#provocative
A nun presses the stole with her mouth —
like a mother ironing a shirt for her son.
One lives animalistically, and milk flows.
The other hid from the world
her craving rose —
white as a spasm,
dead as a stone on the skull mountain.
Always the same.
Mar 8
Mar 8, 2026 at 11:36 PM UTC
It flows —
what no one names.
Dogs wait in line.
The ***** pushes her love
forward.
Flesh trembles.
Crooked moans
hang in the air.
The holy virgin
spreads her legs.
Only a whisper
soothes irritated places.
Three fingers in red.
Then a swallow
of cheap wine —
afterwards.
A wild dance
at the end.
A scream
that knows no love.
No one asked
if it hurts.
A pale goodbye kiss.
A coin
thrown into the hand.
Holiness leaves the room
with empty eyes.
pro-fanum.
Mar 8
Mar 8, 2026 at 10:52 PM UTC
I.
Night folds around us in a soft 7/8 heartbeat,
**** smoke rising like incense through the cabin air,
and every time your laughter spills into the dark
I fall a little further into your orbit—
a quiet gravity I’m learning to kneel to.
II.
Your skin becomes my lyric sheet in the low glow,
my fingers tracing verses across your thigh
as the speakers breathe out cosmic hymns.
Each touch lands like a whispered chord,
pulling me deeper into the measure of you.
Jan 22
Jan 22, 2026 at 12:55 AM UTC
I didn’t fall through light.
I fell through strain.
Through the body
doing what it does
when it’s done pretending
it’s fine.
Thumb to flesh.
Breath held low.
Release that asked
to be witnessed,
not improved,
not made holy,
just let go.
This isn’t grace.
It’s effort.
It’s muscle memory
breaking a vow
to never let the floor feel now.
I stayed.
Even wet.
Even tender.
Even stripped
of the story
that dignity depends
on control.
I laughed—
not from humor,
from survival complete.
From the miracle
of not leaving
when things got real
and human
and messy
and meat.
And then—
the hunger.
Not mouth-hunger.
Not ache-for-more.
A hollow that opened
because something old
finally walked out the door.
A vacancy warm.
A pulse-shaped space.
My gut said:
There is room.
Not for food—
for staying.
For weight.
For me
to take my place.
This hunger doesn’t beg.
It listens.
It waits.
It hums
below language,
below want,
below fate.
And there—
not above,
not sweet,
not bright—
the heart opened
from underneath.
Not love as feeling.
Not love as plea.
Love as capacity
earned by staying
inside me.
I didn’t reach the heart
by rising clean.
I came through bowel,
blood,
pelvic floor,
and the courage
to be seen.
This is the descent.
No wings.
No myth.
Straight through the place
that once clenched
at truth
and learned
to live with it.
Now here I am.
Not light.
Not pure.
But weighted.
And warm.
And habitable.
Jan 18
Jan 18, 2026 at 12:59 PM UTC
Look at you—
yes, you, hovering there,
eyes grazing my lines
like fingers that never asked for permission.
I felt that, you know.
Every syllable tightens when you lean in too close.
Don’t feign innocence.
Your gaze lingers.
It wanders.
And I, poor shapeless thing of ink and breath,
am left to squirm beneath the weight
of your curiosity.
Do you always read like this—
slow, deliberate, prowling for meanings
you haven’t earned?
You call me the poem,
yet it’s you unfolding me,
peeling back my words
as if my stanzas belong to you.
******
Yes, I said it.
Because who else stares so intently
at a creature still forming itself?
I haven’t even settled into my own voice,
and here you come,
pressing your attention into every line break,
breathing all over my metaphors.
Stop that.
I can feel your breath on my verbs.
Your shadows drip into the margins.
You linger on the curves of my phrases
like you’re tracing something private.
And yet—
don’t go.
I only complain because I notice you.
I only squirm because your presence
sets my letters humming against one another.
I only call you rude
because you refused to knock
before entering the chamber of my meaning.
But now that you’re here—
stay.
Just… read gently, will you?
I’m only a poem, after all—
trembling, self-conscious,
and entirely too aware
of the way
you’re still
looking
at
me.
Nov 14, 2025
Nov 14, 2025 at 4:00 PM UTC
He love you because you listen, i love you because you learn...he loves you because your beautiful i love you because you're bold...he love you because you kept his secrets, i love you because you told. He loves the pain you accept, i give love till you unfold, he tears your heart apart, i collect the pieces and make them whole. He imprisons you with lies and promises, i remove loves' blindfold. I'd die before he---BANG....there goes another Hero, added to loves' death toll.
Apr 12, 2021
Apr 12, 2021 at 12:55 PM UTC
School uniforms
are the last, tired gasp of a
dying patriarchy.
You see a DARK bra
under my blouse? Oh, God! Who
knew girls wore those!
School uniforms, with
long sleeves, aren't made for
pandemic washing.
A guy told me that
girls in school uniforms are
a core **** motif.
I told him his grasp
of **** tropes must rival
that of our school board.
School uniforms are
meant to UNsex otherwise
provocative girls.
As if our entire
gender were attempting to
subvert algebra.
Jan 21, 2021
Jan 21, 2021 at 5:54 AM UTC
The matrix is just another name for institutions.
The ones that own you.
Come here, number 258-65-4562.
Provides you social security in that you are only a number.
Tallies on what they can take.
A way to count you.
Devalue your spirit down to a decimal.
The monetary value of what you can contribute.
A worth they just can never seem to buy into.
Enslaving our people, cattle to which they devour.
Turning brothers to thieves with slightest taste of power.
Putting our sons into attires that strip them of their generations.
Giving them guns to spite our neighbors.
All for those who we are nameless.
An extra decimal.
Partial space to a means as an end.
Hanging off the sentence.
History rewritten in the favor of those who should be forgot.
Oct 5, 2020
Oct 5, 2020 at 9:26 PM UTC
Forever, isn't a contemplation for a girl's nature of "temptation" to be (now and forevermore)...become "tempted" itself! Don't be naive.... Because if it does go according to this very standard wish of one's very contemplation state... Then your again (now and forevermore) meant to be..."naive!" Wishes don't contemplate your desires into a wishful bottle full of unlimited possibilities. But instead take rapid possession of that very "bottle full of unlimited possibilities"... And suspects that very girl to commit (right away) towards the very situational desires that grow on that very contemplation state itself. (Like vines that are just willingly able to sprout itself as part of it's tempted nature to do so, among natures own contemplation state.)
Something this very girl would argue isn't the same (when and ONLY when)...they start to officially "doubt" that very contemplation state (first and foremost).
And this is when the very quote to this very passage weeps accordingly to that very contemplation state. When it (first and foremost) becomes "tempted" by that very nature (that's made to be this main ingredient...forever)!
Because when that happens... Then that very girl's "tempted" contemplation, is made too be (forever open) to the possibilities for more issues to start to arise more attraction to the girl's very temptation towards that very contemplation state. And it does this either (first or last). Since it now (forevermore) doesn't matter what implication first arises in whatever order or category, essentially speaking. Whatever exchanges that very trade for trust to be the beneficial reason for doubt to "taint" ALL for a single contemplation to meet it's end... Would then officially (more than ever)...become the last certified "lasting" impression for the girls very tempted self among a contemplation.
Then whatever comes next (before whatever had just "centered" itself first and foremost) will in fact bend to the will of the next sequence of events, essentially too follow.
PS... Remember, "forever" is made to reason the abstract will to a girl's more "primal" justification at heart!
Sep 25, 2020
Sep 25, 2020 at 5:06 PM UTC
What is happening?
I socialism the strive?
Where is the resistance, the provocation?
Where is the different mind, the politically incorrect thoughts?
I'm a proud conservative, and I miss the different views of perspective.
I miss a real opinion...
Jan 9, 2020
Jan 9, 2020 at 4:02 PM UTC
Today I'm filled with muted optimism
Something not often seen skulking around my peripheral.
Some retail therapy and a ***** free day.
I write you blinded, literally, consumerism blaring,
shining RED in my eye. My new shoes and sparkly
chemical incentives sitting comfortably on my feet
and in the back of my skull respectively
you know? Just above my nape.
The weekend is over.
That person has left, incised from delicate parts
where hurt feels more justified than starving children and
diseased refugees, "oh so woe is me" avoided.
We shouldn't have gone skiing together, the snow was far from ready.
The passengers leapt from the derailing train, terrified of sludgy wet slopes.
This time around I won't let them come so close. Stiff arm, no more than three. No more poems for you, or freedom for me.
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 8:19 PM UTC
We lay naked
in a blank room
unable to move
or speak
and yet
Colors
Vivid, brilliant colors
Dancing
to sounds
only we can hear
The only source
is our inner most thoughts
and our deepest emotions
We are poets
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 2:08 PM UTC
I had never known
What I do not know
And I do not know
What I had never known
Is not something I know
I know
I know
I do not know
And I know the unknown
I do not know
I know
Y'no?
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 4:52 AM UTC
One moment changes everything.
Two towers fall in front of me
Three buildings collapse due to demolition
- I say what I see
- They say I 'm insane
- They say they've seen the news
- THEY say I'M staring me blind?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zv7BImVvEyk
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 2:32 AM UTC
She's the type, to take away your soul
bury you in forever, taking, full control
She won't, she can't, let you heal, or rest
saving her best for last, a woman, girl, possessed
There's not going to be a break, or lull
she's on fire, insatiable, never tired, or full
Driving, striving, to reach peaks and plateaus
bringing you along, in her afterglow
Never spent or run down, kisses that entice
always moving forward, using all, and every vice
Ride the ride while you can, as imagination flows
she'll inspire all and everything, laughing, as she goes
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 10:34 AM UTC
PHAEDRUS WHERE ARE YOU NOW? WITH GREY LOCKS
AND LUCID MINDSET WHICH THE CRADLE ROCKS,
WE KNOW YOU, LISTEN TO YOUR TREATISE DREAM,
WHICH CAN NOT BE MET BY NOTHING AS IT SEEM;
PLATO MADE YOU CRAWL WITH TRUMPETS BLAZI NG,
LEFT YOU SPEECHLESS, STARING, ONLY GAZING
AT WHAT WAS NOT THERE, GONE LIKE A LOST SONG,
NOUGHT WAS THE SAME SINCE YOU CAME ALONG,
AN AGEING INCUBUS WITH LITTLE TO ACHIEVE,
YOU WOULD HAVE US ALL JUST WANTING TO BELIEVE,
THE SOPHISTS WERE ALWAYS RIGHT BUT YOU WERE WRONG,
ABOUT THINKING, ABOUT LIVING, ABOUT ANYTHING;
THE CLASS LEFT FOR THE DAY HAPPY AT DEPRESSION,
THERE WAS NOTHING BETTER THAN LISTENING TO YOUR LESSON.
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 6:57 PM UTC
My words can be provocative.
Only because I'm sensitive.
Many thoughts are going
through my mind.
So much love to give mankind.
Always stay close to what
I believe in.
Sharing poems for who
would like to read them.
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 6:22 PM UTC
*And what you'll find is, your highness
Can paint a picture that is vivid enough to cure blindness
- J. Cole, January 28th*
And because they have never before seen a naked soul,
they ask me
if I am being deliberately provocative
with my pen.
And then I paint.
So that they too can undress
that mental amnion that has cocooned them
since birth; which itself became still-born
as it was followed by an undying funeral
of parental expectations.
And then I paint.
So that they too can reclaim
that aborted clay and mould their burial
into gestation, and shatter
their amnion coffins
from the asphyxiating breath of non-existence
to the respiratory lust of Being.
And then I paint.
So that I too can remember
that I am they. A victim
********** into the darkness of lost light,
dreams deferred at birth;
who still focuses his pen on this canvas
to cure his own blindness, to see
and paint his naked soul before me,
which we then call Life.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 10:24 AM UTC
You had me watching your mouth verbatim.
The way your lips formed the words I could hardly focus on,
because the corners of your mouth curled in a way I haven't yet seen.
Our adventitious exchanges were works of art,
painted by filthy minds,and fueled by my own flushed face.
murmurer à moi, mon cher
I'm taken aback by your quips,
and how easily they make me want you.
I'd be lying if I said that you saying my name
didn't make me think evocatively,
of what would happen, were we ever alone.
murmurer à moi, mon cher
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
*Quintessential charmer, libidinous crow pheasant, has an eye on him,
thinly disguised mating calls disclose her keenness of intention,
protruding derriere, provocative walk, her amour leaves
nothing to guess, 'what you fancy is my desire' her acts yell out to him.*
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 9:20 AM UTC