i want someone to talk to again.
to listen to any meaningful thoughts,
and yield intellectual conversations with.
but i have accepted that i am simply a body.
a combination of cells that can bring you pleasure.
not the freckles that dot my arms or the dimple that appears when i feel genuine happiness.
nothing but ***** and *** and places for your uninvited hands to reach.
so i give you what you want,
let you take whatever you need to feel complete,
in hopes that we can lay on your bed after,
and simply talk.
but the second you are done with me, i am pushed away without a single word.
and the next girl comes in,
but you don’t look into her beautiful eyes or take into account how inspiring her words are,
instead you notice the places she is bigger or smaller than i am,
and use us both as another tally on your wall.