I am a thing.
A conglomeration of atoms.
A little thing you can borrow
From him
Or her
Or anyone, really
But I’m also sort of yours
Just ask you
I am a milky neck beneath long sunny hair
Sunshine, you call me,
Old Man,
Just before you dig your boorish, ***** blutwurst fingers
Straight into my crunchy upper vertebrae
In the spirit of a "neck massage,"
Invading me
Injuring me
Insulting me
Bruising the skin like a ripe peach you have dropped ten times
With your sick fingertips
Until I fear cervical dislocation
That’s a broken neck in lay terms.
Skinny, you call me
Like it is my identity.
Like if I gained weight
You might call me Fatty.
Beautiful, you call me
Like it is my name.
I am not skinny. I am not fat.
I am me shaped.
I am beautiful, but that is the least of my graces.
My name is Hope, ******. Call me Hope.

I am a thing.
A conglomeration of atoms.
A little thing you can subjugate
Without even using your hands.
All you need are words
Because all I’ve got are two X chromosomes.
Women should obey their husbands.
Women should bear children.
Wait, WOMAN isn’t generic enough.
Females.
Females only go to college to get married.
Females spend too much time with other females
But females should not spend too much time with men.
Men.
A man is a male human.
A woman is a female human.
I am a THING that is a HUMAN BEING.
And I would ask you to treat me like one
But until I am more to you than a female
I cannot expect you to act like a man.