Permission

You said “I love you” with someone else in your bed

Touched my back like a secret you thought you could keep fed

Told me you missed me when I was two states away

Like my absence gave you a reason to go play

And you called it “respect” when you offered your couch

But your hands said different and your mouth stayed loud

You said I could stay, then pulled me apart

You don’t want a partner—you want a place to park

You don’t get my body without my permission

You don’t get my light when you run from your vision

You said love like it was penance

Like I was some indulgent sentence

You could speak to make you clean

But I am not your in-between

You said you cheated to get back at her ghost

As if your wreckage ever needed a host

You used me like a mirror—just to check your teeth

Then kissed the edge and called it grief

You said, “You told me to be respectful”

As if that was an apology

You meant “I’ll do just enough to not feel guilty”

While I stand here bleeding

You don’t get my body without my permission

You don’t get my mind as your exposition

I was never a subplot in your script

Never asked to audition for this trip

You loved me like a locked room

And I loved you like a wound

I see you

Finally

As a coward with a compass made of rust

You want love, but not the dust

Not the cleaning, not the trust

Just the fantasy

And the fuss

You don’t get my body without my permission

You don’t get my soul like some ghost transmission

I’m not the story you retell to feel strong

I was the place you never belonged

So call it love—call it sin

But you don’t get to come back in

No more

No permission

No more

No permission