Real

They take

They lie

They use

They patronize

They ridicule

They invalidate

I am not flesh

I am not bone

I don't have a heart

I don't have a soul

I don't have lungs

I don't have a mind

The plump of my breasts

The softness of my thighs

The swing of my hips

The pretty eyes

The sweet smile

Is all that I am

I am not real to them

Just an object to be used

Cake to be devoured

A toy to be broken

Enjoyed and discarded

Inanimate and dumb

Strain on my heartstrings

Pressure in my chest

Weight on my shoulders

Imposed by them

The users and abusers

The thoughtless cowards

What is it to be loved?

What is it to be cherished?

What is it to receive

In the same measure you've given?

What's it like to be whole

And not feel so used?