"bikinis" poems
if i was a girl i wouldn’t shave i’d be a tomboy ballerina with upper body muscles maybe a **** or surfer girl smell a little subtle i’d be tough learn to take a punch but i’d also be fragile sensitive intelligent i’d dress down like female ducks gray beige brown yet wear thongs boots bikinis heals girl stuff if i was a girl i’d be freaked out by ************ and even more freaked out by menopause depressed i lost my wetness if i was a girl i’d flash *** crotch drive boys wild be a complete nymphomaniac **** until i found the right guy he’d be strong gentle patient caring with a cute ***** i don’t care how big if i was a girl i’d learn to give blow jobs really good acquire a taste for ***** and play that skill as my trump card if i was a girl i’d find a job roll up my sleeves be a hard worker impress my managers become a manager quit i would find another type of work maybe a writer painter if i was a girl i wouldn’t compete with men i’d simply be more creative smarter if i was a girl i’d want to give birth as scary profound as that might be i’d want to be a mom a nurturing loving attentive mom i’d garden cook sew clean stand by my man my children devoted to home and hearth if i was a girl i’d cry a lot but not in front of anyone if i was a girl i wouldn’t want to become an old woman surrounded by other old women taking care of sick old men or no old men if i was a girl i’d want to die instantly in an accident or in bed reaching ****** age 82 if i was a girl
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 7:37 AM UTC
I am carved in scars
In stretches, in mars and imperfections
Blood, sweat, thick skin.
Roots of strength and passion and pride
I will not trade my high mentality for your low approval
I am a queen of Africa
Untamed, ****** hair, color: opaque
Killed, straightened, whitened
Westernized, hypnotized, it's this way or the highway.
Bleached skin, egotistical chocolate, pale skin
Contacts in shades of green, blue, hiding murky eyes
Size 0, size 1, size 3, stop. Hips do lie, only flat and thin.
Push up bras, Barbie ******* corset waists.
Bikinis, mini skirts, cleavage, to hell with tradition.
I am carved in makeup
In luster, attention and perfection
No longer, blood, sweat, thick skin
Lost roots of strength and passion and pride
I have traded my high mentality for your low approval
I am no longer queen of Africa,
No longer queen of me.
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 7:56 PM UTC
My father lets me wear
short skirts
and bikinis
and pants that hug my thighs
but he will not allow me
to leave the house
in a button down shirt
and suspenders.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC
F for the fistfights I was asked to sit out of, because I was born with a different set of genitals
E for the equal rights I've been begging for, only to be let down time and over again
M for all the military applications that weren't even reviewed, because I seemed unfit for not having a pair of nuts
I for the inferno that you made me feel, fighting so hard to be a pilot that was obviously only ' a man's job '
N for the number of convictions the guy who ***** his girlfriend didn't have to face, because the way she dressed up showed that she "wanted"it
I for all the immoral stares that I couldn't counter back for the fear of your lawyers defending you saying it was a friendly one, for the fear of you blaming the shorts and crop top that I picked out for that lovely Sunday
S for all the standards that women themselves set for themselves, ***** standards; I'll do what I want and say what I want, I'll eat what and I want and dress the way that I feel like I need to, I'll wear bikinis that probably doesn't flatter my body and height but you know what? I don't give two flying f**ks
M for the mortals that made it necessary for feminism to even exist
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
Watchin' bikinis as they stroll,
they show a lot of skin, but not much soul.
You're out of your league boy, but that's OK.
Tomorrow could be your lucky day.
And you'll find me in that sunny weather,
I'm gonna get myself together,
till my skin turns into leather,
down on the Redneck Riviera.
"4x4s" sportin' bars-n-stars.
Ball caps and tank tops, their hittin' the bars.
Tattoos gettin ********* scarin' "tourys" away.
It's alright Ma tomorrow's a beach day.
And if you ain't a "toury"
you're runnin' from your past.
FBI, DEA or maybe the IRS.
Past wives, past lives, AWOL.
Everybody knows you here, but no one will tell.
Non-com fly-boys with their Amerasian wives,
bringin' 'em to America, given 'em better lives.
Some stay together, but others will roam.
They'll hit the street for money like they did back home.
And you'll find me in that sunny weather,
I'm gonna get myself together.
Frankly Scarlet I don't give a **** about Tara.
I'm down on the Redneck Riviera.
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 1:38 PM UTC
Thanks.
For calling me all those pretty things
everyday
for months
and months
being the center of my thoughts and conversations
being the guy I tell my friends about
because I have never liked a guy the way I like you
and no guy has ever liked me before at all
you are pretty much beyond out of my league
and yet somehow here we are
telling me you want to take me on a picnic
being so wonderful
being a writer and a poet
being gorgeous and handsome
being wonderful
such a wonderful person
making me fall for you
then after WASTING
so many months of my time
you HUMILIATE me
when I have to call my friends
and admit to them
that you texted me
and told me you were in love
with some other girl
in "love" my ***
Please.
Don't make me laugh.
...or cry.
:(
I met her by the way
she is the mother of all *******
and also doesn't wear actual shirts
just these loose pieces of fabric with slits along the sides
that show everything
that she refers to as a top
I've seen bikinis that are more modest
but whatever
I'm just in a good mood
because you dropped me
so quickly
like it was nothing
and watched me fall
all my friends sharpened their battleaxes
and called you all sorts of colorful things
but I was still sad and disappointed
but I am in a good mood
you know why?
Today I saw her making out with this guy
she is either dating him and NOT dating you
so you lost her
or she is cheating on you
so HA
now you know how it feels to be replaced
you **** well better not try and get me back
'cause now I realize
back before you let me go
I thought I didn't deserve you
because you were so wonderful
and I was worthless
now I know I was right
I don't deserve you
because no matter how much I loathe myself
and I really do
Even I don't deserve
a worthless waste of space player like you
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
i found stretch marks on my body the other day
i started slapping at them as tears ran down my face.
"i am okay."
"i am recovered."
"they dont matter"
but now all i can think about is what men will think of the red streaks on my hips and legs
how i wont be pretty anymore
ugly.
so effing ugly.
"i am okay."
"i am recovered."
"they dont matter"
they're natural, but i wouldnt have gotten them if i didnt gain a drastic amount
i cant see past them.
i weighed myself again, too.
"i am okay."
"i am recovered."
"they dont matter"
theres more coming
i see more everyday
i cant wear bikinis anymore
i cant have *** anymore
i want to rip off my skin.
"i am okay."
"i am recovered."
"they dont matter"
Aug 8, 2020
Aug 8, 2020 at 5:50 PM UTC
I think of You when I brush my teeth and comb my hair.
You used to dust off your boyfriends just as fast yet
Your hand still shakes less than mine.
The pact I made in eighth grade only destroyed one of us;
we were only trying to shake off the insults of elementary school.
My scars still laugh at me from under my slacks,
while You strut in bikinis during the summer months.
It all is based on what they say,
but not what I bother to tell them
I feel.
I will tell You;
that my heart has been asleep for two centuries,
my soul spends starless nights awake wishing for deeper meaning,
my hands were caught replacing my Bible with my books of Byron and Bukowski
the taste of pumpkin coffee rattles in my mouth
and my voice has taken a vacation to the tropics
while my skin sighs tears it does not possess.
my heart is weeping for the one I cannot see
and my chin trembles more than three times a week.
Yet when I chew on my rosemary leaves,
I will remember how You threw my things to the carpet.
I will remember how You meant it when you kissed me
and I will remember when You borrowed my romper,
two sizes too big,
and worked it harder than that psychology textbook You so despise.
And I will remember the moment
I knew I loved You.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 5:04 PM UTC
scavenger bride,
she counted periods
before the children came along,
but never suspected
eyes like bottles
beginning to blue,
a tangle of scars
hermetically sealed,
the new order of
a broken romance,
dead love cassettes
in the glove compartment,
her cold and empty
constellations,
like cold breath
passing through a beam of sunlight,
grid of points, pendulums,
the ratio of freckles to stars,
no subtle countenance,
martinis and bikinis,
soft ******* and ice cream,
slight, elusive things, on a beach
with no more meaning,
the repeating pattern of
her mistakes and reliefs,
a preservation of decay,
sustained by the tiny
human fault line
in that oneiric hinterland,
between dreaming and waking,
she draws around the noise
and the clearings,
she creates within that sightline
the way her sadness can feel
comfortable,
an extension of loss that turns
her ruins into a home.
Aug 1, 2022
Aug 1, 2022 at 2:48 PM UTC
This small talk kills me
when once it was so easy.
I remember when I
was the favorite.
This was before her first car
and sixteenth birthday,
movie dates, weekend sleepovers,
and high school crushes.
This must be how old toys feel,
played out, aged,
traded for the new and bright.
On a sand dune,
we sit shipwrecked,
stranded,and talk carefully
like strangers do about
sea birds pecking for food,
dead jellyfish,
and the innocence of sand castles.
Dark glasses disguise
my quick views of bikinis,
fitness thighs, and smooth dark tans,
mask her sneak peeks
at young muscle, flat stomachs,
and cute boys with fashion haircuts.
She burrows her toes into the sand
to pass the time.
I try to think of jokes
to make her laugh
but no punchlines come.
We share a fancy grilled cheese sandwich,
shy giggles,
and a pink lemonade
before she can no longer hide
the boredom in her eyes.
I know its time to leave.
She reclines her seat back
and sleeps the drive home,
leaving me alone
with miles, empty highways,
and whispers of classic rock
from the radio.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 10:53 PM UTC
O' Warped Tour
On the hot blacktop we stand
In front of your various stages
The beautiful bands grace us with their angelic,
or if they prefer, demonic, voices.
O' Warped Tour
The people we meet
Girls in bikinis
Boys with ****** noses
Teenagers sitting on shoulders
O' Warped Tour
Mosh pits in the front
Singing in the back
Crowd surfing
To running circle pits
O' Warped Tour
With your merchants
And band autographs
With your cigarette smoke
And crazy teens
With your summer days
And loud music
We never want to leave
O' Warped Tour
We love you
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 12:53 PM UTC
Down here by the Murray River,
where life swims all around;
above and beneath the surface,
in this heat, everything flows —
Beers, BBQs, budgie smugglers and babes in bikinis,
memories bobbing above ground
capturing freedom; post-pandemic and pre-celebrations.
Down by the Murray River,
watching things flow safely and soundly,
birthing new possibilities:
boyfriends, babies, businesses and brews?!
Endless possibilities abound,
prophecies realised; salvation.
Down by the Murray River,
with nature, our souls sing loudly,
simplicity is possible,
trusting and enjoying,
everything is allowed.
Jan 13, 2024
Jan 13, 2024 at 4:28 PM UTC
baby,
your hip bones aren't supposed to be sticking out
your ribs aren't supposed to either
they pump you full of pictures
of skeleton girls in cute bikinis
and weight loss tips
and though you always think "don't let it get to you, they're wrong"
it gets in your head.
because all the boys commenting on the photos say they'd totally ride her
long and hard
and all the comments on the girl who's slightly overweight
involves comparisons to cows
and you're so soaked in social media
that you can't help but see it
and all the girls commenting on how that's all they
want
but if all you want from life is to be "slightly sick"
to eat things and then puke them up
or not eat at all
you will never be satisfied
because you are feeding a hunger that does not go away
you lose the ability to judge how skinny
is too skinny
how pretty
is too pretty
after all, they are
the same
thing...
baby,
stop looking at those pictures.
stop reading those comments.
stop letting a pornographic generation of boys
tell you that ****** appeal is all you're worth.
start saying to yourself
i am not on the same level as a pornstar
because that is unrealistic
because **** is make believe
with plastic barbie dolls
to set the scene....
baby,
pretty isn't skinny
like pretty isn't fat
WE KNOW WHAT PRETTY REALLY IS
....we just ignore that fact.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 3:41 AM UTC
Did you know?
Did you hear?
Were you told?
About the love story of the sun and the moon,
And how the sun died each night just to let the moon breathe.
What has he done to prove his love?
Or were those endless nights all enough?
Talking about a future that he would work on and walking up to ***** just like any other time.
Did he prove how much he loved your pretty soul?
And that never again would he allow you to have your unborns killed?
Did he ever stop you from aborting?
Or even decline to be the father?
What has he offered that we can compare to the sun?
A bouquet of flowers?
A glass of champagne?
Or were you just a trophy girl that he used to magnify his earnings?
Did he tell you not to answer Katherine’s call, his secretary?
Or did he remind you of the Sunset Resort where he was busy ogling at other ladies on their bikinis?
What does he remind you of?
Of endless love or of being a concubine?
I tell you, I will remind you once again,
Of the story of the sun and the moon.
How the beauty of the moon was the pride of the sun,
And how much the stars shied away admiring their love…
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 5:58 AM UTC
*"Just the tip. Just the tip." Initiation. Fourteen years old, fourteen year olds don't know the just the tip trick. It hurt like hell but the sound of his panting was well...worth it. Just the tip, then just the shaft. Just a lick, what a champ…the other half. Gigi was born, de-flowered then flourished. Naughty by nature. Fed and *** nourished. What a **** I was, what a ***** I am.…just slap my *** grab me and pull me in. Choke me, bite me...squeeze, pull my hair, look me in the eyes, cuff me to a chair. Quiet ones you have to watch. I moan louder than I talk, nice rock in my hips....do me real good and I'll wobble when I walk. The club is my home, but not where I belong. Under my hijaab they can't see my laced thong. Taught to cater to the men and serve them martinis. Not dance ***** naked in heels and bikinis. Allahu Akbar. Don't let my family find out. Allahu Akbar. They'll **** me. Allahu Akbar. But if they do. Allahu Akbar. I'm still me.
My name is Neha,
Stage name GiGi however so complex, Stripper in silence,
And I'm strung out on ***
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 2:58 AM UTC
"Pass me a shroom, give me the **** hit up the ****** tap on the alcohol, and trip out on acid." That's what they all say in this world; that's how they get their high. But for you; I see it in your eyes Haley. You get a different high. No, you're not high on living life. You are high on trying to figure out how to life life. You hurt and I see that. You take away calories to increase your happiness. Some add more **** to there needle to increase their happiness. Whether you are taking or adding; you are hurting. What was your gateway? Was it the scale? The girl in the magazine sitting on the shelf? How about the "pretty, skinny girls" in bikinis at the beach? Like everything bad in life there is always a start to it. Some become a drug addict by smoking a cigarette; "oh, ill just do it once". Was it that way with you Haley? Just one less helping of the side that was for dinner, just one less snack, just one less meal. We always have false realizations for our self and it ***** we discover them in such a bad way. Did you enjoy the control that you could and can have over food? "They can't make me eat any more than i want do". Druggies like the lose of control too. They feel at ease with themselves in the moment and maybe the next few days; maybe you did too Haley. Druggies have close friends they smoke around, they don't dare let in newbies. I heard of your friend, Ana. She sounds like a scary person; yet you are aspiring to be her. Haley, you've got so much more to give and experience then these foul emotions. With all things in life there must be an end; this is your time to start a new chapter. Learn to live without your addicting. You can do it. 1 in ever 200 women have an eating disorder; 1 in every 300 are addicted to drugs. You can beat this.
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC
You tried to be my lighthouse
(though I never asked you to),
a bright, clean, unwavering beacon
that could guide me through
the most treacherous,
the most turbulent,
the most shark-infested of waters,
and bring my sea-tossed self
safely back to harbour.
How frustrating it must have been for you to watch me
- in spite of your true, benevolent light -
wrecking myself against every rock I could find,
chasing storms,
searching for mines and riptides,
hanging out where the sirens
in their tiny, iridescent-scaled bikinis
ride on barracuda.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 8:56 AM UTC
******* neon-green or bright red and pink
with polka dots yellow,
makes me one happy fellow.
She has bottoms so tight
that all of her *** hangs out with
just the crack out of sight.
Bikinis, bikinis---
what a way to spend
eating pasta fettuccine
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 4:43 PM UTC
slightly strange & hidden forever
burnings happened to Christians
calling southern
gun telling moving
plastic abstract loved the smoke &
shadows of angels;
gold skinny weird walls of the goddesses
hairy guns jack
radio ******
fat imagine remember wind literally
caught dancing w/ a friend
Bettie & the other cute
muses, sweaty &
warm rolling around in the desert;
kissing her round bottom, living through
Gypsy's French kiss
meeting teeth;
********* the ladies that sat in the winds wearing
their lover's daughter's bikinis in paradise
pregnant w/ Einstein's watch
holding
[sand alchemy Chinese kissing form; the
stripper plays buried in the
flames of her crazy bra]
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 8:36 PM UTC
Oatcakes make great bikinis they're all the rage back home.
You can rap up your eggs and bacon; fill them with sausage and beans.
They're baked on a griddle or backstone; made from oats, flour and yeast.
You can wear them like potters bikinis or munch on a toasty cheese feast!
•
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 10:15 AM UTC
How dare society make us women feel like
Our very own bodies is a prison,
To be locked up behind the metal bars of our *******
Tied up by the chains of our curvy figures
And the sentence lying between our thighs.
And the sentence is brutal.
Consent is no longer existent
When the *** is too tempting for a man to say no
And for you to say no.
Our butts slapped,
Chests groped,
Cheeks pinched,
Thighs squeezed,
In this prison we had the decency to call our own body
We are handcuffed to the degrading appetite of a man.
Women are not a display of things to touch
We are not a dessert menu for a man’s hunger
To be ordered by catcalling:
Want a taste of a woman’s behind?
**** that ***
A taste of ****
Oh, baby, put on a show for us!
Or just the full course meal-
Hey girl, ow ow owwww!
It is about time we strong women break free.
The jailor of men- I stole the key.
It is about time we change out of our prison uniforms of
Bikinis and mini skirts and stilettos
And break down the locks that confined us.
Our prison sentence is just about up,
And when we are let loose,
Us women will no longer stand for such debasing behaviors.
And when we’re free,
It’ll be time to teach the men a little lesson
This cage of our body does not define us, boys,
Maybe try finding the prisoner behind the bars-
Her personality,
Charming smile,
And brilliant intellect,
Instead of demeaning our existence,
Objectifying our importance-
We are not your tools, your toys.
We are humans, too, you know,
With- get this- feelings.
Try manners and kindness rather than
Feeling and groping your way to a woman’s heart.
We are not a play museum- we are the artifact,
The masterpiece- Mona Lisa, Starry Night, the Sistine Chapel-
You must stand behind the red velvet ropes and perform
What the English language calls respect,
With a thing also known as consent.
This- my body- is also known as my body,
It is not his, it is not hers, and most importantly,
It is not yours.
Please try to understand this- I know, it’s super complicated.
And if you gain anything from this, let it be this:
We are not here to satisfy you-
Women are not prisoners to a man’s every need.
We are not objects- no-
And we deserve to be heard.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 11:52 AM UTC
It smells like summer on the island
Like laundry and leaves
Like late-afternoon lakewater
And pollen-filled breeze
I remember my summers on the island
The bunkbeds and bonfires
Beaches, bikinis
And dirt roads under dark tires
Birch trees and blackberries
Blue birds and sour cherries
Two hours on the ferry
Summer on the island
Lawn chairs and lemonade
Hammock-hanging, holidaying
Laying in the lazy shade
Hiking high into the bright blue sky
Deep inhale and satisfied sigh
We had been waiting for this
Our summer on the island
Cold tides and closed eyes
Penny candy and pecan pie
Crop-tops, flip-flops, tree-forts and drop-offs
Crayfish, crayons
And breakfast on the dock at dawn
This was summer on our island
Millions of mosquitoes, minnows and movies till midnight
Eating smores in the smoky firelight
Running through the trailer park in the rain after dark
Our summer on this island
Everything was my favourite part
I loved it all
The grass
The trees
The foamy waterfall
Sun, seagulls and sand dunes
Either services or sleeping in till noon
Sweet island summer, over too soon
Summer on the island
Was a lifetime ago
The island was my summer
But I’m letting go.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
Remember those nights
When we would eat gummy bears in the dark
And guess their flavors?
Of course, we never knew if we were right or not
But the silly little things like that
Are the things I am most fond of
Or that one time
I slipped on soda in the McDonald's bathroom
And we laughed for what seemed like hours
Or the day we went down to the creek
And the neighbor's dog barked at us the whole time
And of course I wouldn't forget the time we went skateboarding
In our bikinis
Nights gossiping on the phone over a boy who probably will never remember us
Laughing over stupid things that nobody else would find funny
Those were the days
I wish we never had to grow up as quickly as it feels we did
Aug 22, 2010
Aug 22, 2010 at 2:24 PM UTC
My sweet Austin Texas ecstasy, my beloved Guadalupe you
gem of the desert. Your family’s a basket-a-bigots but
******* they drink for miles and how near they are to my
heart. This heat’s a drug I swear it. Let's swim in that hole
in the bedrock between two rivers. That'd be nice: me and
you and mobs of Westlake High sophomores with their
blue-raspberry bikinis, a hundred Teen Vogue magazine
covers lined up on the grass like a set of bad church pews.
Imagine that whitewash of a crowd, you and me so alone in
that big static it's better than private. Let’s punch brick, peel
back our knuckles and watch’em clot in the sun. **** gauze,
we’re goin’ to a punk show. I’m puttin’ on short sleeves,
goin’ on parade, gunna flaunt my cigarette burns like a Cadillac:
I want those dorks at the Mohawk to look and love me like
they love gore. I’m gettin’ my black-eye ribbon tonight.
We’re in the Chaos in Tejas show, darlin’, put on Crazy Spirit
and bring your 2x4: skinheads ain’t jumpin’ themselves.
Let's get medicated, hunny, let's get saved. I love watching
Austin bleed out into the sand every dusk. Love the musicians
sailing out grimy and frothing over what night brings:
what a big sky, Texas, you're almost better in the day all
parched ground and azure azure. I love the glass on the high
buildings here, they’re like mirrors. This is God’s powder room.
This is where God sees himself drugged up and beaming in a
beautiful powder room. This is where God goes to remember
youth. I love how youth hasn’t gotten you yet. That unassailable
capacity for charity, that surging belief in belief shouting out
through your temples, I can’t stand how you make me sick of
making myself sick. You slapped the ******** outta me so quick
I’ve never seen grace move that fast. I thought you'd knock the
grapefruit polish right off your nails you hit me so good.
What a sight you are, kid, so proper and fit, Christ, you could
be therapy: so brunette-in-the-Fall, so full-lipped,
unabashed and Aristotelian, frayed like anything but ****
well stitched, impeccable at the seams.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 8:11 AM UTC