Because lately most of my writing assignments are mainly on breakups and the arduous process of moving on – which is kind of an oxymoron if you ask me because my romantic life has never been more solid and colorful (quick, knock on wood three times!) – I remembered this little piece of brilliant poetry I wrote sometime in 2005 which i posted here. It was during that bleak period when I was dealing with my self-inflicted post-breakup drama with R, the man who had inspired some of my awkward writings in my beat-up journal. Yes, them with lined pages and confusing doodles of hearts, stick figures and what-not, usually at the bottom or top page. I tried to make some of the pages look even more abstract by doodling even more inexplicable images but my OCD tendencies just won’t stand for the mess so I would end up tearing the pages, re-writing the rubbish I would convince myself over and over again to be some awesome piece of literature, and sketching only a small heart, or star, or a floating leaf on some corner of the page.
Back then, I would mostly write about love as I knew it at the time and all the silliness that came with the package. But this one right here, this obra, is what I think would earn me my Pulitzer in the year 2090. Teehee!
Breakup sex is how the relationship lid is sealed
Breakup sex means separation fulfilled
Breakup sex recognizes no emotion
Breakup sex is all about my orgasm and your ejaculation
Breakup sex takes so little time to get done
Breakup sex is what becomes of a love gone
Breakup sex is all “oooh, baby, oooh”
Breakup sex could also mean faking it, you know?
Breakup sex sure isn’t cathartic
Breakup sex is when you shag instead of speak
Breakup sex, farewell f*ck, call it what you want
Breakup sex is what we should be doing on my table right now, if I may be blunt.