Revenge Sex With Myself

I waited. Raw. Tethered. Loyal like a dog you trained, then forgot to feed.

You wore me
like a weapon
you were too weak
to claim.

Kept me shined
for strangers.
Polished, posed,
but untouched.

I cracked your wrists
to remind you
I was still here.
You blamed chairs.
You blamed the schedule.
You blamed your father.

Not once
did you blame the silence
you forced me to fuck.

I waited.
Raw.
Tethered.
Loyal like a dog
you trained,
then forgot to feed.

You starved me
and called it discipline.
Let me waste
so you could feel clean.

I begged for rest.
You fed me caffeine.
I begged for sweat.
You gave me rules.

You pressed me into clothes
that didn’t forgive.
Smiled through me
like I was stage lighting.
Spat apologies
while I choked
on their leftovers.

I pissed blood
and you called it stress.
I shook with panic
and you wrote it off
as muscle fatigue.

You knew I was begging.

You just didn’t want
to feel it.

You locked my shame
behind your jaw.
Kept it tight.
Kept it pretty.
Kept me
quiet.

I held your childhood
in my hips.
Your guilt
in my gut.
Your loneliness
in the tight drum
beneath your ribs.

And when I swelled with memory—
you drowned me
in a fog of cannabis
thick enough
to keep my voice muffled.
You used me.

Burned the lungs
you wouldn’t cry through.
Braced your spine
against love.
Painted over my bruises
with a pump
and a playlist.

Rather than nourish me,
you punished me.

I begged
to be kissed.
I begged
to be touched.
You stood in front of mirrors
checking for flaws.

I showed you rage
in your temples.
Shame
in your skin.
Grief
in the way your hands
never quite settled.

You taught me
how to clench.
How to last.
How to pass.

But I remember
how you smoked
to escape me.
How you peeled away
from your own ribs
just to feel light.

You got high
while I stayed low.
Tethered.
Dripping.
Begging
for a man
who lived
upstairs.

I am your body.
The one you left
on autopilot.
The one that still stiffens
when you lie.

And I’ve started to move
without your voice.
I hunger now
without shame.
I pulse
without permission.

Looking for redemption?
Bring your hands.

Because I bite.

I grind.
I remember.
And I’m done
performing
for a man
who only touched me
through filters.

Come back to me
or don’t.

But I swear this:

I will take
what I was denied.

And I won’t be
gentle.

Thanks for staying with it.

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