Tea Party with Pride, Dignity and Filth
I sipped my tea. He told me teas were boring, still glad it wasn't in a paper cup.
He stood very close to me, traced his finger on my face, from my forehead to my chin. When a man takes his time touching me, it makes me crawl inside, I remember all the men who touched me. When his finger stopped on my lips, I could only think about his bedside table and the light coming from the living room. His bedside table with my jewellery on it, shining, ready to be put on in 1-2 hours. With my beer on it. With my dignity on it, that's how I get in this bed each time.
I have rules. I do have rules. I fucking love my rules so I can fucking break them and feel my lower lip curl while I do. Shame and eagerness. My kryptonite. That slight pain between my legs, it won't go away until you force it out of me. Shame and the numbing, soul crushing need. Every second, it makes me want to sulk, protest and cum. I don't want to figure it out.
I sipped more tea, this is boring. Please, please leave. Without me. I can't walk your street today, supermarket on the left, a cafe on the right. I can't stand to know what he sees in me. How he knows how he makes me feel. I can't stand that I hate him yet I know his street better than mine. Guide me back to myself. Teach me how to be. One slap at a time, one push at a time.
Please, one more song, I promise I'll behave. Let me lose myself. I don't care who sees, I don't care who judges. I unleashed my monsters. Take your pride and take your dignity. Give me filth. I wipe my feet on your princess dresses, I swear to god, I will. Let me finish my tea first.