MIDNIGHT SNACK

He, the gyrating hormone
The man across the room
Thrusting so close to me
As if he knew me
But doesn't really know me at all

Doesn't care
If I write poetry
Doesn't care
If I like to draw
Doesn't care
If I find him remotely attractive
Doesn't care
If I care to dance with him at all

I push him away but he's my shadow
I push him away but he just comes back
I tell him NO I do not like this
I tell him NO , but he does not hear
The words that come from my mouth
For eyes are always saying yes

To him? to him I am but a conquest
I smell the alcohol on his breath
And I turn away from his face
As he stares upon my breast

I shove him off but he's my shadow
I shove him harder but he is deaf
To my words

And he is drunk and I can smell it
And I can tell what he wants
I can feel it
I know it isn't conversation, isn't what I'd prefer
In his mind, I am not Michele, 
Not even a woman
But one of plural, her.

Her with the jeans on!
Her with the brown hair!
Her with the dancing moves!
Who? He doesn't care

And as he follows me through the night
I yell: get your hands off of me
don't come near me
Can't you see
I am not your midnight snack
Nor will I ever be!