Below is a poem I started to write last year as part of a group piece. The context no longer really applies…but it makes me chuckle all the same.

Except from

The Virgin Survival Guide

….at this point in my virtuous tenure 

I know better than Jamie Lee Curtis herself how to survive a horror film

to run out the door not up the stairs 

bedrooms are upstairs 

bedrooms are most often where sex happens

under no circumstances are you getting out alive if you’re getting freaky.

Letting your testosterone fueled movie cliché of a boyfriend play just the tip 

after hours of begging never ends well on a normal day

throw in a  masked serial killer with a vendeda for vagina 

and you’ve died with your regrets stained across the bed sheets

Leaving your mother to identify your body with no clean underwear

and scratch marks down your back.

I may find myself bruised 

perhaps even missing a small appendage 

but in the end police blankets wrapped around shoulders 

are an Olympic flag for the winning country of “Abstainia”

The curb outside the crazy mans house my pedestal 

There is no silver medal in survival