It's yet another virginal autumn
sliding through the
core of my esophagus,
the most bitter medication,
and the healthiest
to some "He" I've never met.

Let us all take a gander
at the undersexed ice queen,
turning his moans
into a frostbitten cackle
heard far past his grave
crafted with the polarizing
limestone of unintentional cynicism.

He sits at the bumper
of your public transportation system,
perfectly positioned in the middle,
so he can play God,
he jokes!

But it's because he loves people watching.
People watching
is not
people knowing;
people watching
is not
people loving.

Judgmental
is a barrier
same as those
elementary PSAs
about saying no to
strangers, also known as
creepy men with toupees
in decades-old station wagons;
these filthy humans,
all know that man,
all are his children,
all his faithful followers,
his filthy, faithful followers,
no sensual thoughts
will creep into my untouched oats
this grimy morning!

I will never
have dreams
in warm Equator-creeping nights
of making friction with their flesh,
even the boy,
the beautiful boy
standing savagely
on this public bus,
making the waves
pumping through this contraption
that makes up my frame
no longer stagnant,
rabid with the saliva
begging to drop
to commemorate
my loss for words
and my panting
need
for action.

His body is eternally dripping
with the juice of a hard man's labor
luminous vibrance through the skin,
the power of the Latin sun
in the drops of salt running
all the way
down his body

and I feel myself
recording his existence,
no name needed,
just his face
and body
in this rhythmic Orlando morning.

un·hap·py·man*   [uhn-hap-ee-man]

-Noun
1. Undersexed.

2. Underfed.

3. *Archa­ic . Doing dishes; cleaning; childcare

The kid with the beard and the ***** apron,
he's just trying to make it.
His shoes have small tears on the sides,
from the way water saturates and weakens the material.
He’s got this way of gliding from table to table,
the same way a dancer owns a stage.
He slides plates of salt-ridden tacos currently in vogue
to a roomful of overfed, undersexed office drones

A woman in a skirt and flip-flops rolls her eyes at a salad.
A ******* in a blazer flicks a ****** under the table.
Still, there's a twinkle in the kid’s eyes,
like he's on the make.
If the right circumstances unfold
he’d snag a loose twenty
from a wallet or a purse.

This is the server's life,
always under the thumb,
hated and stressed,
but always laughing
at the end
of each shift.

I know how to quickly dissolve
in literary forms
But you must beware, be aware, because...
He didn't **** you - you don't know what really hurts
Life is wider than all of these thoughts

I'd rather have Lil' Kim than McKinnon
I'd rather feel ***** and filthy
That we women are still shamed
for feeling, behaving this way!

Not all men are enemies - you are a Iago, poisonous snake
whispering noisily on our ears
But I'm over it because with LOVE I am filled.

And this is the crux of it:
you can **** yourself. You can ****.
You can drive to your ruin. Who's to blame?
Not you, but not him.

I have a man. He's the one.
He's got me. I am his, whole.
Shame me for feeling in love!
Shut up, you fake feminist.
Stop your spell, your undersexed kiss.

Love and **** - then we'll talk

I am ***** a thousand times
but not in the ways you describe
I am ***** by men calling me a ****.
I am ***** by a system that doesn't understand.
I am ***** by women like you - ****** my brains

Girls keep blowing! they'll keep touching you ****
Men don't deceive us - we will not answer to this