it may not seem much
to those whose voices
have truly been
silenced
but I am most definitely
constrained;
told to refrain from that which gives me life,
hemmed in by ‘them’
‘the man’
who, in this case,
happens to be a woman –
a prude who can’t bear my rudeness.
Crude poems unheard
spurred to box me in because
sex is shameful, sinful,
to be hidden.
I must be deterred from writing
about such things
that should be kept secret.
Fuck secrets.
Keeping things secret
they fester into the sordid.
We need to talk about sex.
We need to be okay talking about sex:
how it affects and infects and rejects;
how we want it, don’t want it
feed it, are greedy for it
know that it’s not seedy when it’s desired.
We need to be okay talking about sex.
Hiding,
chiding those who do,
who love the most natural thing in the world
the most basic human function
– don’t serve me an injunction because
you
can’t handle sex.
Don’t attack the very essence of who I am
because it doesn’t fit
with your worldview;
discrimination without recrimination
because you are in a position of power
and have decided, arbitrarily,
that I am a danger.
Because I dare to discuss sex.
Because I have a healthy love of it.
Because I want to see others enjoy it –
rather than be destroyed by it.
Don’t persecute me,
drag me into ill repute,
because you dispute my way of being,
are jealous that I know myself so well,
disturbed, perturbed by insistence
that my existence here remains
as you throttle my soul
harass me into leaving –
gagged until I do.
You abuse me, bully me:
this is discrimination.
But I will regain my voice
and continue to rejoice sex;
be a pioneer in the revolution,
be part of the solution.
And you?
Well,
you can remain
exactly
where you are.