I'll never be popular

I often sit, and it's sad to think
That people prefer a suggestive hint
That emotes their sexual drive
Even if it lacks to provide

Any real sense
Or suspense
A genuine thought
Or anything to be taught

Erotica sells to the horny teens
Old men with their hands in between
Their thighs, just like the women
And everyone else who'd rather condemn

Themselves in lust, in sex
What happened to the art of innocence

You're poems aren't worthy, till you write about cum
And the movements of his lowering tongue
The provocative adds that plague our screens
Are selling intercourse, like inserting coins to slot machines

And reminiscing back to fifteen
Where everybody was just to keen
To be undressed
To be used, to beat second best

Looking back I never really was popular
Because I ignored every boy and their popped collar
I wasn't an easy girl, who sucked every dick
And I'll be happy to admit
At 19 I'm one of the only, who hasn't been pregnant

I'll never be popular, and I don't care
The way society follows sex, feels is bare
Because we're controlled my a stubborn libido
Like it's something to our body, we owe

There's more to the world, than to be blown
More for humans than making someone moan