Lesbians lust after women
Displaying skill that feels feminine
And sometimes a little masculine
Gay men grab for other men
******* or ******* loving cubs and bears
Straight men long to touch women
Licking and touching, straight up *******
Straight women long to touch men
Grinding and riding while they are sighing
Chemistry working its’ own sort of will
And if you wondering where this is going
I have a hand made for showing
Desire makes us ****** creatures
Sexualizing is a natural inclination
From every ****** preference
So stop condemning
If you got a problem with desire
Star educating and accepting
Instead yakking and judging

Fantasizing everyone
Sexualizing everyone
And why?

I am alone

Fantasizing everyone
Sexualizing everyone
Again.

I'm alone
And I

Devote myself to life as if to keep
The stars promised of our destiny
Safe and strong and confronting
Their mirrors with the proper self applause

Alone.

I contain a fire, the raging heat
The signal pyre, Autumn and the Spring
For heat, I chill with my demeanor
For cold, I prefer to warm your
Goosebumps with my open mouth
If permitted take the walkabout
To linger with my fingers down your leg
If permitted, take the hidden way
To kiss your heart and light your path
With the source of all your worry
Nurtured between my lips

Fantasizing everyone
Sexualizing everyone
And why?

What connectivity is left to crave?

The men who back their friends
Into corners after arranging
Clandestine ******* after
Clearing out the place to have their way

The men who stand with ****
In hand, pathetic and commanding
Limp of love, and targeting
The the light they view as weak

I was made just for that
Assembled in a factory
As an indentured guide
To lead to the promised land

They drew up my design
Schematic with *******
And motherly empathy
Perfect for abuse
And a ***** perfect
For dysphoria
For when I learn to love myself
It reminds me I'm
Armed with alarm
And filled with the fluid
The learned are simply right to hate

Alone.

Who Am I?
A self-hating narcissist. A phony, a fake.
A lover who fights,
A an economist who reads and writes.

Who Am I?
I am the absolute value of all the positives and negatives adding together to an exact , specific, rounded to three decimal spaces point.
(Make sure you reduce all fractions.)
I am a racist revolutionary pacifist,
A sexist race-class-gender rights activist.
I am a bleached out blend of all the colors
that splatter onto pages, spreading around other people’s thoughts,
theories and theorems.
I am an organized mess, a planned out catastrophe waiting to unexpectedly happen one day or night at exactly 10:30pm, though in reality it’ll probably be more like 11:15.
I am the dates and times on a calendar from the wrong year, cut short but too long and exact,
too detailed for my or anyone else’s own good.
Too analytical, inquisitive, and apathetic.
Too bored, busy, moving and stagnant to be concerned with things like letters or stamps.
I am too many miles away for tears, the head will never make it to the heart.
And vise versa.

Who Am I?
I am the good girl I was meant to be, the female with the hair and the eye-lashes and the dresses and the make-up.
I am made-up.
I am a sheltered socialized conditioned natured-nurtured heterosexually-scaled heterosexist,
continually sexed and sexualizing and sexually exploiting my own ****** empowerment
at the price of our emotional liberation, properly appropriated of course.
I am a starved adult, a hungry child.
A learner who sometimes teaches.
A health-crazed American disaster straight from the fast-food factory line, extra large drink for an extra large waist-band and an extra-large expense account and an extra-large house and an extra-large scoop of emptiness.
I am a master of a few words and phrases I read in a book once.
Of a few ideas I read out of the yellow boxes on pages 510 and 526.

Who Am I?
What words thoughts actions books songs smells images define me?
Who defines me?
What boundaries confine me?

Or, more precisely, what am I?
I am the perfect collision of atoms and molecules into one blessed soul.
I am the singer/song-writer reading the books written in a language I wish I could speak.
I am the perfect puzzle piece to my own puzzle,
My own incompatible, annoying, over-analyzing jealous puzzle piece,
all jagged and torn.
I am my own best friend.
I am so sure of myself I may or may not have intentionally completely forgot what I was just talking about.
Did I just summarize the life-story the life work the life plans of myself or someone else?
What hypocritical overly critical actions did I commit today?

Who Am I?
I am you.

She is my second favorite poet on this list
But she doesn't need to be reminded of this
She doesn't give a ****
Cause she is here for her
Not for my approval
As she hits the high note
Of the last bars that she wrote
With a little sneer she disappears
Holding that disdain in her veins
From years of abuse

I compliment her but
My blandishments fall on angry ears
She fakes gratitude
Not understanding the sincerity
Of my compliments
Assuming I am sexualizing her
That I am just another perv

I understand
I thank her and walk away
Never letting even an inkling show
Through my face
But I am disappointed

She could have been my ally
Not my lover or fling but friend
Dismisses me so offhandedly and angrily
But I let it slide
There is always other nights
There are always other venues
Under softer lights
Where writers delight
In what others write
And they are not so angry
But she is still my second favorite

As you can see the outside of my body
My curvy, bodacious ****, and these hips that don't lie hunny
The three layers of of rolls when I bend over
And the wrinkles on my forehead, not to mention these big *** 11 sized feet

But

As I sit in the pews of church listening to the pasta preach
My ears get hot and suddenly rings
I hear these magical words

The words that made me re-realize
Of me of me of me myself and I know
you don't understand all these beautiful characteristics underneath my Flawless skin

Because what you see is the outside without looking in
The smooth skin and the long legs
That appeals to your vision
Of sexualizing every each of my body

What you don't see is the kindness that my mama taught me
The fight inside me that my daddy trained me
The voice inside me that God has given me
This soul that I have morphed for me

Each of these characteristics define who I am
But not the sole definition of who I was
Each part having its own unique twang
That intersects who I am

It's sad that many won't be able to see
This complex version of me
The version that goes deeper than the skin
But into the roots that grows each day

But it's their loss that their blinded by outside beauty
Never realizing the truth that lies inside
The destruction that has led me to become
The confident woman that I am today

Today's the day where I seize the world
I thrive, I prosper, I destroy dimensions
I can conquer universes with my wits
But all you want to do is stare at my ****

These itty-bitty non-existent things
That only use is to provide food for human beings
Yet once again you've sexualized my body
Are you getting the hint yet?

People need to start looking beyond the surface
Look within, discover those hidden figures
The shadows behind the shadow that's shines so bright
That would shoot through the atmosphere if I provide

But you keep doing what you wanna do
I ain't here to judge nor tell you
But I would highly recommend if you open your mind
To not just legs and thighs, but heart and mind

Touch can be very important
We all need to be touched
We all need to feel like we are beautiful
In our own ways
Learning to embrace our selves
Embracing the warmth
That can come with a simple touch
With a simple hug
I don't think we allow ourselves to be touched enough
We spend so much time guarding ourselves
We have spent so much time demeaning ourselves
Demeaning our bodies
Sexualizing ourselves
Demonizing touch
Even demonizing our bodies
Ultimately repressing ourselves
We need to be able to allow ourselves to be more open to touching
And hugging
And just spending time
Connecting in intimate and healing ways

What are YOU looking at?
Smack that ***,
Talk about sass.

Looking at me sweetheart?
Well *******, I'll only tear you apart.

You think you can change me?
We'll see about that,
You rearrange me?
What a dumb ****.

What else have you got to say for yourself?
Sexualizing women's bodies,
Your catcall can help **** oneself,
But it wouldn't be just your fault, it'd be everybody's.

It's not about self respect.
I could be walking around naked
And still respect myself as much as when I'm fully dressed.
So what is it about? It is about distractions?
If so why do we have to cover our bodies while boys walk around with their pants around their knees?
Leggings being banned for being a distraction?
I'm not gonna apologize for wearing pants if boys don't apologize for objectifying me.
I'm not a dog, don't whistle at me.
And don't slap my *** as I walk down the halls.
I'm not your *** toy.
So don't make me apologize for being a girl when these boys won't apologize for sexualizing me.

Teenage boys staring,
Thinking ***** thoughts.
Teenage me wishing
They would just go away.

A picture of me
In a dress now ruined,
Because of their
Disgusting thoughts.

"You wish she
Was taking it off,
Don't you?"
They asked my friend.

"You wish you
Were in getting that
Dress, don't you?"
They asked him again.

I was angry,
Hurt, and humiliated.
I took it out
On my family.

My parents became
Angry and upset
With me and my
Friendship paid the price.

No longer allowed
To speak to him,
See him,
Or be friends.

That was the
Price of teenage boys
Sexualizing an innocent
Photo of a broken girl.