by Palesoles

I can't move.
What's happened to me?
Why are you doing this to me?

You tricked me.
You put something in my drink.
I felt strange,
things seem to speed up.
You took me to your home.
You undressed me.
You posed my naked body like a mannikin.
I felt the liquid plastic covering me from head to toe.
I could feel myself becoming stiff,
hardening, freezing into a statue.

Now every memory seems far away,
another time,
another place,
another life.
And yet here I am,
standing on my pedestal,
no different than a sculpture bought at a gallery.
I have no more identity than a piece of furniture.
Sometimes you ignore me.
Sometimes you touch me.
But I don't want you to touch me.
I never wanted you to touch me,
even though I told you yes.
Yes, I led you on.
I enjoyed the flirting.
The power I had over men.
They did what I wanted to do.
They made fools of themselves,
when I promised them a false intimacy to come.
I loved the attention,
the praise,
the worshipping at my feet.

I'm not an object,
I'm not a work of art.
And thats' what you've made me into.
Unable to move.
Unable to speak.
Unable to say don't touch me.

Do you know that I'm still alive?
Do you even care?
That I still have feeling?
That I am still a human being?
That I don't want to be like this?

That I don't deserve this?


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