another old poem, dredged up from the depths!
fucking doesn’t fulfil me
(tho’ it fills me in filthy ways)
different guys every time
picking up waifs and strays
makes me feel good in the moment
though those moments don’t last long
superficial and super-fast
I know in my heart it’s wrong
it’s a substandard substitute
I subject myself to when I subjugate these guys
and there’s nothing sublime in the outcome
just me in a hardened disguise
blocking out the best part of me
treating sex like a game
ignoring who I am and my true desires
to get laid; God how lame
when I know there’s so much more
than these fleeting encounters of mine
why can’t patience be my virtue
instead of stepping out of line
with men I can easily seduce
waving my boobs in their face
fun but ultimately meaningless
I feel like such a disgrace
I don’t want to lure them in from now
I want someone special in my life
someone who’ll love every part of me
who knows, p’raps one day make me their wife
so I’ll try and stop this pointless parade
of guys who share my bed
this substandard substitute
is fucking
with my head