I Am Me, Not the Sum of My Intimate Parts

I feel my clothing against my skin,
Brings me comfort, like a phenothrin,
Killing the sick ticks and fleas that wish to feed,
But from some, I would not be freed
Should we ever meet at any point,
I feel the burn of every single joint,
When I pop them, the minor stinging skin,
But only if I try too hard, speaking for my kin,
Causing the roses to droop and wilt,
Like a pinball game in a perpetual tilt,
Stuck in a time loop, I wish, and I wish,
Over and over, for the same decent things,
To be treated like normal human beings,
I wish my clothing was a part of my body,
Unable to be removed, lest it make me bloody,
So no one could ever have the chance to see
The precious skin that I don't want them to see.
Intimacy, is not the end-all-be-all,
Someday I'll choose who, if at all,
Maybe I will, maybe I won't,
Like the waves of a calm bayfront,
I live my life how I want,
I do want children, so maybe that's the only reason
I'll allow anyone in my garden, no web of lies spun,
No half-truths, I refuse to lead-on,
Always upfront about my lack of desire,
Helping to avoid situations dire.
To me, I am a being of light, of stars, of the void,
But many don't see that, they are a hemorrhoid,
A sore, sad and pathetic, a waste of space,
Would they have the gall to say to my face,
Or more likely behind my very back,
Expressing the confidence and performance they lack,
That they only see me as parts, as a body?
By being overly sexual to show off what they don't have,
Afraid to be seen and met with a laugh,
As brats who always get their way, snotty,
Who have never been told no in any way,
And who would kill to get their way,
In the dark of night, or the bright of day,
Just because I exist, does not mean I am a plaything,
I am a being, not an object, not a thing,
I know demons exist, I'm not blind,
I'm not a child, ignorant and behind,
I'm not pretending and thus unprepared,
I sit and watch, with my teeth fully bared,
The media peacefully portrays them,
Makes us the butt of their jokes, and saints them,
Idolizes them, basically knights them,
If you don't or not often imagine someone unclothed,
Then you are portrayed as inhuman, and thus loathed,
If you don't or not often want to be intimate,
Then you don't deserve to choose your mate,
If you have never been intimate, then to them, you're lame,
It's all about how often you play the game,
About bringing yourself that wretched version of fame,
But I fight back, I resist, I push and shove my words out,
I throw my words at people like cooking pasta,
Seeing what sticks, if I am done,
My mouth, I seem to just start daringly run,
Bursting forth, venting, and ranting like flairs of the sun,
I scream into the void, unable to be heard by helpful ears,
Facing the faces of "freedom", an earful of jeers,
Hands around my throat, the world tries to mute each note,
But I continue to write and speak, my words I won't sugarcoat,
I'm not one to fight, I'm not volent,
But should it arise, I won't sit and take an insult torrent,
I don't start fights, but I'm prepared to finish them,
And so help the ones who think I won't beat them.