I Write

He leaned in toward me and whispered “Josephine, how do you write poems that turn me on so much?”

I write the stuff that makes you hot
Makes you think
Tips your shit
And makes you drink.

I’m a feminist
But really I write for those
That never had a voice.

I was given away
As a child
Pissed off
Would be rather mild.

I write for men
I write for women
Mostly for the voices
Hidden within them.

I’m a catastrophe
A train wreck
Divorced so many times
Never had a home
Or a childhood
But oh so many rhymes.

I create
And explore
I visualize your weakness
Then make you beg for more.

Cuss like a sailor
And a temptress
I love to fuck your mind.
Your mother will hate me
But I’d honestly fuck you blind.

You say you lost me
But did you have me?
I don’t think I settled the score
The raunchy are the rich sometimes
That think a woman is a whore.

I say the words
Your afraid of
But think of every day.
I love broken sailors
And ladies gone astray.

I think women kick ass
And write crap
Sometimes that makes no sense.
We dream of bunnies
And berries
Yet keep a cummed up dress.

I write the things that nobody will say
Everyone thinks of
But hopes it goes away.

I’m a reminder
Of a past
That you never seemed to taste.
I’m a shortcoming
In a whirlwind
And I’d lay your ass to waste.

I could turn you on
Then piss you off
Without a second thought.
A marker in a beacon
That never got caught.

I write for me
And for you
All the truth within.
If you think my writing is over
This is where I begin.

My Solace

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