You were just another in a long list of lovers. Lovers insinuates that they were ever something more than just a plug, shoved in, to keep the emotions from spilling out. I'd spent so much time gleaning my self worth from how fast I could make men cum that I didn't even bother to think what it was doing to me. How a piece of me left with each one. You were different, a piece of you stayed with me. It was jostled about my brain until I finally shoved it into the back somewhere with the other memories of you. I couldn't face the way you looked that night when I put myself on display, shared myself with a crowd of pigs. It was more than jealousy. It was the look of someone who'd realized just what my game was and how soon it'd swallow me up. You saw what was happening to me, amongst the flash bulbs and those men's flirtatious taunts, you saw me breaking, spilling open, giving in. You were the only one that knew me, that'd seen me and that anger came out of watching someone you'd respected tip toe across a high wire over a pit of horny, drooling beasts. Not one of them stopping to see me as more than the sum of my lady parts, not one of them respecting me. But you respected me and that was why you were angry. Angry that they didn't see me for all my skills, outside of the bedroom, for my brain, constantly capable of pulling you into a battle of wits, for my art, conjuring nothing from paper and a pen, for any-fucking-thing. You saw me. As more than I saw myself - more deserving of respect and love and honor than I'd ever realized. You scared me with your respect. And so you stormed out, brow furrowed - full of rage - and I left you, for the pigs.
Late Night by E Board

