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Michael Marchese Jul 2018
Don’t tell me it can’t all be equally shared
Don’t tell me elections are fair
Anywhere
I know whose had the power
The weapons to prove it
The world in their hands
And the money to move it
Perpetual profit
New product to cell
Dwellin’ deep in the pocket
Of your lol

So don’t tell me with Twitter you’re not all Obsessed
When you buy every lie presidential address
Comin’ hot off the press
Not so free to inform
A pornhub tuggin’ ******
Publicity Storm
And another blackout
On my people uncovered
Like Firestone burnin’ through natives
Unrubbered

Don’t tell me you don’t have the cure
Or that war
Isn’t waged on the people
To sheeple the poor
To the industry slaughterhouse
Dream factory
Where success is a breath of fresh
Debt peony
I know slavery still puts
That food on the table
And big pharma’s FDA puppets, the label

So don’t tell me dope is what’s making us Dumb
Don’t tell me my God’s not the LSD sun
Or that guns aren’t hired
To desecrate my
Sanctified inner peace
Keepin’ graffiti sky
For my ties to this earth
Are invaluable worth
So don’t tell me my rights haven’t been mine Since birth
Hasan Maruf Apr 2017
The last kiss from you
Lasted like a huddle in
The snow blitz
Rocking my anatomy
In the frosty glitz

The last words from you
That barged in my eardrum
You were in a hurry
To smell a new leaf
Draped in a diamond dew

The last gifts from you
Was an instrument
Which still I use
To recognize people
Or to refuse!

The last time
You said I love you
I remember I was laughing
Hysterically as if I was watching
Jared Leto’s jaded mimicry of Joker in YouTube

Intriguingly, when the last time I saw you ****
It felt like pretty Ivanka’s embarrassment
Noticing her dad is a lewd

The last time I was chatting
With you on Facebook
I was wondering why
I shouldn't hack your account?
To check your inbox

Yea, it was filled with the message of *******
F- Bombs, **** shaming and tagging you as harlot
All they were asking was your service of escort
Either in full discount or in hefty cash drops!

The last time I wrote
A letter of love to you
I discovered my Keyboard
Began to blurt out
No more, No more, No more…

The last time I had a chit-chat
With you in the Burger King or Pizza Hut
I listened to your hissing clack-clack
That someone else has become your puppy cat…

The last time I became sick
When I was with you
I heard you threw a party
Where you were whispering
To your besties, how
I become your double whammy!

The last time I was
With you in the bed
I felt like I was indentured
To **** a dummy toy
Sans spirit and flesh!

Loving you was like
Santa Claus gifted me
With a Pandora’s Box
As soon as I opened it
You decided to release
Our *** tape of your having ******
In pornhub’s forum of interracial!

The last time I heard of you
Is that you were giving an interview
To The Cosmopolitan’s board of review

Facing the barrage of inquisitions
You calmly joked, the series
Of latest uproar about you
In the social media or Internet
Is because certain people always
Love to rave about Women’s body
Shoving in and out of their pigeonhole
With their one night stand queen trophy
To flavor your form in their fantasmic mouth

You also smirked in a raspy voice
Defiantly declaring “we (women)
Have been locked indoors
With no air, no food, no water”
My last boyfriend is also no exception
He certainly thinks I came this far
Through ******* and deception
Slightly anti feminist but a poem representing contemporaneity in our life in a balanced manner of looking into male female relationship.
Jonathan Moya Nov 2020
The steel bar that holds the torso up
gives it a spine and makes it art
and not some headless, armless, genital-less
mutilation pushed from a machine
going faster than the white signs allowed.
I see it only on my iPhone,
backlit with its perfect abs and ***-gutters
not unlike the headless *******
penetrating endless **** on pornhub,
the unsolicited **** pic galleries popping up
whenever I try to click away.
Everything  breakable and tearable in me
has been torn and broken
and yet I envy this immortal stone
suspended here in cyber space
that can be smashed to white pebbles,
pulverized to dust
and still never bleed
or feel pain.
It exists,
a twist of idolized flesh
to be touched
and wondered over,
polished to a high sheen
by centuries of passing hands
until the fetish leaves me
admiring and detesting,
the remnant echo
of the true and beautiful,
a once true and beautiful God.
Joshua Haines Sep 2016
Chainsmoking menthols,
creating clouds on parade.
Living in the dark;
frenching hurt that I've made.
There's a sadness in my comfort
and a comfort in my sadness.
***, fame, ******* down
commercialized madness.

I don't dream of pornstars
as much as I dream of clothes.
Videogames to escape it all,
carbon monoxide through my nose.
Too good for this and that;
entitlement at an all-time high.
Doing television to help me live,
or maybe to help me die.

Spotify for the masses
beating in my brain.
Youtube and pornhub
to make me feel the same
as the lost I compare to myself
and the celebs I want to be.
I want to be on edge, rich, validated;
I want to live in a fractured harmony.
Johnsdavidburg May 2018
so what's a pornhub?
lies every man alive

for shame

and what are we really like?
(in the dark)
hides everything breathing

insecurely

and what do we really want?
(as a question)
always complicates bartering

and *******

so how do i really feel?
and for a dollar i might tell you

why eye contact's endangered
why shame's a commodity
why so many of us humans
        seem so ******* petty
                 so ******* empty

but i don't think i need to
(as you already know)
      . . . about that
Scott T  Aug 2013
Divergence
Scott T Aug 2013
Half the poems on here
Are oversentimental love poems
Written by sobbing little girls
About boyfriends
Heartbreak
Flowery and and stinking of perfume
While the boys are on pornhub
On the **** section
There is a divergence
the dead bird Feb 2016
let me lick the lipstick stain you left on your coffee cup
i'll do it subtly so no one will be alarmed
i'll lick it and enjoy the taste of your makeup
i want to taste you and all that you are

i want to watch you all the time
i want to see you at the moments you are most yourself
the moments that
you pretend don't exist
the 2am searches on pornhub
the you that hasn't left the couch for days
with your hand in a bag of potato chips

let me lick the chip crumbs from your fingers
let me put your finger in my mouth
i want to taste the saltiness you savor
i want to taste who you are
the you that you hide from others

i want you to call me a pervert
and slap me

i will kiss your feet
and lick the soles
tasting the salt and dirt
of all the places you've walked today

you will cringe and say i'm disgusting
and i will smile

let me taste the you
that is you
when no one else is around
let me taste the you
that is you
after a long day of work
let me taste the you
that is you
when you ignore me
im being creepy
dj  May 2017
Fake Everything
dj May 2017
Sir/madam genderfluid, xe calls to me
****** heart bricked like a dead battery
news of fear hits xis soul
like an update from mom on your pornhub roll
we're all #1 now there's not much to dread
when good and God are everything including dead

Xe responds defensively to this misty accusation
a biracial silver tongue dry in xis mouth
shame brought to the soy-powered community,
Eye forgot, again, that unity isn't really unity
spoke the wrong hashviolence which proves xheir point -
off with its head & burn down the whole joint.
Kado MacMurphy Apr 2017
actuated lust im dangerous
nobody in space time knows what we're doing
its taboo darling
sweet suckling, unbuckling
she and him and me and her
******* over over
again
forget the stacks and ask no questions
live like ya gone
agonal, in the moment
detached retina against the glass
and lights appear to be on fire
easy comin as she does it
rollin under juicy thunder
the salts of my composure
leakin from my porous structures
leaving from me like a rock
that is my physical elixir
tape it on the imagr
hashtag @ lucifer
on tube hollerin at my girl
i want to trend just like zelda
hit ya with a face melta
blow up on their youtube
for seven seasons off the bat
and when im at the party
all the girlies will sit on my,
eh, it isnt what i live for like tools on MTV
give me sunshine to recondition your condition on BET
i contracted some system disease from way too much TMZ
and my condition is conditioned by youtube conspiracy
i cant relate i am afraid
of what is hiding up my sleeves
i hit the brains
and bust the **** off this run away train called
the radio whenever the news of the day is some ******* **** or some ferrari driving ***** that has her own ****** up slave drama telivision series.
we are so angry
inside computers inside of us inside
a web of statistic dimentia
and **** yourself if you ask
"der, i dunno. what is normal"
you *******.
Lauren Pope  Sep 2014
Plugged In
Lauren Pope Sep 2014
I used to Tumble my feelings away until you found my blog. My feelings are backlogged because you've got my URL on your homepage shortcuts next to Google and Pornhub.

I relish the days I used to subtweet you from the club. How I used to let
the bass drown out my thoughts as the beat dropped faster than my faith in you. In us.

I wish I could Insta this moment without worrying you'd see me with him. You ******* stalker get a life. Why are you holding on so tight? Quit covertly favoriting my pics, tweets and reblogs. I'm over it.

Status Update: I'm done with you. You can unfollow, delete and block me now because the only thing you're holding onto is the illusion of closeness. Outside this digital world I'm not a follower, a friend or a subscriber.

I'm the last good thing you had.

— The End —