After he was done
he stood over me
growling and said
I was a good slut.
I was mostly naked
with my panties yanked
down around my ankles
and my negligée half off.
I felt barren and exposed
and wanted to cry.
I knew this wasn’t what
I wanted.
I felt a foreign and shameful
inauthenticity growing inside me.
It hit me full force in the stillness
after he left.
I’ve got to now,
He said moments after finishing
and lefty briskly without
exchanging any niceties.
Then
I cried and sobbed in the emptiness
of a Chicago apartment
built for a four or five person family.
The ice and snow outside
melted, merged, and ashened
from all the cars going by.
I believed I needed
a man’s masculinity
to affirm my femininity.
That is not true.
The most noble masculinity
I’ve ever experienced
originated from within
the curves of a woman.
And I find that more affirming
of my femininity and all femininity
than any man or
anything a man could do
for a woman.
I consider masculinity to be
the efficient ability to compartmentalize or
contain emotions,
while femininity
is the ability to swim
within an ocean of emotions.
I swim with women now.
novamartinpoetry.com 