don’t tell me
don’t tell me
that i can’t fuck around
maybe i don’t care if they’re not as smart, as slick-savvy as you
so what if they don’t have your big cock
or buy me diamonds and pearls and rubies
in platinum or eighteen karat gold
don’t tell me
that i shouldn’t stay out or turn off my phone
or take candy from strangers
because you just might not be around
when i change my mind
don’t tell me
that i just don’t care, that it doesn’t mean a thing
that i’m just a fucking cunt
a bitch from hell, a vicious harpy, a narcissistic wench
well … just because
we already know that,
don’t we?
don’t tell me
that i’m your perfect girl,
or call me babe, or honey, or sweetheart
for christ’s sake, get a grip
keep your sticky fingers to yourself
take your heart off your sleeve
and stick your dick back into your pants
don’t tell me
that it’s chemistry or destiny,
we’re written in the stars
get over your romantic self
and off me, out of my face
wipe off that drool
straighten your tie
stand up like a man
and don’t tell me.
HDB
I sense a bit of hostility here.
litmajor
Hostility and then some! But, after staggering from the assault of this poem, I looked back to see how carefully crafted it is. Is the poet addressing one man who has tried many lines? Or many men, who have tried in different ways to constrain her? Or both? It’s another fine piece, Angela; I just hope it was written long ago and doesn’t reflect your current perceptions of the men around you.
Angela St. Lawrence
This is totally not a personal poem. Just kinda-sorta written from a fem-dom cuckold kinda vein. More or less. Although, I will admit to having felt this way a time or two in the midst of dating/relationship stuff.
Sponge Bob
Ouch! Okay, you win. I won’t tell you.
hot java
Angela, your life warrants the constant presence of an “Artist at Work” sign. I am sure you have felt at least on rare occasion, that if the male lips are moving, he must be lying. But I know your golden heart too and you, precious one, should only be cherished.
MarvinsBrain
You sure know how to put a low-life loser in his place.
Cuckold Ray
i AM the guy in the poem and Angela St Lawrence personifies my lover, almost to a T. The only difference is my lover still likes me to call Her babe and to express my love (although i am not allowed to have sex to completion with Her). It is the biggest turn on for Her to have a guy like me to abuse FOR REAL and i have found that the humiliation and emotional pain more than compensates for any lack of physical sex. i genuinely feel it is the hottest time of my life, my self actualization.
i genuinely believe that i am luckier than any of the guys she is having sex with right now. a wasted orgasm after a week of denial is awesome.