My sex is not vulnerable.

My sex is powerful. 

My cupids bow shoots arrows 

           that might otherwise be aimed at me.

A delicate archer sits behind my lips.

           My hips

           My breast

Holding steady tension between string and tail

           before someone would even dare threaten me. 

I savor being stared at 

           like a rind of lemon coated in sugar.

           Sweet and bitter-

Knowing I have released before anyone could unravel me. 

I may not have secrets but I have all of yours. 

 

My sex is not vulnerable. 

My sex is intelligent.

I have studied the natural downward tilt of gazes from 

           Women.

           Girls. 

                       when speaking about their bodies. 

Therefore, I assume the opposite posture. 

Flaunting the curvature of my décolletage  

           to assert brassy dominance. 

I am a trumpet, not a saxophone. 

 

My sex is not vulnerable.

My sex is loud. 

I can make you listen to me with the press of an inner thigh. 

I practice activism with a bare chest. 

          Heart open.

          Mouth open.

          Legs open.  

I command a room with the slit in my dress. 

The spit exchanged when I kiss

          all of the secrets out of your mouth. 

 

My sex is not vulnerable. 

But I am.

Everything else about me is.

So- when he said I was beautiful. 

         I broke.