So, you think I’m your toy, little boy?
You want to pull my strings, compare me to other shiny things, toss me around with your careless ways, and throw me in the garbage after I’ve been broken, worn, and frayed?
Playing with my body, and toying with my mind, as if I were a monster truck and you were nine. I’d rather play chess, and blow your mind, but here we are circling this track, and wasting our time.
I can’t help but wonder if I looked like Barbie, would you then be my Ken? If I were the perfect shade of cherry red, would you pay closer attention?
Or, maybe it’s that, you’d tinker with me rather than toy, if you were an man instead of a boy.
I grab his hips to pull his soul into mine. I want him inside of my body so he can feel me come to life on his lap. If he’ll just lift my heart up, and slam my soul down, I’ll let him feel the power of a woman on a fire.
If he’ll take the time to prepare my limbs, move to create friction, graze my skin, and blow gently, carefully, and cautiously; remembering to smolder not smother, then he can know my heat, and he will feel it feed, nurture, nourish and satisfy his hunger. If he uses his strength to build the embers of my soul, then he will know the fierce in my fire.
He wants to see me flourish, he wants to notice the hues in my hair as I sway and whip, he wants to hear the sounds of my soul cracking open, he wants to be the one to contain what is unleashed; secure in my surroundings, I burn brighter, slower, longer……..