for Amber A’Lee Frost and Brandy Jensen

Don’t have sex. All it can offer you
is joy at best, at worst the awkward scratching
of an itch. Love yourself, girl! Instead of catching
the downtown train to meet your boozy crew
and find some cis, white, toxic male to screw
you could be at home wildly dispatching
problematizing tweets, thereby smashing
the patriarchy. Oh, by the way, your boo
told you he was in love on the second date.
He lied. It wasn’t until the third or fourth.
You were unwittingly trafficked all that time.
You have no agency. Your life is fate.
You’re nothing but a compass pointing north.
Just think! Each time you fuck you’re doing crime.