I was born

To be rejected

Objectified,

Dehumanized,

A frog born to be dissected

Organs given

In the name of science

I’d kill myself

Out of curiosity.

This week, my plans

Are as follows:

Monday, mow the lawn.

Tuesday, go to bingo night.

Wednesday, go to the beach.

Thursday, paint with my friends.

Friday, kill myself.

I’m not convinced of the decision

Having any sort of permanence

I’d like to try my limits.

I’d skip into the store

Hair in pigtails. A lollipop being suckled upon.

I’m dressed in pink! Thigh-high, rainbow socks. Glitter on my eyelids, because it’s cute.

I’d grab the rope with a lighthearted smile. I’d ask the employee their opinion on what the best rope for self-annihilation is with a giggle. I’d caress his arm, and compliment his eyes.

I’d make flirtatious small talk with the cashier. He’d ask my plans with the rope, perhaps — from my demeanor that oscillates between sultry and innocent — expecting me to hint that my well-endowed partner would be tying me up that night.

I’d tell him the truth with a grin. I’d giggle like a schoolgirl. He’d be taken aback, not know how to respond, all of the blood still in his nether regions.

I’d skip on out the door, telling him I’d see him later — I wouldn’t — innocently wagging my hips as I exit, leaving him a mixture of aroused and terrified.

That’s how I like my men.