Thwack!
It’s the crack of a whip
as his wood whizzes by
he just whipped out a stick
it’s so big she could cry
at his nine inch selection
eyes wide in inspection
she’s lickin her lips
with aroused salivation
strong anticipation
starts leaking with passion
above and below
Succumbs to temptation
bit closer she goes
She rips down his fly
cause he’ll fly her sky high
to the moon and beyond
with his tip as her ship
and her hips the controller
of his big joystick
so she shifts and she pounds
going right left up down
and those walls are then filled
up with bro’s joyful sounds
His starships now launch
and boosters now dip
Payload delivers out into orbit
with a force so tremendous it’s stratospheric
as it arcs through the air, so viscous and thick
Flight path quadratic, shape parabolic,
blitzing the bedsheets,
bombarding the carpets with
weapons-grade models of fluid dynamics,
artistically graphic
their climax rhapsodic,
yet—
it lasts but a moment.
The moment soon passes
He’s emptied his fuel
now his rocket is limp
she asks him to cuddle
but he says he don’t simp
cause he got a big stick.
“Damn okay chill,” she said,
“Just cause you have one don’t mean you should be one”
With the click of a tongue she just
Flicked off his attitude like a light switch.
He limps his way home
feeling more hollow than the hole he just ravaged
his flame of desire once scorching and savage
Has now been blown out,
leaving his chest feeling colder than stone
He was stoned on elation
from worldly desires, fleshly sensations
But under the stem of his ego
so falsely inflated
he conflated his volume with being hot shit
Used the length of his branch as a measuring stick
The girth of his wood as his proof of self-worth
It took naught but a shot of his pollen to start
the unearthing of deep rooted hurting
That founded the dirt under his inner world
A release of his seed and his petals unfurled
Uprooting depression
His gripping obsession
with sizes and numbers
societal standards, he gotta fit in with the
male definition of fitness and strength so he
Used his own length as an input parameter
Into the function of his social rank.
See, despite having wielded a weapon so massive
He couldn’t break through the glass wall that entrapped him
It pegged his reflection into the space of his self perception
Placing his measurements up on display, he’s a mannequin posing
for likes and transactions, starved for attention from window shop strangers
Behind the glass screen, on the opposite side of his matches on Tinder.
Yet tonight is a night just like every other,
he kissed his own pillow an “I love you forever”
As his eyelids sank shut, along with identity, deflated and flaccid
But who gives a frick, I mean
his stick is still massive.