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Again, like every March, we’ve got the madness. My bracket pretty much busted today, though not as much as Hp’s, which means it is a good day.
Since last year, I’ve been considering a new tattoo. One of mine got wiped out in last year’s surgeries, and that has been okay with me. The one I got with an ex is gone, which is something I would’ve done anyway, but would’ve never have had the money to erase. Really, I hate the term “tramp stamp”. What if I want a tattoo there that only HP and I will ever see? What if I want one only because I like my own lower back? Does that make me a “tramp”? I think not. Chortling.
This brings to mind something that might’ve, hypothetically, been happening at my place of employ, where we might think of enforcing a pretty strict dress code, in which students smuggle in sexy underpants by wearing them in from off-campus visits stacked five or six high. I’m of different minds on this. To one end, the girls are wearing them in in order to flaunt their lacy plumage to their peers, but to another end, who are we to say that they wear those thongs for anyone but themselves? Recently I threw away all my uglies. I didn’t do it for anyone but myself. It is an insulting position to take, to believe that girls wear cute undies just for men.
This may be a wildly theoretical position to take, but I say, let them wear lace! Unfortunately, I know that they AREN’T wearing lingerie for themselves, but for others, and that is not a lesson I can impart during English class. What I would like them to learn, though, is a big lesson that it takes awhile to get, that they should be themselves only FOR themselves. Isn’t that what we are always trying to teach?
This comes from that:
The looking belongs to you. You get the choice of shirt-tucking. You get all the choices of touch.
Pleasure might grasp you by the wrist. Shake it off if it is cold. Learn that shake.
These aloof beasts aren’t yours to save.
and learn to paint it into the background, keeping them out of your profile.
Keep your spoils.
Outline the winks, with stormy breath,
you are all ages,
but each giggle is a reverie.
Learn to loosen the underground,
and give back the need to beguile.
Go looking for lava,
and you will find a web of ashes.
Hold it, the web, in your secret warmth, and go find the shadows of your lace.
Let it hold you up,
because each reach is your generosity.
Keep it in mind.
A poem about panties. Didn’t expect that. Happy Friday, y’all.