I am growing over
Returning myself to my state of nature
I don’t feel beautiful like flowers are beautiful,
But I feel real and honest like trees
With broken or naked branches
I am big, strong, sheltering, useful,
But not always pretty
My sex is drying up
Pleasure comes between covers made of paper
Not between sheets or on computer screens.
Please is moments of peace and quiet
In the middle of a chaotic world,
Not moments of bundled nerves stimulated by artificial vibrations
For the first time in months
I don’t want your arousal
I want your mental attention.
I want to partner (Ashtanga) yoga with you –
Engage our bodies through the efforts of our minds
And the strength of our hearts
So often a man is just a life sized representation of his sex,
A big penis with a voice
And we women stay disappointed because men
Are so often flaccid, at rest.
We always want them to be poised for action,
At attention, ready to perform.
I get so frustrated with the processing of arousing a man to action.
A constant arousal, readiness, would be exhausting
And would more often than not lend itself to disappointment.
Better to only come alive when you know the arousal will accomplish something
But women are in a state of constant, latent arousal.
We are walking wombs,
ready at any moment to be receptacles of men’s accomplishments,
to be impregnated with the future.
And, yes, it is exhausting!
But I find it near impossible to only act when aroused.
Sometimes, someone needs to me act
And I’m glad I don’t have to ask them to wait until I can rise to the occasion
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