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SexGoddess4U  Nov 2014
Prudes
SexGoddess4U Nov 2014
I know you aren't all prudes and have thoughts like me.
Just because you don't say it don't act as if that's not how u like to be.

I LOVE *** and all the time...
don't act like you don't when you know you have thoughts exactly like mine.
Don't act like a nun when your truly a *****.
Louise Leger Mar 2014
The entitled ones:

Snotty, stuck up, rude

Nasty, spoiled prudes

Your misery, their fun



Loosen up your buns, entitled ones

‘Cause I am in no mood

To harbor your attitude

And snooty snippy sayings sung



The desk between us that which divides

Does not right you to be snide

Entitled ones need not apply

Entitled are entitled nigh



The ones who earn entitlement

Are the ones who give respect

Possessors of this enlightenment

Such respect is what they’ll get



Treat your servers as you will with such level of pomposity

But understand that I abide by way of reciprocity
Away with your fictions of flimsy romance,
  Those tissues of falsehood which Folly has wove;
Give me the mild beam of the soul-breathing glance,
  Or the rapture which dwells on the first kiss of love.

Ye rhymers, whose bosoms with fantasy glow,
  Whose pastoral passions are made for the grove;
From what blest inspiration your sonnets would flow,
  Could you ever have tasted the first kiss of love.

If Apollo should e’er his assistance refuse,
  Or the Nine be dispos’d from your service to rove,
Invoke them no more, bid adieu to the Muse,
  And try the effect, of the first kiss of love.

I hate you, ye cold compositions of art,
  Though prudes may condemn me, and bigots reprove;
I court the effusions that spring from the heart,
  Which throbs, with delight, to the first kiss of love.

Your shepherds, your flocks, those fantastical themes,
  Perhaps may amuse, yet they never can move:
Arcadia displays but a region of dreams;
  What are visions like these, to the first kiss of love?

Oh! cease to affirm that man, since his birth,
  From Adam, till now, has with wretchedness strove;
Some portion of Paradise still is on earth,
  And Eden revives, in the first kiss of love.

When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past—
For years fleet away with the wings of the dove—
The dearest remembrance will still be the last,
Our sweetest memorial, the first kiss of love.
Kelly Bitangcol  Oct 2016
names
Kelly Bitangcol Oct 2016
Every person in this world has a name. Of course, the first thing in life that makes us all different is our name. Or names, perhaps. I know someone who has four names, Marie France Antoinette Anne. I’m friends with someone who has 3 names, Eivram Jan Heaven. Even though 3-4 names are probably hard to have, it’s kind of amazing because it adds a lot to your singularity. And the best example of them all are two names, my best friend’s name is Khelsy Gayle, my eldest sister’s: Christina Andrea, my other sister’s name is Francesca Julia and my name is Kelly Denise. And we all here, don’t even bother to deny it, has a nickname. My best friend’s name is Chellsie and everybody calls her Che. Both of my classmates are both Joshua, and they only have one name, so my teacher, in order for us to not be confused, decided to call the one who has a surname that starts with C, JC and the surname that starts with D, JD and until now we still call them by those names. And in some cases, we pick nicknames by different choices. My eldest sister’s nickname is Zoe and my other sister’s nickname is Franny because my mom loved JD Salinger so much that she named my sisters from her favourite fictional siblings. Maybe my mother wasn’t expecting me, so she didn’t name me from an iconic literary character, or a famous philosopher. Instead, she called me with a nickname that I will be known till the day that I die, it’s called ‘Keidy’. And, to be honest, I hate that nickname. But hey, I have no choice. Or we can all be known for the things that we did. Daenerys Targaryen has a lot of names, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, Protector of the realm and so on and so forth. Or you can be Arya Stark, who is  No One. An example of a name that people force to be known as but they will never achieve because she will always be Arya Stark of Winterfell.

You see, names are wonderful. It's a proof that everyone in this world, is different. And what a magical thing it is, living in the same world with different people who have different views. And to mention, same views. We all here share same views, and maybe, some of us here even share the same name.

But in every woman’s life, we share the same names. People call us with names that we don’t even have. Each of us have been called or will be called these names.


You will call us, doll. You told us we have so much cuteness in us and we are as beautiful as dolls, and we don’t have any problem with that. Little did we know that some of you don’t really admire our beauty but instead think of us as toys. Toys that you can control, toys that you think would do everything that you want. You will teach us what that we should do, you will teach us what to say and how we should act, you will teach us everything like you own us. And after we do everything that you told us to you will call us good girls.  Good girl,  continue following me.  Good girl,  get ready for more, like we are toys. But of course, you will not call us toys because girls and toys are the same for you, right?

We were taught to be clean, we were raised to be pure. That chastity is the most important thing that every woman should have. And for sure, you all want our purity, but when we disagree like we were taught to you will call us prudes. ***** for choosing who I open up to. ***** for not letting you inside my temple when I am the landlord making choices.  ***** for saying no, because your ego is far more important than my consent. And when we say yes, you will call us *****. Choosing what to do to your own body is a not a thing you should do. Expressing your sexuality is a sin to this world when you’re the one who does it. A woman’s pleasure, is not a real thing. Because we’re not allowed to have one, because we are known for giving one. We are known as ******, as women who are not clean and pure. Who spend their lives offering their bodies like they're the only thing that we can offer. You will shame us for being filthy and disgusting when you’re the reason why we are here in the first place. We are here to pleasure you, to give you what you want. But when we are the ones who would like to experience it, the world suddenly goes mad. We should not experience any pleasure but they can all the time. And when we finally speak for what’s right, our names will suddenly become *******. A ***** for speaking up, a ***** for doing the thing that I should have done ages ago, a ***** for fighting back. A ***** for being strong to be able to remove the tight grip of your hands to my mouth that has been keeping it shut, a ***** for removing the word ’silence’ in my vocabulary, a ***** for being brave to destroy the power that have kept me powerless for a long time.

Woman, I agree that we should be called names. We should be known as fire, a fire so powerful that can lit up the entire world, and burn you for playing with us the entire time. We are warriors fighting for the right thing, warriors that are strong enough to combat all the wrong doings. We are magic,we can do things that everyone never expected we could. Our mind, is the most beautiful place anyone will ever come across.
We are women, and that one word, is more than enough to make people know our value. Woman, the next time they will call you names you do not approve of, tell them. Woman, the next time they lecture you with the things you should do knowing you have your own decisions in life, **** them with your independence. Woman, make them tremble when they realise you are one. Woman, prove them all wrong. Woman, the next time they belittle you; do not let them.
prose free verse feminism women misogyny sexism
In Yucatan, the Maya sonneteers
Of the Caribbean amphitheatre,
In spite of hawk and falcon, green toucan
And jay, still to the night-bird made their plea,
As if raspberry tanagers in palms,
High up in orange air, were barbarous.
But Crispin was too destitute to find
In any commonplace the sought-for aid.
He was a man made vivid by the sea,
A man come out of luminous traversing,
Much trumpeted, made desperately clear,
Fresh from discoveries of tidal skies,
To whom oracular rockings gave no rest.
Into a savage color he went on.

How greatly had he grown in his demesne,
This auditor of insects! He that saw
The stride of vanishing autumn in a park
By way of decorous melancholy; he
That wrote his couplet yearly to the spring,
As dissertation of profound delight,
Stopping, on voyage, in a land of snakes,
Found his vicissitudes had much enlarged
His apprehension, made him intricate
In moody rucks, and difficult and strange
In all desires, his destitution's mark.
He was in this as other freemen are,
Sonorous nutshells rattling inwardly.
His violence was for aggrandizement
And not for stupor, such as music makes
For sleepers halfway waking. He perceived
That coolness for his heat came suddenly,
And only, in the fables that he scrawled
With his own quill, in its indigenous dew,
Of an aesthetic tough, diverse, untamed,
Incredible to prudes, the mint of dirt,
Green barbarism turning paradigm.
Crispin foresaw a curious promenade
Or, nobler, sensed an elemental fate,
And elemental potencies and pangs,
And beautiful barenesses as yet unseen,
Making the most of savagery of palms,
Of moonlight on the thick, cadaverous bloom
That yuccas breed, and of the panther's tread.
The fabulous and its intrinsic verse
Came like two spirits parlaying, adorned
In radiance from the Atlantic coign,
For Crispin and his quill to catechize.
But they came parlaying of such an earth,
So thick with sides and jagged lops of green,
So intertwined with serpent-kin encoiled
Among the purple tufts, the scarlet crowns,
Scenting the jungle in their refuges,
So streaked with yellow, blue and green and red
In beak and bud and fruity gobbet-skins,
That earth was like a jostling festival
Of seeds grown fat, too juicily opulent,
Expanding in the gold's maternal warmth.
So much for that. The affectionate emigrant found
A new reality in parrot-squawks.
Yet let that trifle pass. Now, as this odd
Discoverer walked through the harbor streets
Inspecting the cabildo, the facade
Of the cathedral, making notes, he heard
A rumbling, west of Mexico, it seemed,
Approaching like a gasconade of drums.
The white cabildo darkened, the facade,
As sullen as the sky, was swallowed up
In swift, successive shadows, dolefully.
The rumbling broadened as it fell. The wind,
Tempestuous clarion, with heavy cry,
Came bluntly thundering, more terrible
Than the revenge of music on bassoons.
Gesticulating lightning, mystical,
Made pallid flitter. Crispin, here, took flight.
An annotator has his scruples, too.
He knelt in the cathedral with the rest,
This connoisseur of elemental fate,
Aware of exquisite thought. The storm was one
Of many proclamations of the kind,
Proclaiming something harsher than he learned
From hearing signboards whimper in cold nights
Or seeing the midsummer artifice
Of heat upon his pane. This was the span
Of force, the quintessential fact, the note
Of Vulcan, that a valet seeks to own,
The thing that makes him envious in phrase.

And while the torrent on the roof still droned
He felt the Andean breath. His mind was free
And more than free, elate, intent, profound
And studious of a self possessing him,
That was not in him in the crusty town
From which he sailed. Beyond him, westward, lay
The mountainous ridges, purple balustrades,
In which the thunder, lapsing in its clap,
Let down gigantic quavers of its voice,
For Crispin to vociferate again.
M Clement Mar 2013
I
"I never thought," said
She awaiting responses
I cared none at all
II
Bring about all change
Said the women in the hats
Voting for switched thoughts
III
Irreversible
Unexplained, mispoken thoughts in
Slightly elder speech
IV
Steampunk, take old junk
Make them into something grand
The robotic hand
V
If I were asian
I'd eat my cultural food
In Panda Express
VI
Ironic, lightly
Grazing lions on the grass
The Antelope hunt
VII
Haikus for all yous
Travelling down the dirt roads
Win Sobriety
VIII
**** jokes take folks and
Make them into prudes, so rude,
But I keep joking
IX
I'm at nine, can't stop
I'll keep writing till the drop
Of the pen runs dry
X
I pay no heed to
All the words said by Sifu
I am poor student
I figured, why not try haikus.
Julian Aug 2015
Decadent choirs bemoan the prudish proctor of the inevitable and decisive test
Profligacy anneals and the knaves repeal the prohibition of the earth’s very best
Despondent clouds tower over a garbled loud and an unapologetic proud
Panache whisks the hallowed cross into transmogrified dross amassing a boisterous crowd
Hidebound ideologies tether the masses to masses and gather the rust of the bustle and bust
Recusant allegiance mocks the science of sanctimony and dissolute lust
Deathless in prayer and breathless in despair rhapsody creeps and percolated ideals leap
Arriving in the limelight of providence, the renegades daunted by the specter of commination weep
Proofs now exist and investment in their emphasis burgeons into a divine cease and desist
But in the hubris of victory and the rubrics of history pleasure wrenches control and importunacy insists
Brisk alacrity and savvy rapacity beseech the death of the stodgy gate
Time lingers in evanescent turmoil satiated only by the fish and the bait
But when the bait runs in low supply the society hearkens the agents of the sky
They pout over water even with verdant temptations escorting them away from the dry
How do you anoint in a world preoccupied with the next joint rather than the next joint venture
Revelations lies to stultify the brides of misadventure
Caprice rampant, society recusant deadlocked in hedonistic dreadlocks
The fools boast of victories never won, and the prattle of yesteryear is stalked
Restraining order duly noted but never imposed
Stygian elements wrought apparel to contribute to indecency in clothes
To the master of destiny and the architect of decency
I advise the future to focus more than just on recent sprees
Ignominy forgotten in tokes, we forget about the labor of cotton
We forget also about the putrefaction of the rotten
Abdicate the uprooted era squelched by disorientation wrought by intensified sensations
And return to the regal promise of prudes living beyond temptation
But who is the fool foolish enough to forswear the hide of the bear in the dead of the winter scare
Lilting in sumptuous praise and reckless abandon this charge and travesty seems unfair
Slanted lies of stodgy disguise revile the return to primitive commode and camaraderie
To loot of the panaceas and nepenthes to the extent of dearth seems a more egregious robbery
But in the uprooted future the past has no say
The primacy of today shines the refulgent and overpowering rays
The sun won’t burn out but the burn outs won’t establish any clout
Even in a world divorced from prudishness in sanctimonious doubt
Powerless in the rout of pleasure over the scourge of dearth
The earth awakens renewed even with the impossibility of rebirth
Resurrecting the indulgences of Rome while abdicating the tome
The theophany astounds especially the most prone
The coming of righteousness working to castigate immoderacy
The renegades listen barely enough to subvert their own profligacy
Shouting over the skylines the rain announces the sentences for the wicked crimes
Of a past forgotten and a future rotten because of an ill-designed time
An ill-designed design leading to wanton men groveling in grime
Time to indulge time to abstain
Either extreme ultimately lame.
K Balachandran Jan 2012
she is incorrigibly fond of
that four letter word,
but, an unimpeachable one
accept, even the prudes,
"Love" she asserts, is
the best four letter word ever.
Dawn of Lighten Jan 2016
My past time is Warhammer 40k
Collected 12 separate army ranging from 10,000 point to couple hundred.
My personal faction is craft world Eldar,
Since they are space elves of the dying race,
Prideful, arrogant, know it all, psyker gifted, prudes of 41 millienium.
Play with twelve Wraith Knights,
And earning me as "That Guy,"
As known as cheesy player,
Or just a solid Gould cheese.

I am inspired by Marcus Aurelius
Known as the philosophical emperor,
Also known as the last true good emperor of Rome,
Loved by many by the empire,
My favorite quote by him
"Accept the things fate binds you,
And love the people whom fate brings you together,
But do so with all your heart!"

I am a Capricorn,
Driven by amethyst gem stones,
Or a pure ruby so they say!
I have not had the same gravitational pull like Joan Of Arc,
Nor have I become a champion like Mohammad Ali,
Or fought for civil liberty like Martin Luther King,
Or earned the legacy likes of Humphrey Bogart,
But I would do my best to carry even ounce of their torch of greatness.
I think this will be my annual self reflection project, kinda like time capsule
Alan S Bailey Sep 2016
What shall I write about?
So of what shall be my account?
This or that? Shall I take you on a magical
Journey through time and space?
Shall I take you to Mars and we can
Explore the rocky red place?
Is there some kind of time machine that
We can get in and find out what will
Happen in the future that might take place?
Maybe I will write to you of my real life, how I feel,
This would be an empty poem, so I shall impress
My audience with a pretend show. I'm really not
Going to be rich or famous unless I put on that
Endlessly addictive yet unreal neon glow...

Thanks society! Thanks prudes! Thanks extremists! Thanks money!
This probably won't get any views, and THANK GOD! I wouldn't want anyone brought down by my endless white-wall boredom. Thank you for NOT READING this trash! I'm wondering if I should just make it private...OF COURSE! No one wants the truth, they want a false advertisement, even if it means living a lie, it makes us all happy, yaaayyyy...
Kelly Weaver Apr 2016
We live in a world
Where a size ten model
Is considered
“Plus Size”.

A world where women
Are prudes for wearing too much clothing
And ****** for not wearing
Enough.

A world where men
Are afraid to talk of their abusers
Because they’re afraid of being
Laughed at.

A world where the color
Of your skin makes you
A criminal, or a
Terrorist.

A world where your
Mental illness is only sympathized
If it’s a genetic
Disorder.

A world where women
Are criticized for wanting to
Be able to control their own
Bodies.

And a world where
Nobody cares about your suffering
Until you’re already
Dead.
KarissaRawr Aug 2011
Had another sucky summer start school the day after tomorrow I know they're gonna hate me and a few people will go talk trash about me but I don't care I'm going to be true to myself and whoever can accept that I'll be their friend and yes I'm emotional and weird part of it is I have reasons to be and part of it is thats just me well here's my song/poem:
I'm dreaming a waking nightmare but I'm here to have fun haters and fans alike let's just hold on you have three choices give in and conform to the norm, become violent to yourself or embrace who you are and let out your inner star and let the mainstream believe what they please we all fall down on hard times let your rock and roll heart pick you up why hurt yourself anymore that's just making the negative labels seem true if your goth dress in the black but don't let hurtful words hold you back and lay in a coffin of suicide for those dumb prudes they don't get how you feel don't let them end your life fight for what you think is right and when your personal problems get you down on the ground and the pills are in hand scream the words you feel don't pop them trust me I've been there I've overdosed I've lost the ones I love I'm judged I'm just like you I get that no one gets it but I'm ready to hold on hell this isn't my final song we all have rockability don't be silly we're all loved,hated,judged and broken hearted whether your callled scary,deadly,weird or mentally ******* remember your not alone and don't you dare change remember you have me and many more who understand I know I know I'm just a kid on your computer screen but there's an obvious connection authority thinks they can change and conform you don't cry if they make you change clothes we all know how that goes know regardless what they make you wear or wash out of your hair you still know who you are and rock yourself even without those awesome threads when you have the choice dress the best as you let them make fun of you for your differences but don't look blatantly bad brush your hair and smell the best being teased for that hurts but it doesn't hurt to dress and be who you please in all the other ways be rad be crazy let go sometimes laugh at yourself don't always be lazy accept the unaccepted and do the unexpected never give in to the mainstream again and remember no one's a poser and even if you can't win your not a loser let the deaf kid listen to music if he wants just because he can't hear it doesn't mean he can't feel it in his heart your only what you answer to and just laugh in the haters,bullies,bosses and teachers face who think they're words can effect you you know what to do they just don't understand who you are and how you feel but be proud your completely real let your rock and roll heart pick you up even though thats tough or if you prefer post *******,thrash metal or more believe in that and feel those words no matter who calls them absurd or what nerd trying to go along with the herd gives a diar complaint remember that kids no saint and shrug your shoulders even if they're older you have to be bolder let your rock and roll heart pick you up and guide you show your pride and let the world think as they please your not alone if your friends have to be online so be that atleast their true to themselves if you have to hang with the ******* the bus with seizures don't roll your eyes you don't know what its like to be her let your rock and roll heart shout out your special! Rawr!Rock and Roll Heart

— The End —