Androphobia

i was stitched lips and a flightless raven heart-
all sex and a contorting spine;
his own lips engraving 'kiss me's' on empty stars.

& between you and me: i feared his teeth,
& tongue, & honest organs-
with skin that begged, 'please, don't touch me.'

don't touch me.
don't fucking touch me.

i am not soft.

there is a war raging in my lungs,
screaming through the uncharted galaxies
of my wanderlust heartstrings.

i am not soft.

i am lust, & war, & envy—

i am sin,
       
        crooked, misshapen,
& the kind of prosetry yet to be proofread.

—but he wanted to claim my guarded ghost eyes
and crossed legs.

'just—let me hold you.'

his callused hands were cancer,

my still body, a clock.