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Francis Nov 2023
The expectation,
Of you to accept the inhalation,
Of the evaporation,
Of someone else’s waste.

Make it make sense,
How the walls of stalls,
Fail to reach its maximum highs and lows,
For all of us to share what we release.

We listen to the air,
That flubs between *** cheeks,
Just as the **** projects deuces,
Into the bowl that cups the sound of wind.

We hear the moans and sighs,
Of relief, constipation and strain,
As we urinate nearby,
Adjacent to the incomplete **** shack.

Make it make sense,
How tasting the gases,
Of Joe Blow, blowing out his insides,
Is a customary to our community.

A sociological experiment,
Deemed to generate sociopathy,
As we laugh at the flatulence,
And giggle at one’s vulnerability.

Merely a forgotten fact,
That we have been there too,
We go there every day,
And pretend that others don’t do the same.

And without a mere act of courtesy,
The space is left filthier than the last,
Because why be considerate for the next?
Someone’s job is to cleanse my waste.

Furthermore is the neglect,
Of faucets, soap and towels,
Aimed to **** bacteria,
That exits biological passageways.

Why oh why,
Must I be forced to study,
Why this is simply unacceptable,
This concept of oversharing?

Recurring stage fright,
Readily apparent,
When forced to **** beside men,
More than double my size.

I’ll simply never understand,
How by design,
What we wouldn’t do in front of house guests,
Is something we are urged to do in front of strangers.

With a bunch of hairy, overweight men,
Who clear their throats, bladders and colons,
In my personal space.
Seriously, what the ****?
it showed
an utter disdain
for the conventions
of such an event
that they would
not toe the line
like the others
they proffered
none of the standard
sidestepped shuffles
nor the exuberant
failing of arms
that have come
to be expected
of "good" dancers
those overused staples
that accompany such
predictable song choices
outdated and enjoyed
only ironically
this dance could not
faithfully manifest
their truth

they danced
not for that unnoticed
peripheral audience
but solely
to tell a story
to one another
instead they chased
cavorted and capered
with piggybacks
and fireman's lifts
arms-spread spinning
they became fireworks
their bodies
exploding apart
pulled together
   and stumbling
without a care
leaping shoelessly
from place to place
from song to song
ending always
in each other's arms
Cathy Devan Aug 2021
My mother dresses me in gowns,
stockings, fleece jackets,
She pulls my hair up into a ponytail,
sometimes braids it into conrows,
She spanks my *** when i mess it,
She scolds when my outfit is ***** or greasy,

My father lives in the South side,
He dresses me in a suit and tie,
He likes my hair in a bun,
On the weekends he likes me in sweatpants and a tee-shirt,
***** and greasy in his garage,

I like me having a choice,
I want me on overalls, shorts, jeans and african print on Sundays,
I like my hair messy and short,
I hate the society norms
Feels like the society at large has already made decisions on how to live
gen Feb 2021
do we conceive
each other
in such
different ambiance?
like how eyes aim
to see souls instead of faces,
bodies and flesh
how different our concepts
of beauty would be
detaching away
from the standards
and norms of society
such appearances are neglected
interiors over exteriors
if only we see thru things
beyond nakedness
bound from expectance
when one
does not feel a stranger
of her own skin
— g.c.

"- then i learned that society is broken, not me."
first poem in this platform! follow me, let's be mutuals :)
Paper Heart Poet Apr 2020
Lipstick whisper
Fake lash twinkle
Silicon Valley
In your body

You call me ugly girl without the chemicals
On my face, on my nails and in my hair
Growing it out

Pluck it out, don’t scream loud
And  take the pain as beauty’s price
Spend your money and time
And dye and dye
Until you die

He doesn’t notice
How high the heels
He doesn’t care
How it feels

Norms, norms
Abnormal norms
Inhumane morphs
In animal forms
There is no such thing as “normal”;
When you try to create “normal”,
“Normal” chokes everyone involved.
I do not think anyone can be “normal.“ because I do not think normal exists. It’s a construct that differs from place to place. What it means to be normal in one country varies from what  it means to be “normal” in another.

Normal seems to be a term that when applied to people it can be a source of torment. They strive to be normal or to be perceived as normal. The pressure to attain normalcy is high and it metaphorically chokes people; it impedes them from being & appreciating   who they are.
Keerthi Kishor Nov 2019
A lion’s mane would’ve been permed,
zebra would be all white,
spotted leopard would’ve been spotless,
an orangutan would have blonde hair,
an elephant’s tusk would’ve been whiter,
rhinoceros would’ve had smooth skin,
hippos would’ve been skinny,
raccoons wouldn’t have had dark circles.
Need I go on?
Animal planet would’ve been rather boring to watch!
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