Waiting On You To Stop

For so long I didn’t love myself enough to see that I deserved more agency,

To see that I could choose who has what access to me.

I started working at fourteen,

I served at a family restaurant,

where the owner and his sons took turns groping me.

I never had to turn around to see who,

a slap, grab, pinch — they each liked it different,

how they touched my ass is how I knew.

And then I grew older, bolder, boobier,

I started to use my assets to my advantage,

I started to show more skin to make more wage,

Because if my flesh was to be feasted on,

The least I could get is paid.

But you saw more and wanted the rest too,

Don’t think I figured you never knew,

You can act friendly and kind,

offer me an innocent glass of wine.

But I see through you,

and I see what you are trying to do.

Your tip was for my service,

That’s tit for tat,

So why do you think because you tipped me,

That my tits are where your reward is at?

And after insisting your intensions are pure,

You get offended when I want nothing more.

As if I lead you on,

As if keeping you smiling is not what I get paid for.

And you will stay sat at the bar long after you see my discomfort,

I go for a smoke just to get a break,

I look up at my boss hoping he will tell you to move your arm away,

I hide in the bathroom to escape you drunkedly licking my face,

I was taking your daughter’s order when your fingers traced

their way up my thigh,

“But I’m really a nice guy”.

I see you,

I see what you do,

When you asked for “just a hug” and squeezed in what felt like two,

When your hands on my waist slid me aside because you needed me to move,

When you offered to pay my rent just to have a drink with you.

I am not on the menu,

Not the special board,

Not a regular’s treat,

I am not for sale,

I am at work,

Pay your bill and get the fuck away from me.