I punctured the peripheral you and found desolation
You tacked instructions in my crawlspace vulnerability
On ways to impress and express without tilting or
Intimidating (unapologetically) your masculinity.

The games have out-played themselves now
We wait from opposing sides of your eyes
You've sculpted me in your mind, dialogue and gesture
Yet I'm antagonistic to the pom-pom persona of your lust.

I refuse the platter of pheromones for neutered purposes.

The degree of your preserves is too cold to chew on
I've allotted too much credit for this useless self-denial
I find myself peeling off unfathomable layers of identities
(Created for you).

So much wallpaper for such a petite woman.





(Note: I realize that a lot of people might not get what I mean in this
poem. It's about changing for other people, being something
you're not while wishing that you weren't, then realized you were
wasting your time anyway and now you have to deal with trying to find who
you really are.)
 
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