Silence

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.

 

Silence

 

 

 

 

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