You Have No Right
You have no right— those are the words you throw at me, as though they are scripture. yet you reach for my body as if it belongs to you. You swear you don’t lie, but your words and actions are crooked mirrors, fracturing the truth I thought we shared. If you’re not with me, you’re slipping into her shadow. She’s “just a friend,” you say. But tell me— why does her body escape your restless hands? Is it her distance you respect? Or is she the altar you preserve? Perhaps she’s been touched— but not ravaged, not consumed like I have been. I have no right over you, yet you demand the right to me, to every inch of me, to fulfill your hunger without feeding mine. I want to believe you are blind, that you don’t see the weight of what you do. Because if you do— if this is deliberate, may the seeds you’ve sown grow wild and relentless, bearing fruit you can never swallow. Love is not “I can’t pretend.” It is not hollow words or empty gestures. Love is the art of feeling, of wearing another’s sca...