CW: Sex, Implied Sexual Violence

smells like sex no matter how many candles i burn, and i only eat things that are sweet.

i don’t deserve the luxuries i’ve got in life, but have to take them when offered.

i’ve had seven hundred acquaintances and five lovers. when I speak, everyone nods.

i’m a yearning starfish. a forced pillow princess. don’t give blowjobs even when i’d like to.

it’s just that he loves me too much, doesn’t want to see me choke on anything but my own words.

i’m sick of saying anything, would rather shove something down my throat instead.

no commentary, only hands and mouth and uvula and spit and sounds from traffic outside.

maybe i just need someone to tell me what to do. decision making is tear inducing

and i never know what’s next. why isn’t there a game plan for these things. list of little tasks.

i know: you kiss and then you lick and then you fuck. standard sequence, factory line.

i wish there was a repertoire to pick from. like hey, tonight we’ll do all i ask of you and maybe,

if things go really well, next time we can do send in the clowns, get a bit freaky.

i’m sick of everything being done to me or without me. big old sack of bones. a hole or two.

say your words and lay on the bed. lay on the couch. lay on the floor. lay on the desk.

i don’t have penis envy, just regular envy. a want to do something that makes you feel something.

i will never be the type of lover i need to be. i’m not a girl but i want to be a good one.