-It begins when he stops seeing you, I mean, he sees you, but in pieces, apart, not whole, because you see, in his eyes, you are not whole.
Where are his eyes, you ask?
He never looks up, your face does not matter, he doesn’t see your feline eyes or the curves of your lips, he doesn’t listen to the syllables you pronounce or to your sentences.
You are not whole, you are parts, you are,
You are one of his favorite sexual objects, take it as a compliment, he speaks the words no other man is courageous enough to utter, he has no filters in his mind.
He speaks the words many of them, when they see you, ponder within and with themselves.
Opened his zipper while sitting in front of you in a bus, he, took out his private toy, while looking at you, my precious trigger, and played for his entertainment.
You were there, you were the object, you were not whole, you were legs, then hips, then waist, then breasts, you really think he will remember your face?
So you’ve yelled at him, told him what the fuck is he doing, told him to get lost, told him to leave you alone, told him to stop being an animal, you think he listened?
He was staring at your boobs my darling,
And he played, for his entertainment,
And you became one of his favorite sexual objects.
Sat down next to you on the train, he, listened to every word you said, he, wasn’t able to stop fantasizing, he, couldn’t stop himself.
And you, drew back,
He didn’t touch you,
But he did.
I guess you stopped liking men in uniform after that incident, eh darling?
And you wonder,
How hard would it be,
To cut his balls off?
Men in uniform are still my thing, but only the ones who listen instead of stare.