Not Your Baby.

does my posture make you uncomfortable?

is it too straight?

my gait, my weight?

how about my voice?

is it too strong? too dark?

should i increase my vocal pitch by two decibels?

should it be sweeter?

am I a dessert?

your dessert?

a pretty skinny ditsy happy museum piece to observe?

an object behind bullet-proof glass?

but you don't like the glass bullet-proof, do you?

you want to pick me up whenever you want to, don't you?

pick me up in your bmw so you can tell your friends,

"yeah that chick came along."

add my presence to the conversation as a side-piece,

because I'm an accessory,

your accessory.

you want to wear me around your neck, your wrists.

but you don't wear jewelery, and call yourself a minimalist.

are my orders too blunt, too rude?

is my request wanting of a please?

dear sir, kind sir, good sir.

you are a man trying to explain something to a god

something you don't even understand

to someone you can never begin to see

how about my muscles?

are they too toned?

too fragile or too strong?

which one do you like better?

the weaker one, or am i wrong?

and why is that? why should my limbs dangle and why should I faint and be saved?

how about i shoot you in the balls instead?

but then I'm crazy, aren't i?

what if i leave?

then I'm a pussy.

but I'm already a pussy, and you're ballsy.

ball-sy, ball-sy

what is that?

why is that?

why do balls equal strength and the other fear?

why should men be strong and women be fragile?

what the fuck?

do not call me pretty. i am not your baby.

not your sweety not your lovely.

let's get back to my weight.

does it make you uncomfortable?

do you think i should exercise?

watching you inhale as you prep to give me an explanation on how it is the perfect time for me to exercise.

after all, tough times give people energy, don't they?