As my twisted mind
Tries to write poetry
Like a tangle of barbed wire
That I just want to unfurl
And smooth out
Like my fingers flying on the typewriter…?

Does one really have to do that
To be a genuine dinky di poet?

Should I have more
Dripping silk
Moist love tunnels
Hard love wands
Cleaving through barriers
Sinking into soft pillows of ecstasy?

Maybe I should
But the should isn’t me.

I like many of the words and descriptions
That already exist
They work for me anyway
I love cunt, cock, fuck
Penetration, expectation, orgasm
‘fuck me baby’
‘bite me’
‘eat me’

I like it raw
I like describing things how they feel
Trying to make it something different
Is hard
Expressing it in a different way
Takes away
The reality of the experience
The rawness
Of feeling and thought

Maybe I can still call myself a poet?
The raw poet?
The real friction
That doesn’t drop off my silken tongue
But that pours
From my raw
Uncensored mouth.

– Judi Reed, 2015