This sensation down under...

A parched stretch of me
that longed…
and now like a wasteland
a sensation I wonder if his body graph can pick up…

A parched stretch of me that is always here
Even when images of him doing it with her, her and her and her are here.
Why did I know that it is sacred and he not?
Why did he forget and not me?

Why is this parched stretch of me so painful?
So deeply untouched in self defence
his plays became more important
his scoresheet became the goal
was it Bill, or him, or life, or God
wanting to destoy me from my deepest within?

How do I describe this parched stretch of me? As a man maybe they get it? Can’t go without it for a day? But as a woman does my parchedness matter? Does it get felt, seen? Does it matter? Why did I know to stay inside my home? My instincts? Why do I flaunt a parched stretch of me while being a sex signal board for him and him?!

Why God? Why? Why did my life bring me an experience so excruciating deep that I don’t even know if desire will ever be able to flow between me and another man’s real body…..

Why does my parchedness not get noticed? But my vagina, ass is recorded, footage for hours of my walking, cooking, brushing, pooping, why does its parchedness not get felt, seen, understood, why does it not matter? God, why? Because I am a woman ‘them just okay without it’ said one bro!

Why? Why God? Why did you give me this ordeal and PTSD and a family that don’t get it and a sister who will never love. Why? Why? Why?

Why?
WHY?