Hookup Culture (poem)

Hookup?

Hookup?!

I suppose
that if I could just manage to be
thinner,
dumber, 
sweeter,
a dimwitted simpleton 
of average intelligence,
a myopic lush instead of a luscious mystic, 
traded out my mauve lipstick,
grow my hair out
dye it blonde,
put contacts in
and an ill-fitting sundress on with ridiculous shoes...   

I wouldn't intimate you
or be regulated to dick-throb 
instead of heart-throb.

I would maybe be the woman they see materialized as wife
the kind to spend their life
and not just the night.  

Thank you for the drunken texts
and the thoughtless ghosting.  

Because I never think of you when I'm drinking 
or when I'm smoking.

There's nothing in the clouds for me to see.

If only I was weaker,
meeker,  
spoke to you like Beaker.

Was your cook, was your maid,
raised your brats
be your slave.

Maybe there's something more to do than
get laid...

But no love was gave.

So give me money.

Treat me like a whore than give me fuckin' money.

I'm being deadly serious 

as this isn't fucking funny.

Raise your kids?

Have your babies?

You men all

must be crazy crazies.  

Damn right I'll make a spectacle

he's put me on the pedestal

your vestibule is a vegetable   

my chambers 

are where wrathful grapes grow.

And while all the world's a desert 

I'll just 

     flow
          & flow
               & flow.