So busy!
Not turning into
A carrot.
remember
The shape
of my ass?
You might make time
For my funeral.
"That ass,"
you once said.
"A work of art."
while also respecting your choice
to run from my generous offer to let you stick your fingers up my vagina to retrieve the lost jade egg.
Not turning into
A carrot.
When I am dead
Will someone remember
The shape
of my ass?
Elusive Running Man,
New Year’s Eve’s Oblivion,You might make time
For my funeral.
"That ass,"
you once said.
"A work of art."
I appreciate
that,while also respecting your choice
to run from my generous offer to let you stick your fingers up my vagina to retrieve the lost jade egg.
After some consideration
I took this as a no.
The End.
In Honour of International Women's Day, I wanted to perform this poem. I had even prepared some choreography; however, it seems that videos posted to the blog are not available on mobile devices and so my vlogging career will be postponed. And oh well. It's possible I might regret the performance later.
This poem is still in honour of International Women's Day and is meant as a vague response to Sophie Trudeau's call for all women to post photos of themselves holding hands with their favourite male slash vagina advocates and allies.
For the five or so sentences worth of knowledge I have on Sophie Trudeau, I think we might actually get along. But I want Sophie to realize that not everyone is blessed with powerful and available male allies. For example, as this poem describes, two Fridays ago, the jade egg got stuck up my vagina and none of my male allies slash vagina advocates were around to stand up to the occasion. It happens that some people and their vaginas often find themselves at a bit of a loss.
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