More Than That..

I heard what you said today.

"What's that place ever done to you?" You questioned, a brisk harshness in your voice. No doubt rested in my mind you'd been there before, and I tried to answer without stirring you into a fight or ending up in tears. So I just sat there, watching that horrible life pass by, not really willing to tell you what I'd felt. You'd seen a woman before, disrobed before you dancing for your pleasure. Truthfully, I wanted to say it'd degraded me, made my skin crawl with questions and assumptions that maybe you were seeing me like that, before you and not me as a person. It made me cringe, wanting to scrub myself under a perusal glance that could mean you declothing me and degrading me. As I sit there, I flinch under your every look, still wondering if that was what you were thinking of.

I know I'm not her, that one that you may have looked on, and I'm sure that you don't always look at me like that, but when the realization struck me I couldn't help but want to cry and pull my jacket closer to further cover me. I'm not like that. And no doubt that woman you'd seen was like that either. Though she hides her pain at every stare and glance, she is crying inside. You aren't seeing her the way she was meant to be seen, not in the way that God intended. Have you considered your treachery and betrayal every time you look at her, looking at me at the same time? We are the same, we have the same body with the same God-given pieces and anatomy. I am her. I come from the same ground as she did. When you look at her in the bar, or even in a magazine, you're seeing me.

Like a gift. That's what we are. Sometimes we feel like you simply shred the thin tissue that surrounds the beauty inside, not really caring to open the box at the treasures inside, but simply tearing off the wrapping paper in some frantic need to pleasure yourself in even a glance at what lies beneath that first layer. And we cry out in pain, in shame without even opening our mouths for you to hear us, praying that you'll hear the silent pleadings of our hearts. Sometimes, the package that is so needlessly and shamelessly torn apart isn't even yours. Regardless of the name written to that one person, it feels like you don't care that there is someone we were meant for. Secretly hiding a pleasure, for the right one and knowing he will come along to take pleasure to slowly unwrap and feel every inch of the precious paper that wraps us up in our parcel. Carefully lifting out the box that's been delicately carved just for him, and nobody else. And in the end, lifting the lid to find such beautiful pleasure inside that one box. I'm not ready for you to see me. I'm not finished, I haven't been given to you yet! I want to cry out and stop you from looking at her so I can give you the gift originally meant for me to give you.

Please, think about that. You see me, my body is like every other woman's, but mine was made for you, that one person that I am willing to share it with. Don't let her or any other spoil your gift, it wasn't meant to be that way. I beg of you, let me give you what is rightfully your's, don't steal it from someone else! Wait for my carving to finish, so I can give you a beautiful pleasure that will curl your toes, leave you breathless, and ultimately be exactly what you wanted from the beggining. Please, remeber what you are seeing, that she is me, but isn't what I am, and that I am being finished just for you. Don't look to someone else for a quick pleasure. Have patience, love, and wait to see me. I'm waiting for you.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

A/N: I'm sure you're wondering what brought this strange piece from me on. Today, at work me and my fellow workers passed by a local men's club. One of the guys said that exact thing, and it left me a little shaky inside. Call it divine inspiration, call it whatever you want, but this is what I feel about my body. I know that EVERY girl wants to wait for that one person to wait for them to be finished carving themselves and making themselves something that they know that one man will take absolute pleasure in, and just that one comment was enough to make me feel like cringing and cussing that guy out.

I will say this: I am more that any topless dance, and every stripper, prostitue, whatever is exactly like me. We are more than just animals for other's viewing pleasure, and I just really wanted to clarify that part of me and my writings. Don't feel prompted to review, but reviews, as well as flames are more than welcome.

Thanks for hearing me out.

Godsspiker