I have hands.
Sweaty palms that can clench.
They pardon. Like the rage you are about to entail onto your father for snatching you away from that innocent,cute boy when you were 14.
They look at you with their eyes and say 'no heart, do not
clench, but release'. Because you are a woman of weakness.
I have eyes.
Eyes that can close, close away from your loving voice and the smell of cologne that rushes through my nose into my brain telling me that your passion for this is comforting.
They open.
They open their heart to the uttering lie that is you. Like
when your mom convinces you the dentist is not an evil man although you know it
cannot be true.
I have a mouth.
A mouth that can tell you what lies under that firm chest: a
confused heart.
The lips do not move. They stay closed for they are too shy
to tell you your faults. Like telling your friend they have spinach in their
teeth in the silence of a classroom presentation. Because I am a woman, a woman whose sticky tape is plastered to
her pasty dry lips begging for moisture, not allowing me to tell you my longing for oxygen.
I have a heart.
A heart that seizes.
Seizes the moment you kiss my neck and make your mark.
This time, my distorted heart remains pumping.
Blood trickling through my tired veins.
Veins tired, exhausted of forcing my hands to remain pardoned, my eyes
to pinch shut, my lips to fold the screeching screams inside of me, and my
heart from seizing the anger I have for you.
Because I am a woman.
