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