I cut
Just to feel alive.

I cry
Just to feel pain.

I skip meals
Just to feel worthy.

I don't sleep
Just to feel something.

Now, I don't even know
If I'm feeling anything at all.

My ***** is a dream come true
my ***** is for me and for you
my ***** is a simple get away
for cats and hearts that are astray
my ***** is an action star
and you are the leading lady
you can play with my ***** like a guitar
but please don't leave it off shaking
my ***** is a spectacle
all of the world's wonder in a nutshell
but if there's one thing my ***** needs
it would be time and seeds
it needs to grow because it is small
this poem was just used to stall

There are some places that can't be touched and there are some places that can't be kissed and there are some places that need to be kissed and some of those places haven't been discovered. I'm a handbook. *** is like drivers ed. Am I crying, or shaking from pleasure? *****. Sometimes hands are there that aren't really. Sometimes fare fine linen fingers feel like brown bony paws that don't listen to "let go".
**** me. Even when my eyes get glossy and you're wondering if I'm still there. I'm there. Grab me. *** isn't always this way.

Sometimes I'm in charge, but it isn't freaky. Don't call me a freak, call me lovely. I can **** **** ****, but don't whisper that it's *****; it isn't "*****". Sweating and running make-up. Heavy breathing. Wheres my body, wheres my mind? Don't call it nasty. It's not "nasty". Grabbing, groping, grinding; it isn't lewd. Don't call me a ****.
Touch me and remind me that I'm pleasing. Touch me and remind me that there's only me. Touch me and enjoy it. Enjoy me.
I want the lights on. I want the lights off. I want you you you.

*** isn't always this way; sometimes I'm in charge.

What I say: I'm not hurting myself because you don't love me. I'm hurting myself because I hate me.
What I mean**: Please come back and love me so I can stop hurting myself.