I am a body. I feel as if I am nothing more than just skin and bone to these boys. My body is beautiful; not sexualised not a fetish. But I cannot find my own beauty within it. That is the most important thing. He kissed me and I got that feeling again; like with the boy before him and the boy before him. I got that feeling that I am no more than a sexual object to this boy. That he entertains my ideas while imagining sliding himself inside of me. It must be nice to be in control. I cling to the fantasy that anyone will ever fall for me. He tells me that he cares but I know that I'm just another on an infinite list of bodies. They who capture his eye, they will be better than me. They will arrive and he will forget about me. Yet I still reach for the phone to call another subscriber to my body. I think that it will make it better but it will never get better. I've become careless now. I let boys place themselves inside of me for three days until my body rejects them faster than my head.
He has dark freckles dotted around his face, and he looks so handsome when he smiles. He kisses softly and gently, and he knows what he's doing. She has told him how she likes to be kissed and now she is telling other men how to kiss her while he lies beside a girl in bed at four in the morning and neither of them can sleep. He's so broad, and stands proud; he thinks it makes him look taller. He's got brown eyes. I could feel them close when I mentioned her. They were closed when I leaned in and we kissed. I can't stop falling for him.
A new girl will come and she will be lovely and soft and pretty and you will write poetry about her. I fear going to sleep at night because I know that I will dream of you.