Life is a bed of roses,
a bed of roses with thorns,
but how can one tell if it is?
How can one tell if it is not?

Maybe life is my butt;
maybe life is near my thigh.
I just mentioned my body parts;
don’t pretend to not know why.

Maybe life is full breasts;
maybe life is a song’s hook.
Maybe life is my lips;
just look at you, you look shook.

What is life?
We know it gives pleasure,
and it gives pain,
like the clitoris.
We all have questions;
we know it.
We all get confused;
you know this.

To be or not to be;
to sit or not to hit.
You don’t need to know life is.
The most important thing to ask is,
“what do I want to do with it?”

What do you want to do with me?