I'm so glad I'm pretty between the bedsheets & wasted childhood dreams.
I remember when boys had germs & girlfriends giggled together,
telling eachother silly little secret crushes--where did the bubblegum past go?
Different now; my emerald eyes are alluring & my petite pink lips are made to pucker, or so it is that they wish.
My auburn hair to stroke, as he sails his fingers down my back, counting each shiver that shakes my spine.
My full breasts - now rounded gems, are there refuge to touch, those pretty places that preschool years never taught me to understand -
aren't little boys better than grown up men, who try and erase morality from your mind.
I can hear the whispers between the sheets in his mind, as he hopes one more touch of drink, will sway my senses
and serve his favour, as I throw my feelings on the floor, along with my betrayed clothes.
He thinks paying for the hotel nights & drinks makes up for all the sordid little things he thinks up, in his head where my hands will touch.
I know behind the lines our friendship is blind--98% just want sex and another 1.9% want sex and maybe a little rough time.
My heart feelings like forfeiting further regret.
Then I wish for amnesia, as I know that teasing & taunting, is my only way to get attention--
If I told them all no in a forward sense, my male friends, my protectors, would run away
like dirtied, putrid waters.
But those waters will never be as dirty as what you wish for me to do.
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