*reader discretion advised*
I want to tell you about me. I want to tell you my story. I want to tell you about what it is like to be me, as a woman, as a person. But you won't let me tell you in my own words. You don't hear. You take the words I say and you cover them up with your own. You take my story, my life, and you twist it in your mind. My hand in hers becomes fantasy before your eyes. You lean forward waiting for a kiss that will not come. We feel you watching. We are not here for you. I am not for your entertainment and yet you make me so. If I wrote a book, would you read it? Or would you skim, thumbing the pages back and forth in eager anticipation of material you will not find, our deepest secrets and trysts laid bare, spread-legged for your hungry gaze? My life is not your free porn. "Pussy-licking dyke! Lesbian cunt! Who do you think you are, pervert, you make me sick!" You call to me across the street, shout across the buzzing screens, Caps-lock held firm under your thumb as you type. "YUR GONNA BURN IN HELL 4 YUR SINS! GOD H8TS FAGGOTS!!"I know why you do it. I know why you yell. You are scared, and that makes you angry.You are scared because this isn't right. I am not right. You know the way of good and evil in this world and the next, and I am not good. You are scared because while you yell, while you scream, you wonder, too. You wonder what it would feel like to have my head between your legs, not hers. You think about it at night, after you see us walking hand-in-hand down the street. You picture us as you rub and tremble, and you want it to be me making you tremble, not her. You are scared of other's happiness, like there is a finite amount of it in the world and somehow you aren't getting your fair share, and that makes you angry. But while your words may be angry, mine are not. My voice is calm--there is a purpose to these sounds, a purpose that, loud as they may be, your words will never have. My words have power. My words, given strength by the voices of others, will always speak louder than yours. They'll long be carried high, bolstered upon the shoulders of others who hear and know them as their own. My words have power. Yours do not. Yours will wither and die as quickly as those make-believes in your head. You have no power here. My life is not for your entertainment. I am not a fantasy for you to play in your head. I may be a pussy-licking dyke, but I am not your free porn.