It’s hard to tell if temperamental, nasty shits
Are bossed around because they are shits
Or they are shits because they are bossed around.
The successful appear benign
When there is plenty of wine.
And because they have what they need,
Are the rulers without greed?
When is it okay to say the oppressed,
Because they are so, are not as good as the rest?
I have noticed, when I normally walk about
If anyone walks into a woman, she completely flips out,
Even if it’s another woman, but a guy,
If his wife should accidentally veer
Into his space, treats it with good cheer,
Even as an excuse for a hug or a quick kiss.
But she acts like something is totally amiss.
A woman’s space is everything,
And when she lets you in,
This is how she expresses love;
A guy wants sex; the woman lets him in,
Not for sex—because if the secret be told,
Women pretend to like sex much more than they do—
It’s like when you host a party,
And opening the door when guests arrive,
Makes you happy and thrilled—
For women it’s about the occasion,
It’s about opening the door.
The love I describe is this—and nothing more.
