Its funny,
you calling me
“good girl.”

Hands running
down my thighs
and
your lips
leaving saliva,
sticky little white lies.

My back arched
and my eyes closed,
pretending.

I’m this
******
up
feminist.

But tell me,
what to do
when you assume
because we kiss
your hands
have any place
on MY body.

And tell me how,
you wish
for me
to be
your'
“good girl”
when you have yet
to ask
if it’s okay
that you are already
sticking your fingers
inside of me.