“Respectable”
since you wanted me,
I ask myself—
to what point
did I become more respectable?
was it the mirror of your eyes,
the sudden weight of your touch,
the way my name sounded
different in your mouth?
or was it only illusion,
a costume stitched
from your desire,
a mask I wore
because you believed in it?
respectability—
a fragile crown,
bestowed, withdrawn,
never entirely mine.
and yet,
in that moment,
I stood taller,
as if your wanting
had remade me.
.