Men think that they hold the power of the world.

They keep the power of the world

Hidden from view,

Zipped up,

In their pants.

The dick.

Locked and loaded

Chiseled to a fine point for easy entry.

Ready to embed itself into anything warm and furry.

They don’t feel the need to have a personality

Or looks

Just be in possession of …

The dick

…

and maybe money.

They think that women who refuse

The dick

Are misinformed, missing something

So they can’t possibly say no.

Saying no means they haven’t seen it

Felt it

Understood the POWER of it

The need of extra credit for the size of it

The skin slapping against skin of it

The self-absorbed admirable beauty of it

When all it is,

Is a tipping point

The end of an extension.

And if the story is true that man was molded from clay,

The dick

Is the place where he was separated from the living clay.

Maybe it was intended to be something else …

Another hand, an extra foot,

A divining rod, or something yet unnamed

When it was pinched off from the excess clay

With that part left unfinished

Hanging without purpose

When its maker got distracted.

Powerless unless held to be stimulated, activated or eliminating,

For spilling seeds, self-admiration, or emptying water.

An appendage as funny looking as an elephant’s trunk

Flapping uselessly

Causing hysteria (or revulsion)

when unbound.

But it is all an illusion.

They have fooled themselves with their fragile masculinity

Because it is the woman who holds the power.

Their power, too, is hidden from view

But held in the center of her being

Cradled

Protected by flesh and bone

To issue the real fruit of the world

The seeds

Women evolved to not needing to be stimulated

Just activated

Productive

Producing.

Even those without fertile seeds

Hold the power

Because mothering comes from the heart

Not the loins.

It is the ability to love and love and love

Unlimited, unrestricted, infinitely.

And because mothering in healthy soil

Is the necessity for all things living.