when a man asks you “what are you into?” like it’s a deep question
deserving of praise
for getting to know you “so intimately”
he’ll tell you “my love language is physical touch”
like an expectation being set from the start
tell him
I am a woman of boundaries and hard no’s
your love language of physical touch got lost in translation
physical touch as a love language is not consent for “any time, any where”
this is a sense of entitlement
intimacy spawned from insecurity
will never fabricate a love worth maiming myself for
my boundaries may be hard lined
but how could they not be
when crossed so many times
In a sense of desperation, I outline them again and again
In hopes of someone seeing the hard lines as moments of softness
lost in translation
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