stuck. stuck. stuck.
my finger's in the light socket,
my feet are on the floor.
my mind is eighteen millions miles away,
in armpit, idaho for all i know.
this frustration reaches straight to the tips
of my toes,
courses through me like lightening.
it's a scream lodged in my throat,
a stiffy gone soft,
a child stuck in the carseat.
are we there yet?
fuck shaving my legs
that won't make you want to touch me.
what should i do?
open my legs instead of my mind,
the television screams
while i cover my ears.
if i have to play the whore
you have to play the intellectual.
and you'll wax philosophical
and i'll wax my pussy
and we'll call it even.
even though it's odd.