She drives me crazy
in that bad way
that we never like
to admit.
But her subtle ways
of expression
are not lost on me
as on most men.
And I lust after
the way her trademark
curly black hair
falls around her
in that way I know so well...

I know her
as she knows herself...
incompletely.
Yet I cannot disguise
the contempt I harbor
for that cantakerous bitch
that shares my body
and on most occasions
my mood.
And I hate her for being
more photogenic
and writting better poetry
than I.
She'll be the one to win
recognition
where the rest of me fails
because of her __(insert)__,
because of her marketability.
And I hate for it,
and myself for buying into it.
And most of all,
I hate all the men in the world
for not moving me
quite like she can.

But between me and you,
we'll pretend this isn't
an ode to my vagina.

11/06/2001

Author's Note: Most of these lines were originally written about a roomate I had for a short time that just annoyed the hell out of me, even though we were fundamentally the same person from very similar economic backgrounds only with a huge cultural barrier between us. Only after I re-read the thing that I had written did I realize that the innocent lines about that latina roomie lent themselves all too well in praise of my nether regions. And so with a few very slight changes this poem was born. I'm very proud of it.

Posted on 11/06/2001
Copyright © 2025 Lacy D Phillips