Poems about Sexuality
Poems about Sexuality
small
i don’t understand the fascination
one slightly bigger than the other
because they symbolize being nurtured?
being cared for?
receiving sustenance
from mother?
not tiny
when i see a woman, naked
i see so much more
not voluptuous
i stare at her face
get lost in her eyes
feel the person underneath
fleshy
i imagine what she feels
what she’s seen
what she’s been through
tender
i taste her wisdom
her joys, her sorrows
breasts
that’s what draws me in
(from my zine crushed & dirty mangoes)
who will TEACH me
about the men
and what the men want?
who will PROTECT me
from the men
and what the men want?
who will HELP me
with the men
now that my father is gone?
my mother? the busy one working
to survive, fighting to put food
on our table, sacrificing herself,
for me, the one wondering
about the men?
1.
show me yours, I’ll show you mine
bossy as far back as I can remember
playing doctor, never becoming
a real one
2.
a predator, a prank caller
fantasizer of my beautiful mother
my father, just as beautiful—more so, perhaps
who knows how long the man watched—hid, perhaps
in plain sight, pretending to care
about them, about me, about us
"Hi! Have you ever seen your parents naked?"
“um, yes”
“What do they look like when they are naked? Describe them to me.”
“um, okay”
me, going along, trying to give
the man what he asked for
me, going along, trying to give
the man what he wanted
my father, sensing danger
yanked the phone from my hands
“Hello. Who is this?”
(from my zine, SexTell)
1.
the girlie magazine I found under the drink
machine at the drugstore. the same place I’d find
loose coins that had fallen and gotten stuck
underneath the machine. a space too tight. too far
back for large hands to reach. or simply not worth
the effort. I stared at images of the women. their
breasts. their legs wide open. I felt things I didn’t
understand. different than what I felt for the boys.
my aunt. the one who was supposed to be
watching me. caught me unaware. grabbed the
magazine from my hands. asked what the hell was
wrong with me. threatened to tell my mom. stared
at me with disdain. as if I were some kind of sicko.
days passed. nauseous with fear. my mother never
mentioned a thing. perhaps she was too tired from
working three jobs. just trying to keep up. just
working to survive.
2.
You!
who pulled up next to me in your car
as I rode my bike safely on the sidewalk
You!
who called out
to get me to look
You!
who stuck your dick out
and rubbed it hard
You!
who scared me to death
and made me pull into the driveway of a stranger
You!
who pulled away fast
like a scared little pussy
3.
my friend who seemed to know everything
that one should know at my age
the one who never judged my innocence
I stared at her lips while she explained things
how to smoke Marlboro’s, how to inhale
but not so far that it burns
we smoked in her room
we snacked on Little Debbie’s, Twinkies
food not allowed at my house
we watched the Playboy channel on the tiny TV
in her room, sprawled like amoeba on her bed
her parents checking in on us from time to time
4.
I instructed you to get naked and lay
on top of me
I don’t remember what we did
with your penis, if I told you
to penetrate—or not
your confusion overcome by your eagerness
to please me
we rocked on top of each other
on top of the master’s bed
while the boy I was babysitting slept
in the room next door
harassed by a predator
who called my house
who watched me through my bedroom window
harassed by a predator
who stayed hidden from view
who evaded the cops and my mother
harassed by a predator
who made me fear living
in my own home
(from my zine, SexTell)
my first love, so I thought at the time
the one who worked hard to capture
my attention, my affection, my love, my virginity—blood
on the sheets, proof I was a good girl
from a good family, convinced
I was the one
(from my zine, SexTell)
lies
the lies needed to main/tain the
s - e - c - r - e - t
living in a hell of our own doing
y - o - u - r - s - a - n - d - m - i - n - e
unbearable anger nestled deep
deafening silence, un/able/willing to speak
feeling like a snake has wound itself
around my neck, slowly
tightening its grip—poisoning
every relationship