Apparently my “no”
Was not as strong as your
“I want to”.
Why can you push
And push
And push
Yourself onto me
But if I try to
Kiss you gently on the neck
You tell me you’re
“Not in the mood”
And push me away
When I gently stroke your cheek.
So why are you allowed to say
You don’t want to
And force me away,
But when I try to
Tell you no- because
Having you inside of me
Feels like knives
On the inside-
You tell me
“It will be quick”
And
“I’ll try not to hurt you”
And that is the end
Of that conversation.

Forty-five down the parkway.
Windows down,
76 degrees,
And the smell of rain.
Humidity,
Wet earth,
Flowing through the windows
And down my throat,
Through my lungs,
Into my bloodstream and
Blanketing itself around my brain.
Nostalgia is my drug of choice.
Beauty doesn’t come
In forms of days like these
Too often.