I think with being in the clear
And knowing I’m not pregnant
I can now look back and say to you
“fucking weird! but no regrets.”

I think with being in the clear
And having started my period
I’ve replaced my downcast worry and reminisces
With “holy crap, that was hilarious!”

The sex was non-eventful it didn’t even matter if
I was there or not —
Now I laugh at the epic failure
Instead of calling you a cunt!

red dress

“Love does not make itself felt
in the desire for copulation
(a desire that extends to
an infinite number of women)

but in the desire for shared sleep
(a desire limited to one woman)”
so says Milan Kundera, making me rethink
his pushing me off the bed as ‘fun’!

I still have a green bruise from where
my shin hit the end table
I remember it now as I recall nasty things
of which he said he was capable.

But the unbearable lightness of
Being so fucking stupid as to drink with him
To have been swayed by those chick feelings:
of compassion and of nurturing?

I didn’t even want to hang out
after the two times that we met!
A confrontational sunovabitch
but in the end, this: no regrets.

So thank you for a negative experience
The next guy’s gonna score big!
To recover from this insult,
Just tell your friends you weren’t interested.

I’ll say you’re a complex Tomas in a Kundera
And all the guys Constance meets in D.H. Lawrence
To the Kingsley’s dude who try to de-virgin
The innocent school teacher; take a girl like this!

Guess it’s true what she said:
“All men are beasts”
And to that she added:
“And we love them, anyways.”

To that I say it could very well happen that
I will become a lesbian
(Should pharmaceutical companies continue to support
the morning-after pill solution on account of douche-bag pricks.)

Not really because like Kundera says
A woman likes the weight of a man
It’s that heaviness that brings meaning to our lives
In ways the poets understand.

I think with being in the clear
And knowing I’m not pregnant
I can now look back and say to you
“I would have totally kept your kid.”

Cause you’re not a bad guy.
But I don’t know why
You didn’t pull out
When you could have.

Don’t say it’s cause he’s a rockstar
There have been many came before him
Who didn’t come at all inside
And beforehand, asked about protection.

Stupid girls take shit like this
And turn it into a compliment
Chalk up the reason he didn’t pull out
To “oh he likes me, and was so caught up in it” innit?

Wise at 39, and dumber than the doorknob
that ripped my red dress sleeve as I was packing in the morning
Calm, at ease, I didn’t freak in panic
As he was done his knocking-upping and banging.

His breath was heavy
Was this a sign?
Naa, cause he said the night before
That’s one of his moves, man: he mimes.

Copies the chick in her breathless pants
Well watch me then how I grab your ass
In letting him release like a losing-it pansy
I kind of felt like the man. [not really]

I think with being in the clear
And knowing I’m not pregnant
I can now look back and say to you
“I’m glad it ended like this.”

‘Cause in the end, this: ‘Better pass boldly
into the other world in the flight of some full passion
than dwindle slowly with age’ said James Joyce
in his The Dead infinite wisdom.

Well Good God, muppet,
Ya went out with a bang!
Dwindled flaccid at the sink
When you pulled out at last – went to brush your teeth …
… leaving me.

I still had stardust leaking on my inner crotch-thigh in the wake
And trail of his shooting comet, but see:
In the starlight, and while he was inside,
my beauty remained intact – and natural to me.

I feel badly for girls whose self-esteem
Is abused when a guy uses them for sex
Whether a poet, a madwoman or trying to ignore it
I was not a thing: possessed.

Who was he thinking of?
Girl of the Canada South?
The other girl with whom
He’d recently been mucking about?

I remember one rockstar
I couldn’t even touch
Because I knew he had a girlfriend
And I didn’t want to fuck her up.

But on the tiny sofa
In my head it was just … us.
My deepest sadness comes from telling the world
But I had to – I had to rush it out and off.

I think with being in the clear
And knowing I’m not pregnant
I can now look back and wish to you
Nothing but (double) rainbows and happiness.

After more than 50 guys
Who I laid beside naked
Who offered fingering and petting
And mutual masturbation

After just 6 boyfriends
Who laid inside
Who offered love, understanding
And protection (unlike you, #7)

You’re the only one who …
You’re the …
You are

When people ask me “Do you have kids?”
I’ll remember you pushing me OFF the bed.
Only to take me ON the couch
With the best of the thickest, and violent strength in touch
But with absolutely nothing close to the feeling of Love.

“No,” I’ll speak.
‘Might have done – once,’ I’ll think.
Pat my belly in address.
Maybe I’ll be in that red dress?

If you ever think of me packing,
eating two granola bars in the morning
remember my red dress?
I’ve blocked your email address, and texts.
No redress for this.
This is the end, this.

No redress…

© Sylvie Hill 2013