Yes I’ve said I was on the pill even though it’s a lie,
no men don’t cum inside you willy-nilly anyway nowadays,
would that they did, we’ve become so risk-averse as a society,
no one wants the insouciant one night stand leading
to an unplanned pregnancy, if they ever did,
childcare costs too much and all the men
are terminally figuring it out, or the ones pursuing you ask
if you’ve flicked your bean today while thinking of them,
that’s an ick right there, an instant turnoff
in a world of endless off ramps,
yet somehow you’re spreading your legs on command
for a man who calls you “girlie,”
it’s not so bad being praised as a girlie as you would think,
even if it sounds terminally unsexy,
some people just have the way with it,
know the magic code, the secret
domineering spirit that opens all doors,
puts those of a certain proclivity on their knees,
it’s not right or fair and it likely means
you’ll never have a child despite stated intentions in that direction,
barring a fated lapse aligning with the wishes of the stars,
would that their wishes were the same as mine for once,
absent that at least some regular sex would be nice,
I can lower the bar, just try me—just ask