#cuboulder

Closterium sp. from a moss ”squeeze”

I cash in the manly grasps around my throat for positive affirmations- an equal exchange of goods as I would call it.

I take the touches below my waist as a sign of value for myself- this is the most expensive thing that I have to offer.

Well how could I not mistake lust for love?

My tank has been running on 21 years of strictly sexual attention.

A father is supposed to teach his daughter all the reasons why she will be loved in spite of her physical characteristics.

It's supposed to be her laugh that makes her beautiful...It's the passion in her eyes when she speaks to the people she loves...It's the selflessness in her being that makes her unique.

Those are the things that make her beautiful.

I am working towards realizing that the things locked inside my skull and caged behind my ribs are far more prosperous and fruitful than the thing between my legs.

But how could someone else know that if I don't?

I refuse to admit that the one man in the entire universe who was never supposed to hurt me was the first in line to do so.

I refuse to believe that a pipe provided more warmth to him than my little hand could have.

I have filled myself up with malicious cat calls from older men and the coldness of worthless touches in hope that they will eventually fill the void that they had left within me.

I have begun exchanging the pulls on my hair and the nothing-filled whispers in my ear for more fulfilling experiences. 

I have ordered compliments to my soul as a starter...Vivid descriptions of my aura as the entree and honest filled promises to top it all off.