Thursday, April 15, 2004

professional anxiety-
hurry up and scream like our wails mean
anything more than a few extra dollars to
the ones whose parents paid.
they attend to their cheery distance,
a slippery siren of a girl in training.
call her statuesque but know she's only really there
for their rape-
statutory or social, political.
when these limbs learn to move themselves,
i'll get up and walk my high-heeled legs
into my own fishnet cornered destiny.
strap on my arrival and come out with a bang,
lick the remnants of censorship off your media portals.
their quick hands, my pleated strength,
and all the mumbled "please don't"s in the world
couldn't be a better formula for those hot fulfilling moments
and the blink of a single eye.
call me delicious, call me a snatch,
but i'll still always call what you do to me rape.

*bettie* at 9:49 AM