We touch, we kiss
our bodies entwine.
we mouth off words
claiming each other as "Mine"

Skin to skin
toe to toe
body to body
under the sheets we go

kiss by kiss
Moaning in pleasure
we each have our fun
giving each other our "treasure"

In public, in private
Making love through the night
The passion, the lust
Even right after a fight

we make love, hard, fast, or slow
we make love, and promise, not to let go.

This transparent veil to cover transparency is suffocating me.

I want to rip off this fabric and know that when I touch your flesh you feel the compassion, not the contact
I want to knock teeth when we kiss and hear thundering laugh and not the muffled titters of nervousness
I want 10 minutes to go by and we're already buried deep in our conversation via messages
Because I don't care.  I don't care that there's this new found stigma that caring is out and mysterious is in. Because I don't care if you text me without a reason, because oh hey!  I was just thinking about you!  Because I like your company, because I'm tired of deciphering ambiguous words.  Because life isn't a ******* code.  It's thrilling, it's open, it's here.  I'm here.

I want you to know I'm here.

****
isn't always dark alleys
and whistles
and pepper spray.
It isn't always
a stranger,
they don't always
look dangerous.
Whether it is
your boyfriend
or your teacher
or your uncle,
they are no longer on your side.
This is your attacker.
Do not be silent.
Do not be afraid to make a scene.
Whether it is a movie theatre
or a street corner
or your bedroom,
yell,
scream,
curse,
bite,
spit,
let no resonate from your lungs
so they cannot say they didn't hear you.
Send him home,
tell your parents,
tell your friends,
tell the police.
****
is not always
drunk men outside bars
or keys clenched between white knuckles.
Sometimes **** is silent.
Do not be silenced.

Anorexia
is the most deadly mental disorder
and maybe that is why
I tell myself I am fat,
maybe the reason I cry
when I look in the mirror
is because there is
110 pounds
too much of me
95 pounds
too much of me
80 pounds
too much of me,
I will not be content
until there is no weight left to lose,
until this skin is turned cold
and falls off my body,
I will be
counting the ribs you can see
on my corpse.
I will make myself smaller
and smaller
and smaller
until there is nothing left
to take away.