Email Poem

Your IP Address: 3.145.0.77
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
...At that he laughed, and she seemed quite surprised,
he said, “Oh yeah, I guess that you have got me.
A man must be gay if he won’t jump at
rhe chance to get a crack at some p#!sy.

“Honestly, do you see the arrogance
in thinking that makes you somehow divine?
There are four billon women on this planet
who have the same thing right between their thighs.

“Maybe ten years ago you’d have been right,
I would have jumped at the chance for some trim,
but twenty-year-olds are so damn stupid,
I’m glad every day I’m no longer him.

“And what kind of man do you think I am,
that I would go poach another mans’ game?
Make him feel the pain of a cheating girl,
when in a week I won’t recall your name?

“Besides, what do you really offer me
that I couldn’t go find anywhere else?
Your not a kind person, and I doubt you
have any interesting stories to tell.

“A girl getting by only on her looks
is something that I understand in full,
and most girls like you don’t grow beyond that,
in the end, I doubt you’re all that special.”

Cassidy wasn’t much for reflection,
she screamed, “You’re a hateful misogynist!”
The man rolled his eyes, turned back to his drink,
and said, “I no longer have time for this.”

She kept screaming, but he paid he no heed,
then the bartender ordered her away,
Cassidy stormed out, now much to angry
to think about sex or even to stay.

For long years afterwards she’d speak of that man,
tell her friends the tale of this hateful jerk,
leaving out the part about wanting some play,
since that might just reflect badly on her.

But time is a killer, twenty years on
she was unmarried, and found more and more
that men paid little attention to her,
and seemed to treat dating her like a chore.

Even worse, all the roles had stopped coming,
even the indie films gave her a pass,
she'd turned to softcore, portrayed as a 'MILF,'
her only way of bringing in some cash.

Her looks had faded, yes, she knew as much,
and when they went the attention did too,
she looked at her life, asked what did she have?
There wasn’t much there, and deep down she knew

that the man’s words had been more than insults,
that he had seen something she never could,
that he’d known at thirty what she’d learned too late,
and now that she knew, it did her no good.

Not that she’d say it, she put on a show
to make the world think her life wasn’t dull,
yet at home she’d drink, haunted by the thought
that in truth, she really wasn’t that special.
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required