Your Trauma Is Not My Foreplay
You mention your ex with that hungry light in your eyes
not sad, but the curious kind that makes my skin crawl
You ask for the worst thing that ever happened to me
like we’re trading horror stories against the wall
Every time I flinch, you lean closer, say “no really
I want to know, broken people go deep
” I am not here to bleed on your tongue for entertainment
call it intimacy, then watch you sleep.
You drop words like “damaged” and “ruined” with a smile
like they are pet names that make you sound wise
Say you love a challenge, that scars turn you on
that tears look hot in the right eyes
I sit here wondering how many times you turned someone’s worst night into a fantasy in your head
Then told your friends you attract drama while leaving a trail of wreckage in your bed.
You think you are edgy for wanting the cracked ones
a saint for touching what the world threw away
But you only show up for the crying and the shaking
not for the bills, not for the grind of the day
If you want the story but not the healing
you don’t get to stay.
Your trauma is not my foreplay
my nightmares are not a ride for you to take before you sleep
If my shaking hands turn you on more than my laugh
if the flashbacks are what you want to keep
You are not a lover, you are a tourist in a war zone
taking pictures while I dig out of the heap
Your trauma is not my foreplay
and my pain is not here to make your experience deep.
You ask what I’m into
then steer it back to force and fear and things I didn’t ask to live through
You talk about reclaiming
and maybe that works for some
but you never ask what is true for me
just what feels new
You call it cathartic without checking if my body agrees
or why I shake in the shower till my skin goes red
I need touch that sees me present
not replaying a file you keep in your head.
I am not saying pain and pleasure can’t meet
some people find power there, take control
But if your first instinct is to press on bruises you did not earn
you are not here for the whole
You are just here for the tears, the mess
the broken doll role.
Your trauma is not my foreplay
my nightmares are not a ride for you to take before you sleep
If my shaking hands turn you on more than my laugh
if the flashbacks are what you want to keep
You are not a lover, you are a tourist in a war zone
taking pictures while I dig out of the heap
Your trauma is not my foreplay
and my pain is not here to make your experience deep.
I want someone who hears the worst and still wants the rest
who knows when to step back and just sit
Someone who handles a “no” without pouting
sees a survivor, not a toy for their darkest pit
If that sounds too heavy
if you want the tears but not the years of work and the ugly grit
Then my door isn’t open
take your fantasies somewhere else where no one bleeds for it.
Your trauma is not my foreplay
I am not auditioning for your tragic lover dream
If you cannot love me laughing and bored
eating cereal from the box
you do not get me mid-scream, I am not your project
not your edgy proof that you aren’t as shallow as you seem
Your trauma is not my foreplay
and if that ruins the mood, good, that says everything.
Next time you feel turned on by a shaking voice talking about harm they never asked to know
Ask yourself if you are there to hold them or harvest them
and if it is the second, just go.