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With the sparkles in your eyes.
With the kisses that I die for.
Whose hugs speak of deepest needs.
Whose arms flung around my neck.
With a face I want to see.
With body of fantasy.
Whose smile turns joy into lust.
Whose fingers turn lust to need.
Pull me closer into you.
Sensual, magnificent.
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Avary 4h
No, I don’t have a boyfriend.

I don’t have the desire to see another end;
after exhaustive months of getting to know
a fictionalised persona, fragmented, so

No, I don’t have a boyfriend.

The last one hurt and you didn’t see,
but that doesn’t proclaim the scar less prominent to me,
my feelings numb, I no longer crave the intimacy, detrimental to me.

No, I don’t have a boyfriend.

The last boys touch was for him not for me
and my body still screams cause he won’t let it be
and you’ll never understand as the trauma won’t subside
and my self esteem is diminished by his lies.

No, I don’t have a boyfriend.

I humoured a guy who gave it a try
but all I could feel was nothing inside
and when someone bumps into me sauntering by
the unwanted touch still makes me cry.

No, I don't want a boyfriend.
He is a cancer that slowly creeps in
taking and invading all that is good,
all that’s left inside

He shoves his rot deep down into my core
bleeding into me
but oh do I want it

I kneel at his feet to
confess my sins
He grants me his dispensation

This is no sacrifice
this is a surrender
done as a penance unto him

I am diseased
I am afflicted
I know he is here to stay....
Her breasts were a sight of pleasure
As she bent , it ignited wildness in me

I desired for her breasts to erupt in my mouth
To crazily suck on the hard pink nipples

I wanted the wildness to calm in me
I wanted to thrive and caress her breasts

I wished for my tongue to wrap her breast
And my teeth to nibble on her nipple

With every moan the savageness deepened
I sucked & she obediently fed every bit of her
myjessi 3d
it burns like the scorching sun
His hand against my waist
a brand seared upon my skin
Intense, satisfying
come to me
soul split open; vulnerable
a freshly opened flower
delicate sense
all sensibility gone
ravished, torn
tucked in a pocket
still burning with desire
at the edges of
ómra 4d
forgiveness is the gravest sin.

how dare the world require me to forgive-

such a stagnant hatred seethes inside of me, churning and heaving, throwing itself against the walls of my chest and dragging claws down my throat.

it growls when it hears his name; it preaches to me while i sleep.
justice is a lady with no sense of right or wrong
ómra 4d
they say that your father
is your first love-- that
those broad shoulders and
strong arms are the bastion
within which every daughter may
feel safe.

i could say that my father
was my first love-- that
those broad shoulders and
strong arms that hit and punched,
that took and just kept taking
felt safe.

the truth is this:
i loved my father
even though he would throw my
mother to the ground like she was
one of the dolls that he would buy me
in apology every time.

the truth is this:
i loved my father
even though he once hit her
so hard that she had to get
facial reconstruction surgery--
even though he took his gun

and tried to kill us for having
the audacity for trying to leave
the cage that he built around us.
but we are as clever mice:
waiting. watching. fast.
we made it, and yet still

i love my father.
it is delicately balanced with a kind
of impotent rage that is seen only
in movies in which princesses are
deprived of their rightful thrones:

my throne was meant to be on those
broad, loving shoulders-- but instead
i got bruises, and tears, and rage
as my inheritance, and
i want to give it back
i haven't seen him since i was a small child, and the man i would call father for the ten years after that was even worse than him; but still, being the lesser of two evils doesn't absolve him from what he did.
Rayne 4d
What does one do when the lines of the meaning of love are blurred for a girl at the age of fourteen?
When a girl is pinned down to a bed even though she said
But let it happen because she thought that was how relationships were supposed to be.

Maybe he didn’t listen because I’m wrong
This is meant to happen
I’m his girlfriend.
I should be okay with him groping me.
Stop being so uncomfortable.
Stop squirming underneath his grasp.
Stop trying to pry his fingers off of your breast as he laughs at your struggle.
He’s your boyfriend.
He loves you.
This is okay.

It must be okay
Because the pattern continued.
It must just be love when your boyfriend tries to touch you in untouched places while you’re trying to sleep
At the age of fifteen.
I’d never been touched there before
I’d never even touched myself there before.
And I had never felt any more uncomfortable in my whole life
But who was I to say
It was love,

And it wasn’t assault, right?
Surely I- a young, normal girl- didn’t become a victim of sexual assault
I didn’t say no.
I was too scared to say no.
I was too scared that the words
Became lost in my mouth
And my eyes were stuck shut because they were too scared
Too see the kind of  love he was giving me.

And I wanted to leave but I couldn’t
Because love is supposed to be this way.
I never had a physical experience showing otherwise.
This must be love
The lines are not blurred.
This is how it is.

For a moment I thought that maybe
I wasn’t wrong.
That this repetition of touching
That this lack of approval
Was wrong.
My body is my body
I’m not found strung on the shelves of sex shops
Or delivered in a package with a bow on top
Spread across the table for a man’s full course meal.
I am a person
And just because I have breasts and curves and a vulnerable physique does not mean I am up for grabs--

He told me he loved me
But if that was love that was no love of mine
And I told him
I exposed him
I may have been in tears but I told him I knew everything that he had been doing to me and I called out his love

And he
Did not apologize.
He did not explain himself to me.
He just told me that
It was okay.
I was okay.

Because that’s right.
I am nothing
I am nothing
How silly of me to think otherwise
How silly of me that I almost forgot that I am nothing more
Than an object for you to touch how you please.
Who needs sleep
When the man can’t wait
For you to wake up
For consent
For you to yell

Because who am I to say no?
Kelly Weaver Oct 7
i cried over fireflies in front of you on our first date
and you asked for my permission to hold me
because you knew that i was far too familiar
with unwelcome hands
and i have never felt more grateful
for something so rudimentary.
my rapist is walking free as this is written
he woke today feeling safe.
he woke today with his monstrous hands uncuffed flashing fangs in his toxic grin
the same that tore my flesh to ribbons.
I woke today to another sexual assault report
from a girl's seemingly worst nightmare,
(the third in under a month)
as well as a sex offender/supreme court appointee
plastered on every platform,
and, subsequently,
a sexual predator in the highest seat in the country.
monsters like them wake to comfort
while i wake to feeling as though i can't breathe
with the weight equivalent to his five-foot-nine stature bearing down onto my chest.
you hugged me once and i started crying because i couldn't move my arms
and you held me in bed for the following hours as my whole body trembled.
i didn't mind thanking you when you asked if you could hold me
but i wish i wasn't accustomed to doing so.
Justyn Huang Oct 6
I am sorry for the:

Unsolicited dick pics
Request for nudes
Inappropriate or creepy comments
Failing to listen
Acting without asking
Emotional manipulation
Emotional unavailability
Approaching you to practice game
Shaming your sexuality
Meanwhile glorifying my own.
Laws governing your body
Calling you beautiful before
Speaking over/behind/beneath you
Lust in my eyes

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