But my vagina isn’t a garage where
You can parallel park your insecurities.
Nor is it a place where you can validate your manhood and make certain your masculinity.
I see how your face changes, when you see a woman filled with half your DNA standing on her swollen, barely movable feet.
I hear you whispering “I’m the Pull Out King Baby, don’t you worry about a thing” bullshit in my ear.
I feel your errect penis on my ass while we’re spooning, and how you keep repositioning it, so that it can brush the lips of my womanhood, thinking that it’s ideal place to rest your morning wood.
You better exhale the thought that lingers in your head that our bodies are Toys or a Wonderland.
We are wonderful creatures who are beautifully made.
I already knew the first time we kissed, that you are not somebody who ever intended to stay. . .
I am not sorry,
But I will tell you this.
My Vagina Is Not A Garage Where You Can Park Your Penis In Between