I hope if you read this you're over 18...
I've written a poem you may find obscene.
I'm going to be ***** and graphic a while...
Some readers will shudder, yet others will smile
'cause this poem is nasty, off-color and vile.
This is one of my uncensored full-frontal verses
full of expletives, swear words, gratuitous curses
where I'm *****-mouthed, explicit, filthy, blue, crude...
so don't be offended.
I've warned you...
It's lewd.
You might want to stop if you're not in the mood.
At least I'm not sitting in front of you ****.
You can't  see the pierced parts or what is tattooed.
This is strict ADULTS ONLY.
It's all about ***.
It's poetic *******.
****.
Triple X.
Enough with the foreplay... Here goes... Wish me luck:
Boobie. ****. Winkie. *****. ****. Phooey!
If that isn't bad enough, let me be blunt;
Dinky and ******* and backside and cootchie!
C'est tout.   C'est fini.
That' pretty much it...

If you weren't amused why should I give a hoot?

An argument over nothing,
left vomiting on this humble pie,
why stretch the limbs till they hurt ?
the teacher sets out her books not just to read,
she sets them out to show the promise of discovery,
so I sit in the quietness of empty promises,
wondering if I might even summon tears,
what goes up must inevitably come down,
this I remember through the furrows of my frown.

Dreams, hopes, wishes and aspirations
Will never amount to very much,
Without hard work and dedication
They will forever remain as such.

I'd like to lie and say that I have never
held affection for anyone.
That I watch people come and go as they always do,
and that I remain indifferent.
Let the story tumble from my chapped lips,
and tangle with the burning air of my stuffy room.
Because it is dangerous to care,
unspoken thoughts mesh unconsciously-
and I do not care for that.
To watch some one you thought
Trustful strangle your neck
with the very promises you made?
I do not care for that.
Alas, I have done this most dangerous thing-
Became attached.
It is a deadly tango with Hope and Fate.
One is always stealing you away from the other,
promising that your life will work itself out.
But, ever so naively- I have grown attached.
For the times I have loved are far and few between.
But when they arise, they burn in
what I think is my heart- engulfing me,
persuading me to stay.

What if I were to say that beauty in itself does not exist,

how can such diversity be fixed as one representation ?

The flower raises a different image to each eye that beholds it,

The moon a different face to whom it beams down on,

a pretty girls smile has greater value perhaps to its recipient,

a lowly ant at its work, one person's fascination,  another's recoil,

We shun the view of our face in the mirror, whilst others smile at its radiance,

The newly born child, more beautiful to its mother than all the wonders of the world, whilst others may only view a wrinkled, writhing, screaming devil,

So the paradigm is such that we cast not judgement on anyone or anything without first considering the perspective of such questioning.