Why I Am Not Monogamous

Our world is blatantly obsessed with sex!
Here are some ways in which this manifests:
Celibate priests are raping little boys.
People use whips and chains as bedroom toys.
Men in dark basements can’t get off RedTube.
Men in high places touch their interns’ boobs.
Standards of unattainable beauty
torment the fairer sex (including me).
People resign to promiscuity.

Wait… promiscuity? You’re right to ask.
Given the headline I picked as my task,
shouldn’t I argue FOR sleeping around?
No. That would drive our race into the ground,
if not with some raw, rampant STD
then through the death of vital loyalty.

Instead, I go for polyamory
(that is: having two lovers, maybe three),
but not to compromise intimacy:
I love my lovers better when they’re free.
Once and forever, Shakespeare says it best:
life’s short, love’s true, and silence is the rest.

In my own life, it’s logical
and somewhat biological—
since I like kissing shafts and curves,
monogamy gets on my nerves.
Buuut I don’t want a one-off thing.
Each love’s a romance, not a fling.

In my mind, the best kind of sex
is when both skins and souls connect,
and when I feel the need to take
that hostage, my own love is fake.

One final thing I think is true
(I might be wrong about this, too)
I think the purpose of taboo
is kind of as a last resort:
When people cut their love lives short
and isolation walls them off,
like a collective urge to cough,
taboos are broken, and people open
up to the nakedest of things—
love, which is why the caged bird sings.


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