So Gone

I can’t find my thong…
I can’t find my thong,
or my dignity,
or the common sense I swore I tucked away safely – just last week. 

And where are my shoes?
Where are the shoes that I had on just a few moments ago?
My favorite ones,
worn intentionally with my favorite dress.
And I wore this dress,
because I knew that once you saw me, you’d want to take it off.

Look at me.
Frantic, rummaging, borderline nuerotic.
Look at you.
Relaxed, nonchalant, careless.
Unbothered by my anxiety;
my presence.
Not worried about me, because you already took what was needed.

You objectified me the moment you called me beautiful,
because I knew that my beauty would not  transcend my skin.
It is your eyes that are conditioned to only see what beauty has to offer, if what is offered can make you cum.

I, a woman so comfortable with her sexuality and her freedom does not stand liberated –
In this moment, I stand lost.
Just as lost as the articles of clothing you ripped off of me.
Just as lost as the addict holding out his hand.

Don’t touch me.
Do. Not. Touch me.
Don’t touch me.
I don’t need my shoes.
I’m gone.

Poet: Stefanie Parrott

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