First of all, I don’t carry handkerchiefs with me
to drop and wait for you to pick up and hand to me
like we’re in an Austen novel.
I don’t even wear petticoats so
you should have already had known
I don’t and won’t wear girdles to
accentuate the hourglass curves of my waist,
blush and snicker when you whistle
and take me out to swing dates.
I’m too busy gaining my freedom to study college.
I can but I certainly will not under any circumstances
be a groupie for you, not a chance
The trophy girl to your rockstar world
is just not a good look for me.
Heaven forbid, I will not be the Yoko to your John.
I am not the Margo Roth of your adolescent dreams
that will make your mind wild from the movie screen.
If I wanted to be lost, I will never be found by anyone. Not a trace
of me will be left, just replaced
I am paper, like you too
I won’t always be the epitome of grace,
the sexual sucubus of your fantasies
I am just someone who loved if she could
and was lucky to be loved in return
To me, the dream would be you