plan b

don't get hard. not
for this, now, while cold blood is
crammed inside some pain, pressure
the small aftermath of you who are a stranger
not to see. we didn't meet anywhere
but my body. we met at me, and I am the weather.
tried, clean and ready to hold on to all
the future it can create. my blind, inner furniture
singing its desperate songs of forever and
not knowing who is there. i deserve
to be this place where we share. so, don't
be naive. i carry you with me, we all do, and not as a
gift you give. women are places, and after you
come into us we leave with more than you appear
to plan on. but this is just blood- thickening,
tired, for who knows what happened. this is me,
sick for your small pleasures. and, sad for
my standard, so don't tell me it's not serious when
only i pay and this is not my body for you. how far
do you have to get off to see me some
respect? we are all always for you and i don't see
why. you're lucky i'm still just me and
that soon i'll be dry