I am not a bauble
to be possessed and discarded
I am not a hand me down,
not property to
be passed around
to be trapped within the
walls you back me into
to be framed prettily,
quietly

I do not exist so
my voice, my self
my whole
loud, offensive, reckless
existence could be hidden away,
underneath what you call
"propriety,"
because I call it death
I call it asphyxiation.

I am not tainted
or dirty
or loose or fast or
an infringement on your
proclaimed morality,
on your alpha male ego
that is so easily bruised,
so easily convinced that
i belong only
as long as my body does

There is more
than what exists between
my legs,
your petty battles,
your constant altercations
with the idea of me being
anything but saintly,
your belittling of me-

it leaves me betrayed.