I wish someone- anyone would give a ****.
Just a curious soul that would appreciate my being, my poetry, or my photographs
Yet as I drain the last of the whiskey from my glass, I read the room with heavy eyes
Twelve. Twelve men are here, and three are staring back at me
All gawking at my body like hungry, brute, animals.
They do not care about my intellect, or my desires
They just want to wear me from the inside out