Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
AWeirdStranger Dec 2018
I know that you were lying
There was, of truth, a trace
I saw it in your eyes
It's on your ****** face

I heard your words, dishonest
Between your teeth they pace
I think I'd like to slap you
Right on your ****** face

Presently, I ponder
Your lies fall with such grace
If only I could stop them
And shut your ****** face

My ears, forever crying
Now I have lost the race
Your lies will never falter
I hate your ****** face
Scarlett Dec 2018
you slapped me once
whilst I removed my clothes
and then you degraded me
a cheek's a cheek I suppose

I wish I could soak up the sting
and feel your harsh hands once more
I'd rather feel your wrath
than be another forgotten *****
hurt me a little harder baby
Girard Tournesol Oct 2018
While I pondered as I laundered
On Manhattan’s Lower East Side
There came a yapping, sorta-clap-trapping
And there was nowhere I could hide!

He was my first cousin at a dime a dozen
And his name was ***** Shemp
Today he’s covered in pie for kissing some guy
And his suit is entirely made of ****!

Now Shemp is big and burly so I call our cousin Curly
Our hairy bald cousin twice removed
To smell this awful stink and to see what he might think
‘Cause cleaning pie off’a **** is totally unproved!

So we washed it by hand while we listened to big band
Then stuffed it all in the industrial gas dryer
We played some cards, waxed poetic like bards
But my eyes got real big when we smelled smoke from a fire!

Now this gets real scary so we call our cousin Larry
And the rest of the NYFD
To help us out with his cousinly clout
Which we seldom do often, but rarely

But when they bust down my door I get madder all the more
And doink dear cousin Larry right smack in both eyes
Which angers his buddies, a real bunch of fire fuddy-duddies
Then suddenly from somewhere we all start throwing pies!

Pies from someplace straight into the fire chief’s face
In all their custard’s-last-stand-glory
Even that sweet-sweet girl next door gets cream-pied galore
And that, Your Honor, is my ***** Laundry Story.

(Translated from original Brooklyneze by Girard Tournesol)
> As published in The Pennsylvania Poet's Society magazine, PENNESSENCE.
Sara Kellie Jul 2018
The opening night,
in front of packed house.
The story, a fight,
between a cat and a mouse.
The cat with her guile and
the mouse, all the while.
Powers up a ******' chainsaw
with a knowing wry smile.

So never bet against the mouse
with either money or your house
because the crafty **** takers
have slashed the odds at bookmakers
as to what's in the pies
at the new high street bakers.

Poetry by Kaydee.
Old enemies retold.
(strike while the iron's hot,
else...up prize cold hard steel Goldfinger
rewind: the following case in point).

Believe me you (stranger out there
along the information super highway),
perhaps feeling comfortably numb,
which I (personally experiencing futility)

vainly searching for Nirvana) attest
to be more appealing that flounder
(like a Phish out of roe jeers waters),
this Pink Floyd wannabe (actually live

ving an absurd existence as an A1 Deep Purple
People eater among a Band of *******)
oft times doth Abandon All Hope, when
this close (a hare's breath - imagined

by thumb and index finger nearly touching)
pinching that elusive Golden Silence),
when in the throes (up raised hands
signifying Abhorrent success) hopelessly

striving to summon forth a measly poetic
creation only to Rage Against The Machine
(Ablaze In Hatred) horridly glomming fruit
less endeavor, (a far cry approximating A

Blue Ocean Dream) extremely at wits end tide
feeling the painful impact re: classic mind
paralysis vis a vis Abnormyndeffect (whereat
most diagnoses an Abomination at best,

(strongly resembling, and easily mistaken
for gingerly feigning good knight two step
A BoogieWit da Hoodie), thus mental health
specialists advocate best ditch writer's block

as an Aborted effort gone south (by About a Mile),
yea...Just Above The Golden State (The Ruins),
when...with a whoosh A Canticle for Leibowitz
manifests and Jethro Tull appears waving a

magic wand while issuing Abracadabra birthing
from out The Breach of Silence inspiration met
with immediate backlogged literary juices, and
sudden Abrogation viz A Broken Silence, where

what appeared as a budding **** fantastically
heralded breakout New York Times best seller
collapses into a Uriah Heap of absentmindedness
twisting within psychic wind Abysmal Grief pain

full Acceptance of Absolute Zero literary talent
with strong considerations for an Accidental
Suicide Usher red via shocking the body electric
with maximum AC/DC self selected Act of Violence

deadening this once Acute Mind eve vent chilly Beck
conning Adam and the Ants, the Addiction Crew, and
most Petty full Heartbreaker i.e. A Death in the Family
unexpectedly engendering A Different Breed of Killers

who (Like the House of The Rising Sun nemesis),
essentially a Phoenix villa fied Gorgon Twisted Sister
faintly resembling a cross between Golgotha, Adolescents,
and Adonis, when...Who should appear A Dozen Furies

hence fomenting A Dream Too Late, Adultery admonished
by an Adult Mom with a doctorate in Advanced Chemistry,
and physiology of A Few Good Men inexplicably trans
forming into A Flock of Seagulls After Dusk matter of

fact After Forever leaving an Afterglow Against Time,
a veritable Air Supply ample enough to solve every
Algebra problem posed by Alice Cooper easy enough
to solve by average Alleycats, Stray Cats and Also Eden.

I hope you enjoyed Altered Images (ideally while in an
Altered State) Among the Oak and Ash during A Month
of Somedays assigning Amorphous Androgynous (A Pale
Horse Named Death) naysaying A Positive Life!
Tate Dec 2017
My life can be described as a man on the road
Never ending road trips to god knows where
Beaten up truck
Don’t give  f*ck
Wind lacing grease through my hair
As the radio blares

Hitchhikers hopping along for the ride
We get talking til I get them where they want to be
You know, then they’re done with me
Leave me with a bumper slap goodbye  

Least they had a destination
But see nothing can beat the sensation of finding one
Without maps or gas station attendants
I honestly can’t decide which one causes the worst headaches
Advil a poor girl’s novacaine
So I keep moving forward
Better to just be lost than be reminded of it
I’ll avoid me what shows me where I am
What shows me where to go
But I’ll get there
We always do
Robin MacCuish Nov 2017
She said: You're ****
not with brutality
not with honesty
but with the sly backhand
look at all that fat
her hand branded me from that time.

nestled me into the crook of her arms
held me under
for way too long
I forgot how to get food without tongs

She was built like a rhino
and I think she wanted a hand

fat fat fat

to stop the hand that had slapped her
so she reached for my thigh
cellulite and stretch marks
she slapped them red.
Wish I hadn't run.

I think I would have smiled at her.
And asked why she thought hitting fat people was fun.
Guden Oct 2017
I cross the same bridge everyday,
There are always the same people,
With their different purposes,
Or is it the same?

Today I saw God begging for a coin,
On the bridge.
Nobody looked at him,
I guess they were mad,
So was I.

I came to God and slapped his face,
He understood and didn't fight back,
I hit him for everything,
Like an ant that escapes from the farm,
After several minutes I remembered that I don't believe in God,
Not this guy with a beard anyway,
So I stopped and continued my way.

I returned for a last punch in the face,
Just in case.
This reminded me of my first fight with Tyler.
Celeste Briefs Aug 2017
You can't slap a love song out of me
You can't choke a kiss from my lips
I won't be sweated out of this hole,
You've thrown my soul into it.

You will feel the beats of a thousand bombs
The restless rhythms of my throbbing heart
Soon you'll find yourself
Smoked out of my hollowed-out cave

You thought you were the bread-winner
But it's my flesh you've feasted on
We both burrowed down for a long, cold winter
Only to see our world melting all around

You can't punch the past from my system
The truth may leak from my crying pores
My body may be screaming with fire
But you can't suffocate my love anymore

You will feel the beats of a billion bombs
The relentless rhythms of a pulsating heart
Before you've even stopped to think
You'll find yourself all torn apart
For everyone who's had to live through abuse of any kind (mental, physical, emotional, etc.) and who is struggling to find another voice out there in the void who can harmonize with their own. Please enjoy my lovelies:)
Mckenna Lynn Jul 2016
but i loved him
Next page