Author’s Note: A theme about convincing yourself you’re the hunter.

I have tried to believe in the good. I have been so good. I’ve had “good girl” and “good boy” whispered in my ear so I must be. If you cut into me you’ll find only light. I’ll cut into my chest in front of you as you stare and I’ll blind you, predator, I’ll burst into light to stop you staring, and I’ll leave you there. I’ll jump into the skillet in front of you before you can begin to burn my edges. I know you like your steak raw, I know you like it when they’re still bleeding, still smiling. 

I have believed in the good. I have been bitten, touched, held, kissed. I have fallen into arms when I should have kept running. Under the club lights you can’t tell who really wants me. My life is like a film but it’s a documentary, really, and I am hunted. It’s a free drink, a free dance, a free body. Under those lights I am an animal, metal glinting from the last incision. Have the arm: the other one had the leg. I hear the neck is lovely this time of year. 

I have been so good. Look closely, you can see a halo. It’s a little rotted at the edges but it’s still good, still good, it just means the meat is softer anyway. I am a pit in your stomach. I am not a dying star, because I’m still alive, so alive. Look at how I drink. Look at how I dance. Could a dying person dance like this? Do the dead kiss back? 

Aren’t I good? My round face can be the moon to light up your fantasy, a reading light for the erotica you consume in the dark. I can be the taboo porn you watch, just buy me a drink and I’ll do anything. Look at how I dance. Look at how I smoke. I’m so nice, so soft, so receptive. I’ll cave and crumble at a single touch. Rebuild me in your image, I’ve been looking for a new one anyway. This face is so last year.  

I don’t have to be good, if you like. Sometimes I am chased in a dream and when I can’t wake up I give up, fall into their arms. It’s easier to do, anyway. It’s what a good girl does.