Thursday 6 August 2009

Intercourse

Sexuality is a floating mystery,
hidden in everybody’s mistaken Freudian ministry.
Better with affection, agreement together,
but for women it’s a travesty, a vacant point of entry,
a wham blam sham.
This habit of unnecessary intercourse
is done for a class act purpose,
and for the brutally ignorant - forced.

Intercourse is the standard performance,
men expect this act, a handshake for a
slave’s contract. Get on side, be part of his class,
he’ll get inside, but you won’t be equal in his class.

The male persists, he occupies and penetrates, uninvited for his satisfaction alone. ‘Help me through,’ says he, ‘my painful passage in this cruel world, just reciprocate, be my willing victim,’ – a parking slot for his need.

He burrows, frustrates, hurts, pushes, wounds, forces, surely not in pleasure but for power, and rarely together, in those who are his captured prisoners, any age will do, pregnant and fragile, lonely or unwillingly fertile, injured or ill, but he doesn’t care. His consuming passion for the moment? Maybe just flippant, he might not even want it, it’s propriety, a safeguard for his superiority.

He segregates the fallen from the pure,
but for both, his dirty pain is intended to procure
It’s a bully’s act without permission
the folly of a sadistic fool’s mission.


Every colour and creed, smile an innocence to believe, blackman, Chinaman, Muslim, Christian, they’ll all make you a whore, you’re just the slut in their flaw. When you protest they retreat behind their class - defensive, accused, impeded to fake that gallantry, but what you get now is a vanity of bigotry -
that’s the arrogant fault you want to halt.


Have sympathy for the ‘normal’ male act of sufferance, and when they do, remember, 70% of women don’t.
It’s a waste and an endurance, empty and sore, and for me, a violation, an act of war.

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