To all the men better yet boys who have had me or even come close. You didn't deserve any of it. Rude? Maybe but once a woman finds her self worth her mind changes and those things she once did and used to do become regrets because she is rebirthed she is new. So to all the boys who have had me or even just come close; remember rhe words that made me swoon over you, the slight bit of your attention that made me kiss your lips. The words or looks that made me laugh…why didn't you just leave it at that. Why did our clothes have to come off? Why did your hands have to shift over my entire skins surface area? Why did you feel that you could treat me any kind of way, and think that I would just be okay? Why did you have to go further than just admiring the reasons I laughed and the way I smile when I get nervous. How come you couldn't stop at the sight of my excitement for you, the way I listened to you speak how come you couldn't stop and give me the same decency? How come you had to take the next step? I didn't want you to feel all of me right away I wanted you to feel one part at a time and fall in love with it before you move on to the next part. I wanted you to fall in love with my freckles and my stretch marks. I wanted you to get lost in my eyes every time we said hello. I wanted you to do so many other things than just removing my clothes. I wanted you to talk to me about your dreams while we both still had on our jeans. And just like the way you slid your hands down my naked spine, I wanted your hands to slide up my thighs and just stop there because you wanted to… all of these things didn't happen and that's why I find my self here in this place right now.
I think about you more often than not, and we don't talk all the time but once a month we see each other and each time I fall for you again and again. Something about you is so sincere, but yet devious all within itself. The way your hands touch any part of me I mistake your explorative hands for delicate piano protege fingertips, I mistake your smile for sunshine and sometimes I'm okay with that. I'm okay with us not being a real thing because when I see you once a month it feels real, more real than I've felt in a long time. I sit and sometimes regret the certain hands I've let roam my skin, the hands that were connected to boys who claimed to be men, hands that were connected to egotistical dicks who liked to count me on a finger rather than listen to me and see that I'm a dreamer. Hands connected to boys I don't talk to anymore, hands connected to boys who don't have any idea what respecting a woman means. Hands connected to boys who never even saw me, saw me for who I really was who I really am. Hands connected to boys who are not yet men but will probably never be men. Hands, these hands, hands. I don't wanna be touched by hands anymore, I wanna be touched by you.
Please remove your hands from my body and place them on my soul, be delicate with me, I beg.
