By Melaina Bergin

What do I want?
Well I certainly didn't want that.
Not that you asked
before
during
or after.

What I needed was for you to care
about how I felt,
beyond how I felt
pressed underneath your fingertips.

How do I want it?
My way or the high way.
But since you clearly don't comprehend
my way,
the highway
would be down the street,
a few blocks down,
and to the right.

Who do I want?
Well I couldn't possibly want someone
that treats women like
an object
toy
or nuisance.

So when you laugh at my rights
without recognizing women died for them,
When you treat me like respect is merely a suggestion,
and when you look into my eyes
but never bother to look into my soul,
there isn't a doubt in my mind
that I don't want,
won't have,
and can't take
an animal like you.