His fingers find my hips in the dark,
lingering to places I don't want them to be.
"Hey, stop," I feel myself say,
pushing him off.
"I've been on my feet all day, I'm tired."
I can feel the anger before he opens his mouth
to call me a bitch.
"You never fuck me anymore," he whines,
like a child in a busy supermarket.
Before I slip up,
and tell him I don't love him anymore,
that he isn't attractive to me anymore,
that being stuck in this relationship doesn't make sense to me anymore,
I roll over,
and beg,
pray,
that I don't turn into prey.
I lay there and play dead,
hoping sleep finds me before he
has the opportunity not to take no for an answer.
YOU ARE READING
Conversations with the Men in My Life
PoesíaFrom random Tinder hookups to my best friend, I've decided to add a poetic twist to conversations I have with the men who come and go in my life. May contain feminist rants and really sappy heartbreak content. As usual, enjoy. <3
