You turn me on.
Is that how it works?
Flipped on and off
Like a light switch.
That easy.
But wait,
Isn't my switch
Supposed to be taped down?
In our sexual society
The sex itself is still such a taboo topic
Even for the ones whose
Hands linger below my waist during hugs,
Even for the ones who,
When I smile at,
Smile back,
With eyes lingering below my face.
No, I am not the innocent virgin,
The pure and perfect child
Who thinks a kiss is all that should be shared between lovers--
(Until their wedding day, of course.
One ceremony flips the taped-down switch.)
I am unmarried
But a certificate is not the same as real love.
Saying I love someone who loves me back
Might make me nothing more than a foolish teenager,
But isn't that what it's all about?
Love and lose,
Love and lose,
Grow and learn.
I am not that pristine being
Who nobly resists the evil temptation
Of something I was designed to do.
I am a person with flaws and desires.
The convoluted contrast between
Competing pressures
Tears at an already fragile teenage psyche:
Keep the switch up,
Be the dream girl, the sex goddess,
Ready to corrupt with pleasure;
Keep the switch down,
Be the dream girl, the innocent darling,
Ready to be corrupted with pleasure.
So which is it?  On or off?
I've given up on trying to figure out what I should be.
I'm nothing more than a person,
Whether the gossipping voices whisper
"Prude," or "Slut,"
Whether I'm mocked for doing too little,
Or too much.
I just
Can't--
I can't take trying to be more than me.
And the only solution
Is to stop trying to fit
Whatever it is I'm supposed to be.
So I'm done
With the words
And the terms
And the labels
I'm leaving them behind
And taking my dignity with me.