Why some people's self esteem never rises

You shouldn't let others
Tell you what you can
And cannot do

Easy to say
But hard to do
Especialy when you have nothing
To compare it to

Men

Do we hate them all the while
We pretend to love them?
Or do we love them deep inside
While we constantly attack them?

With devotion poured into us for generations
And rebellion drummed into us constantly
We have such a hard time

Trying to deny our own love
That we feel for them underneath it all
That is neither
But includes bits of both
And many other things

That awkward moment

When people take your niceties
For passionate interest
In their lives

i will never be with you

your appearance online

never fails to dampen
my date

repeating it enough times

 will make it true

The magic of secrets

What attractions can beauty hold
Or erudition
Or charm

Against complicity

Against a (wo)man
Who will tell me
All the secrets of the heart
And swear to me
That I am the only one to know

Thing of beauty

I remember being so tired of men
Writing about women's breasts
I knew, when i shed my inhibitions,
I would write about a man's body

But, the words fail me
As
In my imagination
I turn away from
Flat (pun intended) chests
And find myself describing
Things of beauty,
Curiosity,
Complexity,

{
What is it?

(Let's face it, we are ALL obsessed with
Women's bodies?)

(I am bisexual?)

(Ubiquitous male literuature has
objectified women so much
That i have internalized it?)
}