Maybe you thought that if you touched me
You would change me into something that you owned
Or you would change yourself into the man you are not.
You thought I would be a bouquet in your arms,
Compliant, pleasing, with the scent of hyacinths and lilacs drifting off my skin,
To complement you as the king of the kingdom that is my body.
But my body is not a garden with flowers for you to pick,
Unwelcomed.
I won’t let you run your hands through the forget-me-nots of my hair,
Across the roses of my hips,
Ghosting across the stalks of lilies over my back.
You didn’t ask, and so you thought you had conquered my land.
But I am the queen of this forest.
And I don’t want you to be my king.