I am not erotic.

I’m sensuous because you’re making me sensuous.
I’m a tease because you've been told I’m a tease.
I’m sexual because you were told “boys will be boys” and I was told to wear longer shorts.

My body is not inherently sexual, because when you make me solely sexual you strip me of my humanity. You strip me of my right to be until I become something you search in an incognito browser; a billion dollar industry dedicated to degrading and exploiting and shaming and telling me my point in life is to make you feel good, reminding me of my place.

I can either be sexual or not, those are the two options you have left me. I can never be whole, only wholly a whore, just holes, who cares if I want it who cares who cares who cares when I am nothing at all.

I can never be whole, only wholly a frigid bitch because I won’t fuck you, won’t even kiss you, can’t get over my stupid emotional issues and she’s such an ice queen god why can’t she get over herself they’re all sluts on the inside anyway.

When am I mine? I’m tired of being told I could get it by a boy I didn’t ask, a boy I don’t even know, why do you feel so entitled to my body?

I am not sexual. When I towel myself off after a shower, all I can see is flesh and fat, wonder if I am attractive enough, seductive enough, looking at my stretch marks and acne and scars in the mirror and hating myself morning noon and night. When I wear shorts and a tank top in the summer, I wonder how you would see me. Does my chest look too big? Too small? Am I proportional enough? Am I showing enough leg? Too much leg? When you look at my body, does it serve its purpose? 

I am not sexual. When I towel myself off after a shower, I am not sexual. When I wear shorts and a tank top in the summer, I am not sexual. When I stand, when I sit, when I breathe, when I exist: I am not sexual unless I choose to be.