Deana Luna
Deana Luna
Oct 31, 2012

It was a desperate kiss.
I could feel you pulling away-
going inside yourself
and I was trying desperately to pull you back to me.
I was kissing your neck,
trying to bring back your pulse.
I was kissing down your breasts,
trying to make it quicken.
All I knew was that I wanted you.
I needed you.

Jan 17      Jan 17

twitching thighs
a skin deep kiss
your love goes to your curled toes
and you grip with your nails
onto velvet skin thats paper-thin
as if it's all you have left to live
for a minute
you don't miss
a high worth the 15 minutes
you wipe your lips
adjust your hips
get up and zip
inhale carbon monoxide
reminds you of the moment
in your garage
fade out
into the shadow
the door left

The Bible clearly tells us, "We are fearfully and wonderfully made."  Why prostitute your body, ending up in the grave?
There are so many men you travel with, looking for a thrill.  After fulfilling their need; you are the one they kill.
Your body has been created, unto the glory of God.  Don't let Him get angry at you, and began to use His rod.
Women learn to respect yourself; your body is not your own.  God's Son bought you with a price, yes even your 206 bones.
By, Author & Poet, Sandra Juanita Nailing

against prostituting religion
Mucro Pondera Divinus

To believe in the god of another,
one must first deny that God
is the fount of Self,
and mistake belief for faith.

Having discovered God
in me, as me - as in all others -
I have learned to love God
by loving others as myself.

My heresy is against gods
of hatred disguised as love,
against men of blind faith
and divisive words.

Against warring cultures
and exclusivist belief,
against prostituting religion
for political ends.

God is no infidel;
I am but one expression
(hardly unique at all)
of That.

Kafir (كافر) is an Arabic term meaning "unbeliever" or "infidel".
#self   #war   #hatred   #hate   #god   #religion   #faith   #spirituality   #belief   #infidel  
It tells me I am prostituting myself
Edgar Whitman Wilde

There is an image
Working to free my mind
From violent dawns
It probes at the backs of my eyes
It tells me I am prostituting myself
Here in my bedroom
In incestuous union with myself
I hallucinate and fantasise about
Doctors sons, butchers boys
Teenage thieves, deserters
Drug pushers, scandalous rent boys
Vagrants, pimps, prostitutes
And silk lingerie and don't care.
I sit destitute of thought
An insonce dissonance of macabre music
Playing out melodies of an image in my mind

And prostituting reality
Chen Honig

I am sentiment,
My whispers are curses
Words saved for the silence
In between the lines

I am feeling,
The tightened fist
Boxing with the air
It contains only filth

I am emotion,
Angry eyes crying out
Dreams portraying the impossible
And prostituting reality

I am my song
And it is naked,
Served on a plate of thorns
Hooks that will captivate
The slightest of souls

It is me, and it's my own
And under that sky
I'm not alone.

This is about my first experience of watching "The Twilight Sad" perform live, the concert was set in a beautiful park in Barcelona, and it was so overwhelming that I had to let it all out on paper (and keyboard).
Do not make the mistake of prostituting the glorious deeds of Hercules
Rangzeb Hussain
Rangzeb Hussain
May 9, 2010

Freedom is premium priced,
At the casino of the world nations throw the dice,
The tables are rigged by the fat rats and mice,
Girls in curvaceous miniskirts on poles entice,
Opium laced drinks and cancer sticks merrily fleece,
Fizzy burgers are served filled with crucified cheese,
Layers of salt and blood and veins congealing with grease
Are the fillings inside the consumed meat,
Come to the sale of the century and let your life be diseased,
Take whatever you want and still you will never be pleased,
Remember, one day all will be held to account, so all evil immediately cease,
Do not make the mistake of prostituting the glorious deeds of Hercules
Or polluting and selling the message of almighty God so cheaply.

©Rangzeb Hussain

while your misses is prostituting just to feel at home.
Jordan Andrew Striegler
Jan 30, 2014      Jan 31, 2014

Box fitted vans moving on the prowl.
Waiting for these kids in an easy take
Preteen gangster violence,
With your lovely daughter playing jail bait.
We're all thievish wolves,
All hungry for more, we're hungry for more.

So please tell me that this is under control.
As our sons sniffing the product you were forced to recall.
Please tell me that this is under control
while your misses is prostituting just to feel at home.
Please tell me that this is under control
While my darling little princess is lying tagged by the toe.

Our therapies are burning and our do hearts do swell,
Which has got us in love with these feelings, that we've never felt.
And I'll take these violent words as nothing more then a test.
Try to feed me please for this is nothing more then a crimson mess.

This nuclear family
Is decaying
Right in front of me,
Right in front of me.

Covered by the trace in the hallow moonlight, pack of wolves at our back.
Some one calls out in silence, are fresh killers what we lack?
We're ragged fools, just fear in the fold only to feel at home.

Our therapies are burning as our do hearts do swell,
Which has got us in love with these feelings, that we've never felt.
And I'll take this fermented world, right off my chest.
Then lead you to the ruins, for the better I digress.

Now forgive me, this is how the story goes.
Feeding in the innocent stripped to the bones.

Please tell me that this is under control
While your misses is prostituting just to feel at home.
Please tell me we are under control.
Swinging from the gallows, caught by the throat.

Prostituting your body to labor exploitation and con
Emanuel Martinez
Mar 9, 2013      March 14, 2013

Young people can you feel the suffering?

roca wear, gucci, apple, facebook, mcdonalds, apple bee's,
honda, lamborghini, harvard, Community College
american express, pnc bank, walmart

Wage Slaves, ceos, owners, lenders, renters, indebtedness
Structural dehumanization, systematic mechanization
Exploited labor feeding blood to your hungering consumerism

Young people you are embracing MISANTHROPY!

Embracing the hate of your own humanity! Why the hypocrisy?
Wealthy children, poor children
Trying for enlightenment through education

Parents garnering wealth through the oppression of their victims
Parents garnering debt through the oppression from economic inequality
Still you invest and promote the only legitimization of your being: CAPITALIST UTILITY

Capitalism engineering unrelenting misanthropy
Vicious economic system discarding humanity
Perfecting the concentration and accumulation of wealth
With the expansion of human alienation and murderous competition

Prostituting your body to labor exploitation and consumerism
Where does your wealth end up?
multinational companies? financial corporations? military arms contractors?
Loyalty lies in their pockets, backstabbing everyday tactics
Killing you through the exploitation of your body
Because they know the birth of another proletariat or bourgeoisie can replace you  

Entities, not human, how much have they bought you for so that you cannot see!!!
Beware of these misanthropic missionaries granting your body power and agency
When your body can no longer be plundered for profit you will taste tears and blood

Young people will you deliver your forefathers and fathers
From worshiping capitalist misanthropy?

March 8, 2013
Begging and prostituting, hungry...always hungry
Oct 1, 2014

The Orphan Train
In the morning you will wake
the Children's Aid Society has found a place
Aboard a train you will go
Ethel Lambert has sought you a home
Sleep little one this last night in New York
Dream of what your life will become
In rural America, no longer an entertainer
You are fourteen-years-old and what you've experienced
Begging and prostituting, hungry...always hungry
No other way to try to survive
joining violent gangs for a little security
Ignored by so many, or arrested as young as five
And put in jail now victims of adults
Singing aboard the boats for a few measley pennies
Always alert, often dirty, the floor is for sleeping...
With rats and filth where you rested your head
But no more pretty girl, for even though an orphan
All is behind you,
no friends, relations, or anything familiar
Alone but not, for you're newly blooming
Relocation for you,
new opportunities for over 10,000
Just like you
Rural America is a place for you to renew
Sleep little lady, an orphan though loved
For tomorrow you board the train
And your life is a new brilliant road

Ethel Lambert had as many children as possible write their stories as orphans in New York to add to the archives. She then managed to relocate over 10,000 children via trains from their unhealthy situations to arrive in a new world of life and progress in rural america.
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