A poem/rap/song about the oral-sex gap and how it highlights the need to transcend to a divine-feminine energy of nurture, compassion, intuition and imagination (something all genders have access to). I’ll be performing this on Thursday at Extra Second, the theme being sexuality.
Mend me, defend me
Wear me, tear me
If you must
I trust my self-worth
The robust, lack-lust
Paying your field of vision
To the thankless
Picking up from born, or when born
Women wank less
Mixing up your crude definitions
With a frankness, distress
That I’m feeling guilt from the spilt
Words that I confess
But when I’m gyrate-insane
Met with blankness, thankless
Think my clits a nuke button that you can’t press?
That I’m yours when the door’s
Closed and I’m undressed
Nah, I’m just a vessel in this wrestle
For your fuck-mess, I guess.
Lay down, as I drown
In your excess life stress, repressed
Then boom, as you ingress
My ever pending turn as I yearn
For your address
I’m guessing from your face
That it’s a rather nice process.
Wait, just one second…fuck yes!
Right there, success
Oh you’re bored, well that’s progress
I’ll caress, time-compressed, in darkness
I know you find my self-pleasure hard, bless.
My vagina’s complex, yes
Does that not add to the fun of our sex?
That I don’t blow my load one minute or less
Over something as little as your fucking arm flex
(Lifeless pursuit in the root of lust
Looking for spirit it your pelvic-thrust
Don’t respect my limits, I’ll learn to adjust
For you’re the absent piece in my soul I trust)
Now, I don’t wish to sound
Like a compound of ungrounded, unfounded
Hate, amongst the well-rounded
Poems sexuality generates
But mate, come on, let me slate
The fact my turn is up for debate
Whilst yours is seen as straight
Contract in our contact
‘But I’m not good, at that’,
I’ll reinstate that at non-negotiable rate
Until the gates of pleasure are opened.
Your trait of cunnilingus hate,
You can, like most, choose to transcend
At any moment.
For this shall propagate
A revolutionary state
Based on the compassionate weight,
Inside us, and babe,
Shall compensate for your total of eight
Thrusts before your lifeforce dissipates.
The divine-feminine future
I advocate, is fate
By that, I mean we’ll amputate
Our hyper-masculine, Donald Trump-esque spate
That needlessly say, alienate
Fixate on, dissociate from and dictate
Females, gays, straight, minorities great
Though this is learned and love innate
This realisation’s fucking late
But don’t wait to deflate
Your ego, oh no
Just take some time to penetrate.