My Body, My Enemy

My body

My enemy.

Smooth-Soft-Supple

Rounded-Dangerous-Lethal.

Like an expensive car.

Beautiful desire deadly.

Breasts- you get me into so much trouble.

You peer over my shirts,

Trying so hard to climb out,

To display yourselves to hungry predatory eyes.

You are too proud of your perky flourish,

And you arm yourself like a pair of Glocks at your next target-

The next bug-eyed gawker.

Hips-

You are just as bad.

You slide precariously from a narrow waist into

Luscious fatal curves.

Your yielding lines invite hands to run along them

An oasis -A retreat-A sanctuary.

But my hips did not ask me if I wanted their toxic appeal.

Softness of body-

It seems to those who gaze upon it a mark of fragile mind.

He gropes and grabs.

Fingerprint bruises of shame on my arms, and thighs.

My body.

My enemy.

Flatten the hair.

Dull the lips.

Wear baggy clothes.

Be taken seriously.

But I know-

I will never be a man.

And I wish,

I didn't have to want to be,

To feel solid.

So instead,

I learn the games that fatale women play-

Raise you up with softly spoken words-

Just to crush you beneath my blood red stilettos.

Fondle you with light fingers-

But only to leave my mark on you.

Bruise you- Hurt you- Claw you.

You?

You made me this way.

Outfit my breasts with push-up bras,

Cock those hips with tight denim,

Equip my heart with

Resentment

Disgust

Anger

Distrust

Hurt you in the only way I know I can.

My body.

My weapon.

Your enemy.