It was inevitable that I’d sell my body for money. Most of the girls I graduated high school with went on to procure dance cards to gyrate under hot lights the day after our matriculation. It was just the environment we’d become products of: most of our mothers were slaves to their vices, leaving us defenseless in homes throughout the county. One way or another, a man would make us victims, by force or voice.
How can I tell you no when you shake me in parts I never knew of? You only want me because you know what you do to me. You get your kicks on my yearning, how bad I want you to touch me there, to wrap your fingers around my love for you. Even after my world fell apart, even after you broke my heart. I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t “her”. The words were there, sure, but the rest of it, the parts that matter don’t belong to me. They belong to her, wait, to her, no no, for sure they’re hers. What did I do to deserve this feeling? I just wanted your body; how dare you make me love you? How could you whisper in my ear, all the ways you need me, literally sweet nothings that made me cling to you tighter and give you every single little drop…? How did we get here? What voodoo do you do and where the fuck are my panties??? My brain is screaming to me, trying so hard to shut me down but damn, my body’s humming to that strumming. This body is a slave to you & I’m trapped in my mind, trying to rationalize our betrayal. The wrong thing is on my mind, this love I’ve been burning for; baby it’s hers. Mine isn’t up for grabs, I took it away so long ago. Can someone please inform my loins? You never belonged to me, so what is it about this flame? Why does it still burn so hot for you and why do I keep getting burned?