NaPoWriMo Day 8 – Have Your Sexual Experiences In Life Really Been As Exciting As The Way You Portray Them In Your Poetry?

Today is a relatively personal poem. I’m not following the prompt because I already did the rondeau the other day and I think for now, I’m done with rigid forms. There’s only so much of that discipline I can give myself in such a short space of time. Instead I’ve written a bit of a riposte. It’s largely about the fact that I read too much poetry and fiction by men who can’t seem to shut up about their penises, and how adorable and sexy they are, and it’s always such a humblebrag when it’s done, too. Not all men who write poetry do this, it’s just a particular *kind* of man who writes poetry. But, for the women who at some point have accidentally wound up with these men, this one’s for you. It’s called Have Your Sexual Experiences in Life Really Been As Exciting As You Portray Them In Your Poetry? 

When I say “exciting” I mean did those words really get
Thought up between your sheets, warm and damp as a 
Finished-with towel, the way you buoy your words in waves
Of hulking, lurching meter; is every word meant, is everything
True? Does that line work? Do they bite when they find out you’re
On your third book now, or is it more the natural, certain charm
You brag about in verse? Did you never have a bad time? Was 
It always effortless, and does every woman’s hair have to fall like
A waterfall of silk, do all their eyes have to burn with aspect, is
Every woman beautiful to you, or is it just the beautiful ones?
And the small village that makes up your written-down ex-lovers
Which resident am I? You mention hoards of wives and future wives
They’re baking bread and pruning roses, peeling garlic by the sink
Performing oral sex, picking the children up from school
One changes the newborn’s nappy, another does it like nobody else
But where’s the mention of the one who cries in bed, the one who 
Drinks, the one who thinks you’re selfish? Funny, there’s no mention
Of the women who desert you, who move on, who sever ties from you?
If I didn’t know you better I’d say you were pretty lucky
That all you know of love is Francophiles with hazel eyes
And sex that really moves you every time, and tears you’ve cried
With joy, the ever-rosy glow of it, the profound jolt, the perfection
You humbly claim: and when you say in books that I wore make-up
Just to please you, you forget to say I left you when I realised you’re
A liar. 

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