Because I Would Not Sleep With You

Just because I would not sleep with you, this does not make me a bitch.
There you go again pretending there is a source, an X that marks the spot.
Pretending I hold your world in my callused little hands. Or in the space between my legs.

But it’s like putting a planet inside of a blender. 
Condensing a world to a form more easily held. More easily understood. 
More easily blamed.

Beside me a man pours his problems into a bottle.
Pretending they will fit inside a glass and yeast getaway.
Bright eyed girls on sidewalks, crushing a sky into a wooden bracelet,
riddled with patron saints
and tangible order.

In a pile of sheets/ in a fitness routine/ in these scripts that you write out carefully in your head.
In a word/ label/ curse/ hyphenated name.
In these anchors to ourselves that we come to rely on.

So now I’m a tease because you’re alone and looking for a villain in your story.
But you owe me more than flat characterization.
It is more it will always be more we will always be hungry and we will always pretend that we are full. We congratulate the substance in our stomachs in our guts for its so-called help and we play elaborate games of dress-up with our own philosophies.
An enemy, an addiction would be a luxury wouldn’t it?

But we were not made to be as constellations. 
We were not meant to be definable and immovable.
We are polka dots on a slab of black altogether circling something that may very well be nothing. 
And we don’t connect in sensible/ scientific ways.
The void in your stomach in your gut it is bigger than us it is bigger than blame and excuse,
Than the trite descriptions in the lines of your script.

Lose the pity party/ your theoretical universe/ your fucking “reasons” and “rights”
Ditch it all and-
Be honest.
Listen more.
Be nice.

These are the galaxy. These are the only gravity.

Pretense/ context/ elemental blocks-
The echoed calls that “everyone has their own story”
This all means nothing to me anymore.

I am not a bitch. You are not an asshole. You just want so badly to be.
Cruelty is cold and hard with pointed, measurable corners but-
We’re running off the script and it’s so so much harder for you to accept that
Language is fluid
Sexuality is fluid
History is
Parenting is
Politics and bodies and what you ate for lunch
It is all fluid and
We are all hungry.

Put these all in a blender all at once
and then you will see
what I cannot unsee.