Riz 2d

perv etiquette is:
do not maintain eye contact
                     do not intently stare
                           do not press eyes down bodies
                                 do not breathe moist puffs onto cheeks

possibly small, like twigs
but we are not kindling
to light your dick ablaze

prevent emergence
we hold this pole for balance

a hand isn't naked
refrain. don't caress.

a chest is covered
brushing it is prohibited

i will tear your
bright orange tshirt
chewing the cotton
spitting it out onto the tracks
where i see you wait
chest bare but sweaty
and hairy
patiently wait
chin up you dog

this is goodge st.
mind your step between the man and the escape route.

ashley Jun 13

at 4:14 am
im still wide awake
imagining your body on top of mine
captivating me,
your large hands running down my fragile, tiny body,
claiming everything you brush as "yours".
at 4:20 am im still awake,
imagining myself on all fours,
your hand grasping my hair,
pulling it into that tight ponytail i wear during the day,
while you're telling me about how you could never resist me,baby. your words alone leaving me drenched and ready for you.
it's 4:30 am, and texting you:
"are you awake?"

It's child abuse in the Afghani style,
Men get hold of little boys to play,
They fiddle with the kids' flies,
Dig their fingers deep inside,
Get hold of the miniature tools,
Twiddle them till they just urinate.

And then the kids are addicted,
They keep repeating it by themselves,
It is not exclusive to the Afghanis,
Even some Indians often do it,
I know because even I was a victim.

Now I protect every other kid.

Male masturbation is a lot of time wasted.
And it's very addictive if exposed to at a very young age.
I was hardly aged 10 at that time.

My HP Poem #1585
©Atul Kaushal
William Lee Jun 11

Father sits at the head of the table
Strong and loud and proud.
Across the corner, to his right  
Mommy sat up straight.
Straight across again from her,
Is stubby chubby Bobby.
A yawn,
a stretch,
His eyes are fighting lack of rest.
He was awake far too late,  
but can you blame the boy?  
He turns sixteen today.

Finally, was little Annie  
half her brothers age.
She sat alone at the table’s end
A chair apart from mother,
A chair away from Bobby.
She hid behind the table’s edge
That faced her towards her daddy.
Her face she hid in the elbow-pit
of her bent right arm,
hoping no one notices

the scratches that cover her face.

“So good to have us all together,”
Father shouts away,

“A shame, indeed, when work keeps me
from my loving family.”
His hair is short, straight, stiff and blonde,
gelled perfectly in place,
Yes, so very neat and clean.
Though, not so flattering.
The hair has a hateful streak
you’d swear,
It seems determined  
to bloat and puff,
the Rosacea cheeks he wears.
The sun dyed shadows underneath
the neatness he perceives as
all important.
The cousin of Rudolph
he could be called,
his cheeks ignite and flush,
but still he wears his toothless smile
after tasting his ten A.M. toddy.

Mommy’s hair is a black whirlwind
attempt at taming with a scrunchie,
Yet failing to mask the mess it was.

Understandable,  
acceptable,
she had cleaned the house again.
Wiped every crease  
and every surface

no filth hides from her hawk eyes
Though the house was spotless  
when she began.
She still smiles,  
“Oh yes! So good!  

It’s been too long indeed!

We all are grateful for father’s attendance,
for Bobby’s sweet sixteen.”

Bobby’s smile didn’t fit his face,  
He’s too fat to reveal all his teeth.
No fault of his of course,  
happenstance and lottery
Still,  
that smile of his is one you simply never seem to want to see.  

“I’m really quite ecstatic myself,”  
Bobby proclaimed (every tooth exposed),
His teeth fade away  
He looks at his plate
“And although I know, I still wish,
I could have had a friend attend.”

Annie was neither stupid nor blind,
when three faces glanced
and two danced away.
But Father spoke up, addressing his daughter,

Shouting what he had to say,
“You know how stressed,  
little Annie gets!
With big days like today!
It’s not all bad! It’s for the best!  
I’m myself am very glad!  
See how well she has behaved?”
Bobby gave a knowing nod, and threw Annie a glare.

Annie did not respond;
Annie simply stared.

Father made a violent sound;
saved himself from a phlegm cave-in.
Now prepared to roar once more
at an eight-year-old with tremors.

Yet the words were nothing more than whispered.

“Now, Annie, why is your beautiful face so scratched?”

Annie did not respond.  
Annie simply stared.  
Then tucked her face in her elbow pit,
and swallowed a chunk of tears.

Mommy heard the gagged-up sorrow
and quickly interjected.  
“I found steel wool in the bath again,  

Annie likes them so.
If I’ve told her once  
Then I have a hundred times more,
They remove the filth from the dishes,
but not from little girls.”
Annie says,
“I know.”

Mommy fibs inside again,
a lonely little liar.  
Wishes her intervention  
was that of heroic martyr,  
But mommy interrupted
to save herself from silence.
Because sometimes in the noiseless stillness  
mommy feels an echo
it bounces from her spine to sternum.
That’s when she feels the lack of soul.
Hollow, mommy. Hollow.

Mommy held her smile hard,  
the silence only wins inside.
Glued-on cheer feels natural,
if you only wear It for a time.  
Her sawblade smile stayed
so perfectly monotone;  
statuesque.

The echo’s echoing too much,  
surely all the others hear?

Mommy croaked a giggle out,
and passed the cake around.
“Eat up! Eat up!
I worked so hard!  
I made it perfect!”

There were three plates that did not hold cake,
At least not for very long.
Seemed Annie simply liked the look,
And what a look it was!
Mommy made a masterpiece  
To say less is heresy!
Yet, now down two slices of masterpiece,
stubby chubby Bobby’s peace,
was no longer something he could keep.

“My God, how rude!
Annie hasn’t touched her food!”  

Father was just behind,
he, too had no peace of mind,  
he bellowed out,
“It really is rude!
It’s simply not fair!”

Mommy’s echo broke through the noise,
Mommy stopped responding;
mommy simply stared.

Stubby chubby birthday boy Bobby,
spitting frosting and cake:
“You, ungrateful brat!  
Why do you act the way you do?”

Mommy tried to intervene again;
She tried to save the day.
But hollow people make no sound,
they simply waste away.

So, of course, that could only mean,
Annie gets a chance to speak!
Why does she act so disturbingly?
With scratches and tremors,  
and a tummy full of swallowed hate?

Annie said,
“I can’t just make believe that Daddy doesn’t fuck me.”

Bisaal Jun 7

I touch your hair
then touch the grass,
your hair is so much softer.

I touch your cheek
then touch mine,
it feels the same, so why does yours
make my fingers tingle?

I touch your lips with my fingers, it feels good
but then I touch your lips with my lips
and it feels amazing.

I touch your hair, cheek, lips, chest, back,
I touch all of you
and I love it,
I love all of you.

I don't know where this came from since I'm still sad from a breakup and this isn't really a sad poem...
Purple-heart May 31

Remember the way we would dance
So beautifully together
It would be the softest moves
But the most dirtiest of looks

Looks of seduction
Hot & sweaty
Our hearts are racing
Pulling our bodies closer

Touching him
Squeezing him
Aching to be closer
Loving him & grinding him

Whispers of filth
Flowing through my ears
Begging for him to touch me
Touch me with no hands.

Dance with me again.

Let our blooming blood mingle in between the sheets like a concoction
And our boiling passion intertwine like electric currents between our cooking finger’s seduction,

Let our bodies tangle underneath the covers of our love’s atlases
And our juices melt over each other like fresh cans of paint spilling and tainting canvases,

Let our lust drip in tunes from our bodies like moaning musical notes
And our hearts struggle to contain such intense sexual pleasures we rapturously engross,

Let our nectarous liquids attract even nature’s honey bees
And our eyes act as cameras to photograph memories of pollination and honey drizzling striptease,

Let our flaws whirl with one another in an unending dance
And our bodies act as a theatre for their dancing plays that take place on every curve’s romance,

Let our legs build indestructible aesthetic sanctuaries
And our lascivious thoughts to roam freely the insides of each other's erotic libraries,

Let our hands chisel devoted sculptures
And our artistic talents unite to form art never seen before our creativity weaved colors.

Horatian ode:
Short lyric poem written in two or four-line stanzas, each with its the same metrical pattern, often addressed to a friend and deal with friendship, love and the practice of poetry. It is named after its creator, Horace.
Hannah May 24

I don't kiss someone without stopping myself
What do they intend to do?
Will this be the start of the love of my life?
Or are they just using me like you?

I take things slow and I think I do too much
My friends tell me all that they've done
I wanna be as free with my body as they all are
But I can't, because of what happened once


All I ask myself is if I'll get played
And did i deserve it because I stayed?
Every boy takes his tole
And to this day I haven't told a soul


How do I ask for help without giving up my cover?
Will I ever fall in love with another?
Why did I cry on the chest of a new man
Because of you when I hate you, understand
I'll never love with my whole entire self
And I hope you don't as well

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