oni Jan 11

fingers seeking
release
gutting desperately
only finding
emptiness
the ghost of someone elses hands
the memory of love
pain swells forward
turned off

DD Hicks Dec 2017

When I was fifteen, I took a Health class and got "the talk,"--
(it's not what you're thinking because this is Tennessee).
It started with the boys and girls being separated and
mass-confusion ensued like bees who lost their queen--
(despite being female, I'm still scared of ovary diagrams).

Our speaker's name was Mary, but I think that was faked.

We were fed PG-rated and legally mandated information
about how our bodies are meant for HUSBANDS ONLY--
(joke's on her, half of my diet consists of Taco Tuesday).
Mary guided us through the "exciting changes" of our body
only to declare quite firmly that "sex doesn't even feel good"--
(unless you're married, of course, because your holes are holy).

And yet
I was
unconvinced.

And thus began my intrinsic journey of "pearl-hunting."
After all, if it didn't feel good with my hand, I couldn't
imagine what a dick would do for me and, boy oh boy,
that woman was so WRONG (suck on that, Mary).
But I digress, because I confess, I never really even
gave my clitoris a second thought before I took an
ABSTINENCE CLASS.

Y'all don't even know how much wine I had before I wrote this.
Dan Jamison Dec 2017

loin meat
hard yet soft
manipulated easily
a mind of it's own
you think you know what it wants
but each time something new excites
deep shame
societal unacceptance
gerontophile
furry
hentai
trans
addict

what's wrong with me
?

juttu Nov 2017

A million children that could've been
A million children you've never seen
They're drying up in the towels
Rotting in the sewers
I've sprayed them on the walls
Wiped them on the curtains
They've gone down the willing throat
And in the public toilets they float
They are all racing
In the sewers
On the toilet seats
and the dripping walls
In a whore
On a lonely shore
They're racing  
Millions of them
Because they're programmed to race
To be THE one
To be first
To exist
And they're all dead
My million children that never were

Rick Nov 2017

I looked at him right in the eye and yelled,

“DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH EMOTION AND HEARTBREAK YOU’VE CAUSED OVER THE YEARS????”

He didn’t reply.

So I started to choke him and screamed,

“HOW DO WOMEN EVEN TOLERATE YOU? YOU’RE A HUGE DISAPPOINTMENT TO EVERYONE YOU MEET!”

He didn’t reply.

I let go of him and my emotions changed over. Then I softly said to him,

“I can hardly even see you anymore.”

He didn’t reply.

So I beat him.

But of course, the penis doesn’t communicate vocally...

...he just erects and takes his beatings.

Just a fun little story I made up today

My fellow poets
On Hello Poetry|
Seem to want
To here the Truth
Even if the Truth
Is very strange and irreverent.
How else could a poem
About divorce and masturbation
End up being
The most popular poem
I've ever written?

It don't make no difference what she says
'Cause you're DIVORCED!
It don't make no difference
What she thinks about what you're doing
'Cause you aren't investing anything
In a common future
Any more.
Sure,
You don't have to tell her
That jacking off
Can be more pleasurable
Than sex with her ever was,
But,
If you ain't even sentimental
About getting laid,
And you don't feel she transmitted
Any wisdom,
How much is your relationship worth?

Sometimes,
I wonder how I get into this mess
With only you
For consolation?
Sometimes,
I wonder how I became so separated
From the people around me
With all my Fantasies
So far away?
Right now,
I am pulsating with desire
But the woman who was my wife
Is still in my home.
So,
I can’t openly express it
Soon,
She’ll be gone
And ejaculation
Will,
Once again,
Feel like a B’racha.

I suppose that this is the Voyeur's Variant of Madonna's "Like a Prayer". Motti Shonak is a top-notch photographer of Nude Women in Israel on 500px.
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