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STD
If you want my ex girlfriend, she's up for grabs.
But if you sleep with her, you will get the *****.
It's possible that you may get ****** too.
Sleeping with her is a stupid thing to do.
I caught her in bed with my cousin and I thumped her.
She sleeps with a lot of men, that's why I dumped her.
I'm giving you valuable advice so you'd better listen to me.
If you ****** my ex girlfriend, you are sure to get an STD.
This is a fictional poem.
 Apr 2015 Heidi Mason
Josh Allen
we lied down on her bed
and she told me the story of how her father left
with a cigarette in her left hand
and my hand in her right
she spoke with sound of sadness and
she looks at the wall
and hangs on it is
a photo of her father
she wraps her arms around me
and she cries for what seems like
an eternity
 Apr 2015 Heidi Mason
Josh Allen
idk
 Apr 2015 Heidi Mason
Josh Allen
idk
i figured happiness would be my top priority, not a letter that defines my intelligence.
I want to be a dog's growl:
  as rough as bark.
As I ruff and I bark
  until my throat bleeds,
down my tongue,
  and clots, choking me.
Strangling my anger.

  I want to bite God's hand
and taste the scars and lines.
  I want to run alongside
the downfall of man
  like I'm chasing cars.
Waiting to be run over.

I want to be castrated,
  neutered,
so I can fall in line,
  so I can conform,
so I can be me in a sea
  of nobody else.

I want to be beaten
  with a chain
attached to my neck.
  I want to be on t-v.
I want to be saved.
  I want to betray trust.

Generic. Generic.
  I want to be like this poem:
  generic, you martyr.
You genocidal ****.
  You deadbeat.
You racist.
  You sexist.
You intolerant ****.
  I want to chew off
my trapped leg.
  I want to be a dog's growl.
I forgot  you were there, hiding
under winter's slow, grisly grip

only ten days into spring
you made your return, myriad mounds
pocking my pastures

dead center, in one of your proudest heaps,
I teased you with sweet pear, just to see your ranting red industry
though a tiny roach occupied half your tugging army, its only crimes
being live birth and waddling through your masses

I forgot you were there
hunkered in the wet, wormed soil
patient, until ninety and one degrees brought you
to the desiccating ground

you had not forgotten me, had you?
for you sent a  special sentry from your brigades to find my foot,
and welt it with a welcome back kiss

in tomorrow‘s heat,
after the soldier’s scratching, martyred memory fades,
I will  forget again, though winter
never does
 Mar 2015 Heidi Mason
ern kingham
I remember the first time someone explained to me what the word gay meant.
We were in middle school
Playing on the swing set behind Stoy Elementary
"He’s so gay," she said
Bitter disgust poured out of her mouth with every syllable
I could not think as to why being happy could be such a horrible thing
And so I asked
My exact words being
“Whats so wrong with being happy?”
Now both my friends looked at me weird
“Don’t you know what gay means?”
“Doesn’t it mean to be happy?”
“You’re such a little kid, gay does not mean happy. Gay is a boy who likes another boy”
I stood there wondering why it mattered so much that a boy liked another boy;
why it was such a distasteful thing.
And why it meant gay couldn’t still mean happy.
 Mar 2015 Heidi Mason
Candy Noire
I just wanted you to know me
I just wanted you to love me
I just wanted you to feel me
I just wanted you to hug me
I just wanted you to touch me
I just wanted you to breathe me
I just wanted you to keep me
I just wanted you to believe me

I just wanted you to want me
I just wanted you to haunt me
I just wanted you to pray for me
I just wanted you to hunt me
I just wanted you to **** me
I just wanted you to kiss me
I just wanted you to see me
Now I wish you would just leave me
i was once told that i was never going to be good enough for love. that i spend too much of my time tending to the needs for people whom i loved, and i will never have that in return. Always planting forests for people who only burn them down. That i am type of girl that has only ever known ashamed love. A love that is always hidden behind closed bedroom doors and smothered under soft cotton sheets. The kind of love that is not love, never love, but lust. the word itself has been slipped through lips glossed with poison, but has only left me weak and ill.
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