heavy t-shirt off my shoulders...
To finally feel free.