to the people who are angry that I dare to exist as myself
They think I can’t hear
when they’re talking
that weird s*hit you slip under
that poorly formed quip
I can’t help you
take up knitting?
For the souls that think
that I care what they think
I need you to decide
why you’ve let blatant lies
Seep deep down inside
your ability to reason
You think I can’t tell when you’re treating me
Unwell, ways that I don’t deserve
at no point have you ever been clearer
that my soul should stay farther, not nearer
you bore me anyway
To the creepy old men
that like to pretend
you don’t sniff my air as I walk by
trying to see if you can get your rocks off
simply by imaging some dirty fantasy
you dared to conceive
in your depravity
I can’t help you
maybe grow up and go to therapy
To anyone else
who I put on the shelf
because I hated myself
I’m sorry
I didn’t quite know
what decades of objectification
would do to me
to my psyche
By wolves in sheep clothing
PS don’t touch me without permission if you haven’t earned that right. I am not public property and I don’t appreciate the” comforting hand” on my shoulder of men who STILL think they can tell me what to do.
F*uck you
What are your thoughts? We want to know!