Real girls are spongy.
I bounce off them
and ricochet around the room,
leaving splats of colorÂ
on the walls and the floors,
drippingÂ
oozingÂ
spilling
into crevices and corners,
finger painting
the imperfect lines of their bodies,
wiping off the colors
to reveal the skin beneath.
* * *
She was a robotÂ
for love.
A girl
made of bolts and screws.
The perfect woman.
Programmed to hug,
kiss and caress.
To always say yesÂ
to his every whim.
Built to love.
Built to cook.
No baggage.
No needs.
Just pure devotion.
Even that wasn’t enough.
Everything he wanted
wasn’t really what he wanted.
And everything she had to give
really wasn’t enough.