#stripping
A man living in community housing
Bought no groceries, he went out carousing
He didn't buy food
He saw girls dance in the ****
To him, this was much more arousing
He was told that he must change his spending
Or his tenancy soon would be ending
This made him annoyed
But. Now he's employed
At the strip joint each night... he's bartending
Mar 10
Mar 10, 2026 at 6:35 PM UTC
We degrade our planet
treating it like a stripper.
Paying for every layer removed.
Putting worthless paper
in our last breaths.
And when she is peeled,
we will see the failure
of our desires..
As we will be but a faint layer
on her.
Why did we think she
wanted to be used like this.
As we paid the last price
Feb 12, 2019
Feb 12, 2019 at 5:35 PM UTC
If there ever was a golden age
The smile on the cherubim’s grill,
Wistfully look into her eyes,
Devoted to her algorithms---
Like Christine there are no eyes,
Desoto algorithms---if there
Ever was a golden age
She’s sleeping in,
Evolutionarily destroyed by fire---
Mysteriously her eyes go blank,
Blank for all eternity,
If there ever was an algorithm
For the golden age---she was one---
For a quarter of eternity or an hour
Show her the pile of stones
The men will use
Saints go under the bridge
While over the bridge go the lions---
Her bones thick and mammalian
If there ever was a golden age of stripping,
She was there, her ideas and sciences
dawning on troglodyte mankind---
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 10:20 PM UTC
Words tattooed her thighs.
Chocolate hair fell in her eyes.
Muscle queen stomped
gymnastick,
round silver poles.
She was no stripper,
but an athlete
for tips
and hand shakes
and bills in her
cracking her face,
*her face must be
cracking* to
ass-grabbing lions,
prowling LA's
city sierra bored.
I couldn't imagine
Queen Courtney crying.
But upside down,
floating disco lights
exposed pursed face shows.
She girated
sex-lined hips
for tips, not ego.
Splits and tricks
choking chuckling girls
saluting her routine,
tossing one's,
wishing they were ten 0's.
She looked magnificant.
I asked her if she was a gymnast.
She said something like that,
eyes fixed on the sleek floor,
strong arms chilled by the cold —
men with thick wallets and no home.
So I gave her my coat.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 2:44 PM UTC
Girls who go on bended knee
And show the world their *****
Never ask for love or care
Or one to call them honey
If they choose to put a price
On showing men their body
With empty hearts and purses full
It seems kind of funny
If only they could love themselves
Half as much as money
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 1:13 PM UTC
She’ll make you use the good Lords name in vain.
One looking in her; no star gaze is ever the same.
Body turning, legs spin and frail,
Socks red as a fox stripped, swirling like a candy cane.
Exotic stares, confident; she can’t be tamed.
She so fine, Whine, might be your name.
With her smoking body; rough on the edges
Burning with passion, pushing me over the ledges.
Let’s call her Mary Jane, like the tattoo says.
Her stuck in my head, the way she moves, turns and bend,
The lyrics seem like they were written for her back end to befriend.
Only eyes for me, at least we, both play pretend.
She make her body lies, when she whines - I hope she says it again.
When on stage, close her eyes; so she can disappear.
Her stile there; so it appears.
In her own mind; the picture is clear.
Dancing in bedroom mirror; no one else there.
The gin and tonic, make it clear.
The chasers, chase her fears.
The different pills, keep her sane.
It’s the need for money, keeps her here.
But the fast money, is quick to disappear.
Along with looks; it is part of this atmosphere.
While tattoos fade and wear;
Yet, dark enough to hide her fears.
The Exotic dancers; that nobody hears.
Some will listens, many pretend, nobody cares.
The music playing; more than music to hear ears,
The lyrics screaming, making her point clear.
The dark nails, scratching the surface,
She crawl’s near. Matter of fact,
Between me, her, and the beat
There is no one else here.
All eyes on her; squawk and stare.
Longing for attention,
didn’t want it all there.
But talk is cheap; the truth, dare.
Searching for hope, won’t find it here.
All this attention, lacking care.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC