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.

Here’s to scrumptious nights.
cats and boots and cats and boots
We went clubbing last night, to recalibrate
ourselves on the dance floor, where magic happens.
cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots
To focus on sensory experiences, the beat,
and share in the fun and tangible sense of freedom.
cats and boots and cats and boots
Feel the wave, show your energy, be the wave
cats and boots and cats and boots
be disheveled, swing your hair like a weapon
abandon, silly, self-protecting vanities
cats and boots and cats and boots
flashing lights on dancing figures
make it all seem slo-mo and extreme.
cats and boots and cats and boots
It’s been too long since we’ve done it like this.
Work-worn, I’d lost my lucidity and stumbled badly on a quiz.
Lisa pushed my books onto the floor, declaring, “Get UP, we’re grabbing some bliss.”
cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots
failure has a reality, a gravity and pull all the more shocking in relief.
I’d started out the evening gloomy and ashamed - a figure of regret -
but I’m better now, buoyed and recharged and soon I’ll have a plan - hopefully.
cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots
There was a guy there, on the dance floor, who looked like a young Leonardo DiCaprio.
We made eye contact, nodding and smiling at each other in motion.
We gyrated, together, sort of, for a second, in our separate orbits - no conversation
I just watched him for a moment or two, sexualizing him like eye candy.
Just seeing him was sensual fun and I wondered what he smelled like.
He had a gritty, sweaty, idealized beauty, like a dancing ‘David’
that no Michelangelo could ever capture in stiff granite sculpture.
The music ended - momentarily - we knew it would start up again
and we were there for it - til 1 or 2 am anyway - then it recranked.
cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots and..
Lisa grabbed my hand, jerking me onto the dance floor almost
before I could set down my drink. Eeek! “Slow Down!” I yelled,
but my complaint was lost in the din and my involuntary laugh.
cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots and..
.
.
Songs for this:
Dance To This (feat. Ariana Grande) by Troye Sivan
Good Time Girl (feat. Charlie Barker) by Sofi Tukker

to the guy who got away before I could say goodbye, **** it dad. you've really hurt me this time. Nothing's changed you're still hurting me. 11 years of constant pain that you just keep giving to me like it's money. Your name pops in my head and all I can think of is your crumny face that was always so red. You came in my mind and made me think that you could be a dad for the first 5 years of my life. How dare you? To give a 5 year old abandonment issues. You walked away without anything to say, and I wanted you to just say bye. You took my purity and made it filthy. I'm choked up on the thought of you being good. My voice cracks when I talk about you because you messed up our family. You made me feel so ****** inside for so long, and it's time for me to feel okay. And all I need is to crush the grief from the "passing away" of you being in my life. How dare you have the guts to even try to message me? you are not what is best for me, please leave me. Allow me to sort this all out in my head because right now it's very cloudy and I can't seem to think. can we call this a blonde moment even though I'm not blonde? because I feel like the thoughts of me wanting to talk to you is just another "blonde moment" just because of how **** stupid you are. You're so ****** and I want nothing to do with you. Stop sexualizing over everybody, we are humans not *** dolls. Grow up and show some respect.
you don't even deserve a sincerely,
the daughter that is doing way better without you here (Heidi).

You watch me dance 
sexualizing my every move 
fantasizing 
thinking that 
I’m shaking for you 
to get you to notice me 
You think I must want you 
the way you want me 
But I’m just trying 
to shake this devil 
off of my back 
The one that comes around 
when I have to be around others 
around people like you 
The devil that has me 
searching for the right thing to say 
at the bottom of the glass 
My holy water replacement 
The devil that shoots panic through my veins 
and sets my blood on fire 
My body can’t stop moving 
because it rejects interaction 
It is being tormented 
by my tormenting thoughts 
The air perishes 
and I’m being dragged to hell again 
Why is something 
that seems so seamless
for everyone else 
so strenuous for me? 

- Social Anxiety

I** would like to thank you.

thank you for making me feel disgusting in my body,
and telling me i'm not worth it.

thank you for judging me,
and getting upset with me over nothing.

thank you for telling me not to talk to anyone,
while you're miss popular.

thank you for helping me hate myself,
for putting so much negatives in place of my only positives.


thank you
for making me laugh
for taking away the pain
for numbing my brain
for making me forget it all
for letting me fall in love with you
for leading me on
for tempting my lips
for treating me special
for making me cry
for over sexualizing my body
for calling me ruthless slurs
for not having the guts to approach me
for telling me you didn't believe in me
for turning me down
for telling me to find someone new

oh thank you,
for being you.
for showing me who you really are.

madison i hope this world gives you hell,

only because i want you to run back to me.

i'll comfort you through the storms,
but i guess you don't need it.
you don't want it.
you never did.

I wish I could say your words bounced right off
My back as I walked past

That the fear and humiliation
Barely even lasts

I wish I could say I wasn’t fazed at all.

And that my own pride made me tall

But alas, I was small

When you whistled, I froze.
When you threatened to grab me,
My heart raced

My stride did not deepen
My steps were fast-paced

I pulled my jacket across my chest
Ducked into a store and hoped for the best

And when I got home I could not rest.

Because your words did not bounce back
They sunk into my skin
They filled my ears and blurred my sight
And made my whole world spin

I didn’t say anything.
But not because I felt strong.

I didn’t say anything
Because I was scared of you being strong

Grabbing me like you said.
Becoming Hurt, Traumatized, Dead.

And I may not have bruises but I feel it in my head
A lingering sense of dread
Keeping me awake in bed

I feel it when I dress in the morning
And am careful about what I wear
Where I go
Wearing me down slowly

Your words are not the first.
But they hit me the worst.

I could feel your eyes ******* me
As you leaned against the wall
Sexualizing a little girl
Who was barely 5 feet tall

Your words mean nothing to them
and everything to me.

Straight Culture is sexualizing femboys and invalidating trans women
in the same breath....

My first taste
              from a different place

                           came from a poison drip

cursed lips
                           and weapons cinched in hips


                  Sexualizing romance for others’ leering pleasure

       now, blanketed security

   I feel no inferiority
  
                   and pleasure is free

for romance is no longer sexualized but prized, and *** is now romanticized

                   and I can feel everything.

I'll be honest here
I don't know why
I feel the need to say
I'll be honest.

People who say
they're going to be honest
usually are honestly ****** people.


(Or are people with high anxiety.)
[Who feel the need to clarify everything.]
-Not that I need to clarify everything.-
......

Anyway,
I am confused and confounded
by how people treat each other,
sexualizing this or that
about who or whom.

When I see people
I usually wonder a few things:
They're stunningly beautiful.
Will I ever know them?
What kind of person are they?
Would they mind if I talked to them?

I can tell you the answer to
all these wonderings,
but there's no need to spoil the fun
go ask them yourself.

The most I've ever wanted from someone
was to know their name,
for many even that is too much.