Poem: What they Did

I don’t know what she’s thinking, circles and star wand

waving speaks volumes but not to me

because probably, I don’t know what it does

or did, garble roaring from beyond and behind recalling

poison prejudice and misting it around, but that’s only me

living in past fantasy short stories I scribbled

on bathroom walls, but prison shower brawls

are titilating so never mind because that’s what ignited

all of my phallus fulcrum tilting face first

into fantasy, so maybe that’s her too, maybe.

Her name was Samantha.

 

I describe what I am as parts and pieces missing,

that’s all there is really and you’re all just weird

about it, no never mind is more than I’ll go, thinking over

what quote unquote nature puts as my outline

in this reality but it’s only rules, so they can fuck me

over with a penis, but I am what I am and that’s all

that I am a woman is all that I know and I can’t

live this way anymore so I won’t, and that’s all they need

to know, is that I am a woman, and have ever been.

His name was Jeremy

 

Jeremy and Samantha burning lake of laughter

fuels a fire, an ignition inferno expanding and licking

all the lips, in and out shimmy shammy and they both loved

the inner body, licking his and her arteries exploring

each and every option of all possible permutations,

but then he discovered what she used to be and he laughed

and said that he knew, and that they should do

what they were made to do and so they did.

They made love and it was cool.

Poem: What they Did

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