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.
Here.
Now.

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

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

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      Jan 31

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.

Begging and prostituting, hungry...always hungry
tigress
Oct 1

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.
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
Prostituting our morals for pieces of paper
Elysia Kathryn Malloy

We whore ourselvs out to whoever comes along
Prostituting our morals for pieces of paper
The superfluous pieces of paper that seem to rule the world
Lies upon lies to keep the truth under wraps
Nobody knows
Rounded up and slaughtered in what looks to be a serene beautiful place
"It's our culture and our race"  
It's population control, we are doing a service
While we slip you mercury at levels of 2000 rpm
Let's disregard all the blood that has seeped into the ground
Those who take a stand, we beat them when they stand
We are the culprits but as well can be the saviors
We are running dry
And the blood is increasing by the minute and soon the sea will be red
We are corrupt and we need to revert
They are crying out but their cries fall on deaf ears
And we don't care
Because haven't you heard?
It's the new fad to be cruel With red water flowing through the currents
Of this red sea

ng, Flapping, Backless, Strapless. Stop prostituting yourself, you filthy whore. Get off me.
Tanvi Bird

"Sometimes I wish you were dead. All of you. I like you, but these conflicts are getting to me. Your needless, never ending, merciless complaints. My shortcomings. Exaggerated, overrated, pus filled pimples you are. You are annoying and one by one, as major and minor as you may be I feel like shooting each one of you down. Angry? Boom. You are dead. Yelling, crying, laughing, screeching, droning on and on and on like a black and yellow bumblebee under the harsh sweltering summer sun. SPLAT! Off with your head and your neck and your arms too. Black and grimy and disgusting on the fly swatter. Look at me! Whatever. Don’t look at me. Your eyes should be poked out. All of you should die. I want to be alone in this world without you. I love each of you ever much, but you no longer affect me. You walk around me, about me, over my head, under my feet, and through me but I will not hear you. I can not feel you. You walk like corpses, dead and mute, and I do not see you. I keep on walking, ignoring you. Forgetting your existence. I am in this alone and I will stay Alone. Devils eyes. Stop staring at me. Devils eyes. Rotting pig nostrils. Stop staring at me. Lifeless you, rotting in your grave, surrounded by worms and earthen colored bugs. Flirty, Flimsy, Dirty, Red Dress, Flaunting, Flapping, Backless, Strapless. Stop prostituting yourself, you filthy whore. Get off me. Cold, alone, hungry, unsatisfied. Alone only I can sustain myself. I need myself and myself only."

(A rant, more than a poem. Written at age 20- when things got too intense, and I was angry. Thought it couldn't get any worse, but today is proof that I was wrong. At least then, there was hope).

Prostituting she said with a Gasp and a Sob
SilverSilkenTongue

The Steamy air Hung heavy
In the Office of the Private Eye.
Kansas City in August
The Air wants to die,
Or it only Smells that way.
Drifting up off the Riverbank.

Thelma my receptionist Waits
Filing her nails by the Silent Phone
If things Didn't Pick up soon or Late
Bills would have me Down to the Bone
Chasing Bail jumpers, something I'd Hate
Have to settle on, less some business was done

Just as I knocked back a Belt of Bourbon,
Came a Knock at the Door, in Walked
A pair of Legs from Here to there, to look on
Not sure if it was the red of her lips,
Or the red of her bright Hair,
But a Swing in her Hips Got me there.

She Laid on the tears as she told me her Fears
A Long lost sister being run by the Mob
Prostituting she said with a Gasp and a Sob
Her Silk Stocking legs crossing Sealed the deal
I'd put an ear to the street and find out the feel

A Kansas City Kingpin ran her on the street
If I staked out a Corner I'd see them Meet
Slipped my .32 from the Leather and Spun it once
Checking the chamber for a full Loaded Gun
I hunched down in the front seat of my old Chevy

It was only Minutes till he played the Heavy
I shouted out stop, as he Pulled a gun... Popped
It Seemed like Slow Motion as his body Dropped
She screams for Police, next I'm Cuffed by a Cop
Long legs says I stalked her, and am Patently Crazy
I took the Fall 'cause she set me up for the Patsy

The moral of the Story is..........
"Dames and Bourbon Don't mix".....JMF 12/11/14

Dedicated to all the Suckers set up in life....
 
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