Perverts

A poem about the people in my life who are suspiciously nice.

Perverts

Perverts

Every single one of them

Their bright, lustful eyes

That needy, clingy smile

Desire reeks from every part of their body

Without them I cannot work

Without them I cannot sing for my supper

And yet I want to punch them all in the face

I want to disown them

I can’t describe that awful feeling

That they don’t want you for your voice, your musicality

They want you for that unnamed act

And although they’ve never tried

You are deathly afraid of giving them the opportunity

The polite consent

I wish I had the work ethic, the talent

To leave and find great work

Beautiful timbres and songs

New music all the time

Competence and prestige

I must endure their constant attempts to get closer

Even if just by a few steps

It makes my blood boil

My heart pound with utter rage

It’s more than I can stand

And they flatter and flatter

Until their throats go dry

Until they can no longer hold their giant grin

I wish something would physically stop them

They know my insecurity

And they manipulate it

They invest

And they play the cruel game of time

Wait for their golden opportunity

When the time has come

I flee like a gazelle on the savannah

I’m tired of running

I’m tired of holding back the scream of rage

The shriek of frustration

Someday they won’t be able to push me around

Reviews

[Chidoriflower]

Wow! Finally, a truthful analysis of perverts! I can feel the angry intensity, the caged feeling, when you feel hunted by "nice guys." Good work, Naomi! :P

[Naomi Bloom]

Thanks! I love how you mentioned "nice guys." It wasn't exactly what I was writing about but those "nice" men certainly apply to this poem.

[Chidoriflower]

You're very welcome!