A male human who has been loved in his body, in his juice and flesh, does not force that body onto unwilling others. He knows that sex is in the waiting. The waiting for air to ignite when eyes meet and a hand is extended. This thing I will not call a government is an expression in every sense of rape culture and the lonely unhappiness inside it. A shit-storm tantrum. How dare you not love me. How dare you prefer not male and not white to me! I was promised I was the thing to be loved, and you, world, have lied.