There once was a woman whose vagina was angry

She complained of being stuffed up, cleaned up, douched out, 
violated, hated, and cold-duck lip invaded
she was angry, I mean really angry

She said she ordered the fish because she wanted to taste the fish

She didn’t want something cleaned up like washing a fish after you cooked it

Then there is another woman who thinks her vajaja is just fine, 
and can’t believe this first lady is talking about her vagina, 
let alone in public, I mean she is really appalled

And the thing is she doesn’t even think 
about her vagina much at all and 
has a hard time imagining this first lady 
talking about her’s like she’s 
talking about having a bad hair day

But really she can’t even say the word vagina

So why would her all in denial hoo ha, wash up as far as

Possible,                                                                                                  twat,

poochie,                                                                                muffin,

cooter,                                                                      wee wee,

peach pie,                                                           Harry Potter

coochie snorcher,                                             poonnani,

panty hamster,                                    butterfly,

pink taco,                             plaid pussy,

bearded clam,                        cunt,

fur pie,

or whatever you want to call it
even care what she says

My vagina,
well it’s not angry
Sometimes it wants attention
But not angry by any means
Perhaps just jealous of what it thinks it’s missing

I woke up on my 30th birthday
My vagina was at the end of the bed looking at me,
smoking a cigarette

Feed me she said
Do you want white or dark meat?
Both, and throw in a side of fish

Written January 8, 2008


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