Generosity

Are my friends, my friends because I’m a nice person?

Are my friends, my friends because of who I am?

Are my friends, my friends because they genuinely appreciate me,

Or, are my friends, my friends because of what I have.

Are my friends, my friends because I’m not busy?

Are my friends, my friends because of convenience?

Are my friends, my friends because I stick around,

Or, are my friends, my friends because they want me?

I think to myself, and all that I’ve done and wonder if it is enough?

 

The Way We Were

The Way We Move

A sway of the hips,

a little interesting.

A seat on their lap,

a little more.

Lips on one’s cheek,

faces all rouged.

Hands in their hair,

Necks all bruised.

Fingers caressing

every line and curve,

as I patiently wait for you

to build up enough nerve

to ask for what you want.

I want to share what I’ve got!

Just remember to ask,

because I’ll have you know,

consent is sexy, but

only green light means go.

 

The Way We Slept

In each other’s arms,

groped by the other’s figure.

We were closely intertwined,

but we never rested long enough to close our eyes.

 

The Way We Touched

Your arm stretched out across my shoulders.

Your eyes looking at me.

You want something.

I want to share,

only difference is, you don’t ask.

back to All My Thoughts

Consent

Lips on cheeks,
fingers in hair,
hands on hips,
floating on air.

Fingers caressing,
butterfly feelings,
ideas of loving
sound so appealing.

One is not ready
and feels alone.
She says, “I think
it’s time to go home.”

“Not now, not yet,”
the other replies,
gripping her wrists
as down they lie.

She doesn’t want to
be touched, undressed.
But frozen in fear
as on her, they’re pressed.

Isn’t this normal?
Isn’t this right?
Doesn’t she want this?
So why doesn’t she fight?

And when she leaves,
body all sore,
she doesn’t fight back
against the hug at the door.

back to Breakthrough