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Thoughts after Imperfect Enjoyment (2016)

Written 12/01/2016

They provide so little too imperfect enjoyment fixated on the grind and sway of practiced hips. When did I put in the work for another's pleasure. Was I no longer a treasure? 

Was this my sin for diving into unmarried sheets and practicing infertility night after night. A dismal praise to the sexual twilight. What a bloody hell between my golden thighs as I think why

Why i shudder under weight not my own to atone for social pressures yet I slept alone. These lips met strangers and craved a friend beyond one night mingles that did not satisfy the sexual tingle 

Yet i arise to meet the next in a list of not tender tinder or meet a gender bender. It's boring, I plead seeking love in lust when I'm the romance in a dance of one. This isn't fun. 

A solo act that starred duets that warranted memory of attacks, under the warmth of moonlight tears were shed and I prayed that my mother would forgive me. 

Forgive me mother for I have sinned again and again wondering what enjoyment was produced at the head between my thighs with the resonance of pleasured cries.

Dare my hands wander over a committed man who paid for my attentions in compliments for my ebony skin. Black women win, he said. White covered my skin. 

I shudder dear mother at imperfect enjoyment I find none but need all. I'm sorry I lied, the virgin in my eyes knows how to succubus in the world of cruel and greedy men. 

I know the world, the dark world in the sheets, in contraceptive plastic and in chains. I'll kneel to worship the tool of sin for that I'm sorry I lied and lie some more, no longer pure but the maiden whore.