Seeing

Whenever he makes you feel like you’re not enough,
step back for a while and take a real look.
Not at yourself, you’ve looked at you long enough,
but at him,
and all his unearned entitlement,
his beer soaked breath,
his frayed T-shirts,
his text speak spelling,
his emotional ADD,
and all the ads he has been sold,
and all the photoshop he believes,
the online porn he’s addicted to,
filled with silicone people,
choreographing emotionless orgasms,
it’s like fast food, McDonald’s, but for his dick.
And then, think of the women putting fingers in their mouths,
in bathrooms,
everywhere,
throwing up everything they ate before to feel full,
to fit into underwear that makes them uncomfortable,
that goes up their asses and gives them a rash,
that comes undone in the dryer,
in hopes that they will feel wanted, maybe,
at least, for a second,
and then he probably won’t even eat them out,
and they’re not even eating,
so then, who wins?
Not you, not her, not any woman, not me,
because what sexiness feels like is being free,
not hating yourself for one goddamn day,
not caring how you look when you cum,
making him make you cum.
But how can you?
Because he doesn’t even see you,
because he doesn’t even know
how to see.

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