asking for it

see, i was asking for it
lining my eyes with black like the sky already was when i called him
my bathroom mirror still says guilty in black eyeliner letters, but i
called him.
and he came, his own eyes unreadable
focused on the way i painted my lips carefully
so he would know how sweet they tasted, know i wanted him back
even though i said no
no doesn't mean anything when it comes from lips like these
hips like holy on vacation with demons
holy like it's worth the burn if the flame is beautiful enough, i swear
i was still naive enough that night to imagine
that my interpretation of ugliness matched the rest of the world's,
therefore insuring my safety
he leaned closer on the couch and i let him
even when his hand rested dead weight on my thigh
too caught up in tight jeans to notice my tears, i swear
i didn't know he wanted me.

that night i hitchhiked all over town
leaving my car in the driveway and making up stories to protect my name
and nothing else. picked up by someone's mother
imploring me to wear my seatbelt and a better bra
please, she said. be careful. can't you see where you're headed?
i said this corner is fine, waited for the next 22 year old just became a man
and wants to see what i'm hiding under my pants to badly he can barely drive
this, at least, i'm used to
and it's safer than mothers admonishing my deliberate lack of self control
so i lick my lips, slouch further in my seat
to maximize his viewing angle
how far can you take me, boy? just keep driving.

sometime around 2am i stumbled back across the threshold of reality
in the form of your voicemails, stacked up in blinking lights
wondering where the hell i am
you never could trust me to look out for myself
though you knew you could always count on tear stained apologies
pleading lips numb from time spent forced against flesh
rougher than any that could possibly belong inside me
made holy by the way it make you angry to imagine
me, inviting his touch, responding with
scratches down his back, the only skin exposed to my only method of self defense
he said god you're rough, and i said fuck
so he did
and if this is inviting
rape it's of my belief in any god that would make this my fault
because i know that curves mean sex and i got 'em
but that doesn't mean i'll fuck you back
it just means there's more to hold on to, hold me down with
like the first time you ran too fast, lost control and skinned your knee and your mother said
let it bleed.
be careful next time.

careful doesn't stick to lips slick with false security in the form of dollar store lipstick
spread a little too thin over an aching knowledge of one night's worth of future
careful doesn't stick when he's sitting a little too close on the couch
no room for no between friends and fucking
careful is as useless as imagining the world's interpretation of black eyeliner letters
on an empty bathroom mirror

and so now, i'm asking for it
twirling hair between decorated fingertips and leaning forward
into imagined invitations
losing control on purpose so the blame falls squarely on glimpses of my garter belt
my too short skirt dancing in the wind
of our interpretation of the way the world works
i'm painting my lips red enough to hide that i'm not smiling
putting my shame on display, saying
yes, i sway my hips when i walk
lick my lips when i talk
yes, my breasts are full and inviting, still
i will not hide my passion in a bottle like overpriced perfume
saved for special occasions, still
i will be loud and sexy and unafraid
to wear my heart on my sleeve and dare you to touch it
and if this is asking for it
i will never stop begging.