Expectations of Sexuality

Expectations of Sexuality

Jasmine Mans
Angela Thompson


They taught him to be brave
He’s trained like a shoulders
A worrier of a light too bright to ever claim him as his sun.
To fight battles in wars that will exist too long to ever remember his name
he is the resurection of a tradition that existed way before his last name
He wears his forefather’s armor like pertection
Pokes out his chest until his spine curves into the proper shape that manhood requires
They trained him to fight
To know how to shoot a gun
Taught him how to let his manhood hang like his suite tie
Cuff his worries under his colar

They taught me exist in levels
hold my head up
poke out my chest
pee standing up
never ever dance parellel to happiness
I will never know what its like to shoot a 9 millimeter loaded with daiseys
to sprinkle glitter off the edge of hope
I will never know what my heart beat sounds like when its finished callasping under my bullet proof vest

They taught him to run
they taught him to run in his cleets, but to never track the dirt and gravel into the house
run towards freedom
claim life as his own
play salsa with the pinks of flesh and never pay attention long enough to know when he’s dipping him too close insanity
they taught him to wear his scars proudly

I paint black eyes on with eye liner proudly
Let’s his blood drip off his jersey like a badge of honor
Spaghetti Sauce drips off my apron like blood like a badge of honor
They taught her to exist in levels
poke out my ass
tut up my nose
relax my shoulders
i was never taught to think past my knee highs
As women we were educated in etiquette
they taught me to walk in high heels
balance my soul on the tips of my toes
As if we lack the strength to stand
Raised in the mist of wars
play victim to this world because as long as my hair is done right someone will always save me
wear enough perfume, because these soldiers are trained to sniff out the weak
make sure my shoes are not built for running, so he can carry me while he saves me
make sure your light enough to hold so its easy for him to pick me up when he saves me
and when he’s done saving me,
Make sure i lick his wounds
stroke his scars
Creasing his jeans like our self esteem
Learn to creep under his feet like carpet
I put on my apron like armer Our spatchulas as swords
only as alive as our oven mit
strape knives and forks to your waist line like weapons
Go to war for him
i am the resurection of a tradition that existed way before their timeline
mind your manners
take off your helmet when you step inside my battle feilds