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c Apr 2018
Ask me what kind of **** I am into
And I will take you on a magical journey
To fanfiction dot com backslash Harry Potter backslash NC17

What turns me on is Ginny Weasely in the restricted section
With her skirt hiked up;
Sirius Black in a secret passage way,
Solemnly swearing that he is up to no good;
And Draco Malfoy in the room of requirement slithering in to my Chamber of Secrets;
I am an unapologetic consumer of all things Potterotica,

And the sexiest part
Is not the way Cho Chang rides that broomstick
Or the sounds of Myrtle moaning,
The sexiest part is knowing
That they are part of a bigger story;

That they exist beyond eight minutes in ***** ***** *******,
That their kegels are not the strongest thing about them,
And still I am told
That my **** is ‘unrealistic’.

Not quite as ****** as flashing ads saying 'just turned 18’
So you can fantasize about ******* the youngest girl you won’t go to jail for.
I’m told that my **** isn’t quite as lifelike
As a room full of lesbians begging for ****,
Told that this is what is supposed to turn me on.

Don’t you give me raw meat
And tell me it is nourishment,
I know a slaughterhouse when I see one.

It looks like 24/7 live streaming
Reminding me that men are going to **** me whether I like it or not,
That there is one use for my mouth and it is not speaking,
That a man is at his most powerful when he’s got a woman by the hair.

The first time a man I loved held me by the wrists
And called me a *****
I did not think 'run’,
I thought 'this is just like the movies’

I know a slaughterhouse when I see one.
It looks like websites and seminars teaching you how to **** more *******,
Looks like fifteen-year-old boys bullied for being virgins,
It looks like the man who did not flinch
When I said stop and he heard 'try harder’.

If you play-act at butchery long enough
You grow used to the sounds of screaming,
It is just a side effect of industry;
Everything gets cut into small, marketable pieces.
I will not practice ****** hands
I will not make believe dissected women,

My *** cannot be packaged
My *** is magic
It is part of a bigger story
I am whole
I exist when you are not ******* me
And I will not be cut into pieces any more.
I love throwing out my fave poems here!

Brenna Twohy is a poet and performer from Portland, Oregon. She is a two-time Portland City Slam Champion and was the 2014 representative to the Individual World Poetry Slam. (taken from her Google page). She is a part of Button Poetry collective as well. Check out this poem and more on YouTube (just type in the poem title). It is muuuch more riveting of a write when she speaks it,
Kyra Wilder Oct 2017
When I was in 8th grade I remember envying the girls who still got to go home to their dad.

Who gets called princess and actually feels like one when their dad holds them.

Who are brave knowing that whatever comes at them has to go through their fathers first.

When I was in 10th grade I remember crying over girls who still got to go home to their dads.

Who can post fathers of their dad being the best and meaning it.

Who can confidently date knowing if anyone hurt them, their dad would hurt them ten times worse.

Who can be shown what a real relationship looks like.

When I was in college I hurt over the girls who still remembered what their dad looked like.

See, my father is a backwards glance.

My father is a shallow breath already hesitating on speaking.

My father is forgotten.

And I have his face.
inspired by Safia Elhillo

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