just a small town girl. Living in a racist, insensitive, sexist, homophobic world,
(cant take the midnight train ‘cause im fuckin scared)
>teenage actress’s private nudes get leaked
>teenage actress is reviled as a slut and a whore and a bad role model
>james franco asks a seventeen-year-old girl if he can meet her in a private hotel room
>james franco gets to go on saturday night live and joke about what a silly doofus he is for soliciting sex from a girl literally half his age
DO NOT DARE OVERLOOK THIS POST
I have met boys who slipped their hands into my pants
while they were driving a car.
One hand on the steering wheel,
the other creeping up my thigh-
because touching me wasn’t something that required
their full attention.
I have met boys who blushed a deep red
when they caught a brief glimpse of my cotton underwear
as I uncrossed my legs.
Then there was the boy who
politely studied the painting on the bathroom wall
while I peed at a party
and had no qualms about
unbuttoning my jeans a few hours later,
while we rode in the backseat of my friend’s car.
I have tried to forget leaning against a tiny sink
and seeing a boy who I thought of as simply a close friend
look at my pants like they were the claw arcade game
and whatever was down there was something
he needed to take home, no matter how many tries it took.
I have looked at boy’s fingers as they
plucked the strings of a guitar or pressed the keys of a piano
and imagined what they’d feel like running down my spine.
I have looked at boy’s fingers
and wished that their sticky little rolls
never once left a salty stain on my inner thighs.
I am thinking of being touched
as a course I once taught-
“Give me your hand.
This is my hip, please linger here.
This is my chin, please cup it and pull me closer.”
I am thinking that perhaps I should retire
and wait until the pupils learn to educate themselves,
and yet I crave you tracing the shape of my ears
the same way you finger the fragile stem of a flower-
like touch is a lesson that you can never get sick of learning.