If I Get Lonely, I’ll Pour An Ardbeg Uigeadail And Masturbate

And some of the men
show up
charming
with grandiose gestures
with big promises of vaulting moments
and then slink off
into the night
like the black cat
I read about in that children’s book
never to be seen again
and I just sit
on a white staircase
hitting the butt of a cigarette
into a tin can
watching the roundness of the moon
that is not quite full
and go
fuck
where did that one go?
and I know
I drive them into the night
running screaming in the daylight
as if there is coal under their feet
because I breathe a fire
that not many men can stomach
and all these new agey
bullshit courses
say I’m too masculine
and that I need to embrace my feminine
furnish my house with a pink blanket
walk in my hips
receive
not pursue
but I am what I am
and in the daytime I am building a fucking empire
that requires a facilitator
and a doer
and a mover
a shaker who makes choices
with her gut
I am not a minion
that sits quietly on the sidelines
I am up at night under the covers
creating plans of attack
of how to throw my art ferociously and impact-fully into this world
so no
I am not in the kitchen
using a pink bowl
making cupcakes
and being in my feminine
and sometimes I facilitate the fuck out of love
and try and make the moves
because I don’t have time to sit around and be pursued
I’m taking bites of this world
with each exhale
out of my stained red lips
so I guess
if they run
into the night
I can smack their ass
on the way out
and find a man who likes to be chosen
who likes to be pursued right back
and if he doesn’t
well, fuck him
I’ll just sit here and smoke cigarettes
in between building a god damn empire
and taking over this world
and if I get lonely
I’ll pour an Ardbeg Uigeadail
and masturbate.