Why do that to yourself?
Play around with perfection,
even if it was only skin deep,
and the smoothness of these curves
turned your stomach at night,
when dusk settles its hands
either side of your hips,
presses into the grooves
where his tools worked you
Mounted you his sculpture
for all men to see.
Do you not appreciate how
his love made you
into a woman worth seeing?
No one explained that best before
was subjective at best.
Instead they suggested
that you were lucky to find a man
willing to settle for spoiled produce
so close to the sell by date.
Did it occur to you
the rot might be them?
He called her The Office Bitch,
to her face.
Drops the comment like a hot coal
before she climbs into a taxi home
and I turn my car keys over in my hand,
heels sharp on the concrete,
the elastic in my shoulders twisting tighter
as the words sink in.
I can’t help but repeat it,
turn the words over in my mouth
the needles of the teeth still there,
as I wonder if he’d of said the same
were she a man.
Would she have had to swallow it,
if she were a man.
Because at worst he would have been
Not The Office One.
I wanted to add another stanza to this but nothing seemed to work so I’m going to sleep on it any maybe come back to this piece another day. In the meantime I’m relatively happy with how it works at the moment. I’d love to hear your feedback though.