Friday, July 14, 2017

The Contortionist


I can stretch and bend,
put my feet behind my head.
I can smile real big,
and grow my skin thick.
Hold my breath for days.
Dress myself a million ways.
Repress a tear or two.
Laugh on cue.
Hold it together.
Cinch it tight.
Lengthen the stride.
Subdue the fight.
I can be anything for you.

Well,
anything,
but me.

I can twist my neck,
to suit your perspective.
Be your favorite fantasy.
Better than ecstasy.
Intermingled all night long,
I’ll moan you a song.
Tell you what you want to hear.
Placate your fears.
Perform.
Conform.
Distort.
Contort.
Take your pick.
I can be anything for you.

Well,
anything,
but me.

Wherever I go,
Whatever I do,
It’s up to you.
I’ll follow your rules.
How could I refuse?
Simply a toy you could enjoy
while I pretend to be coy.
Whenever you're done, toss me aside.
You can ignore that I cried. 
I'll stick to procedure.
Pretend to be eager.
Whatever you choose,
I can be anything for you.

Well,
anything,
but me.

But I’m more than machine.
I’m an actual human being,
with my own wants, thoughts and tasks.
But you wouldn’t know, you didn’t ask.
Because the truth is
you don’t know me.
You wanted the girl in a costume,
with extreme flexibility,
to absolve you of accountability,
and relinquish responsibility,
without your sensibilities,
you mock my authenticity,
without regard to my sensitivity,
with ruthless civility,
You wanted—

Well,
anything, 
but me.

But the tragedy is
you could say the same to me.