Not Your Sex Machine

There are moments when people try to reduce you to something less—less than human, less than deserving of respect. This poem stands as a fierce reminder that boundaries and dignity aren’t negotiable.

Easy, isn’t it, to dismiss my anger—
To call me vile, evil, a temper tantrum’s danger?
But let me ask you, mister,
Would you take it lightly if someone
Spoke of your mother this way?

"Only sex, only sex,"
As if I’m here to fulfil every primal reflex
As if my worth starts and ends in a bed,
As if I exist just to feed your head.

Mature, you say? "It’s just a joke."
Your immaturity leaves me choked.
Would you call it joking around
If the same venom was thrown at someone
You call your own?

And then the mockery:
"Better a hooker, peaceful and free."
If that's your truth, then by all means,
Go sleep with a sex worker,
Because that's her profession—not mine.

She, with dignity, does her work.
But I am no machine, no hired perk.
I am human, with breath, with dreams,
Not your lifeless toy for sexual schemes.

Respect lies in understanding the line—
Between a person and their profession’s design.
If you can’t, then carry your misplaced pride,
For you’ll find no solace in my stride.

Because my body is mine—my choice, my way.
I won’t bend to your whims, not today, not any day.

This poem is not just a declaration of self-worth but a call to respect the autonomy of every person—no matter their gender, profession, or choice. How do you navigate moments where your dignity is tested?

Comments

My Tips Get The Job Done

Boy, you need gold coins and chains, To feel that silky touch. Honey, being with you meant My soul needed a retouch... You might like maple syrup, But I could never build anything with that softwood. It was like babysitting way into my adulthood... You think your presence made it feel like Niagara? Boy, it was drier than the Sahara. Who gave you the license to operate heavy machinery? You never deserved to be anywhere near this sanctuary. Asking women to "blow" you a kiss, When you are the one too "slow" to catch up, And all you are good for is a diss... You need to work because you don't know how real FORCE works. You get high on your stupid WARS — How would you ever know the language of the STARS ? Isn't it funny you were trying to teach me about fingers? When I can get myself to sing more with my ladyfingers ...

Game Of Fire and Ice

Hey Mister, Why won't you play a game of Twister? I promise I won't play coy. Won't you love it if I were your only toy? You can be the Lion in the boardroom, Then make me roar in the bedroom. Let's play the game of fire and ice. You bring the sugar, and I get the spice. I am praying by myself these nights, Drowning my moans when the city sleeps tight. We can play the game of Super Sonic, And then have our own race over some gin and tonic. So find me, like an app can find a phone. No, I won't bring out my Medusa and turn you into stone. I have been getting over my fears, Learned to make my tears into spears. You can take me as you like. We can go until we hear the third strike.

Call Your Wife... Call Your Mother...

Call your wife. Call your mother. Tell them how you talk to women like me when no one's watching— But of course, I'm the Outspoken B tch*, and you, the Outstanding Gentleman in your suit and tie. But sure— I’d rather be outclass than be hung like sea bass on your trophy wall, smiling silent while you call me “crass.” Your twisted kinks. Your polished lies. You think I won’t roar? That I’ll tuck in my shadow just to keep your sin safe? I own my dark. Loud. Proud. You will not cage me with your guilt-laced chains. If you were so happy choosing her over me, Then go flirt with her . Not me. Don’t you dare come here with your diluted apologies and leftover lust. I’d rather be The villain in your story Than your sidepiece in silence. Because I remember— You were a playboy then , You’re still a playboy now , And every time you smile and say “We’re still friends”… God, I puke a little. You know your name. Don’t play lost boy. Don’t hide behind your “Good intentions.” I used to care...

Cruising Alone

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