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A poem by Sam Cooke
Should I take my top off?
Would you rather I keep it all on?
Some like my mystery, Others skin
They can lay their hands upon
some want you to give it up there and then
“I paid for that, so I own you whole”
choking, hitting, pulling by the hair
when its just him its not sex, it’s control
But if I do it myself it’s still for you
hmm, sound logic.on my own in my underwear,
what a view, for them in my head
so fucking toxic
Either through mirrors or the neighbours window
it doesn’t matter it's always them
I’m just letting my body show,
except I poisoned my own mind for them
I make money from it I’m a slag
stay true to myself and I’m a f*g
say yes too easy and I’m ‘just a shag’
Sex isn’t mine
Words by Sam Cooke
Artwork by Alexandria Coe