"bulge" poems
when god lets my body be
from each brave eye shall sprout a tree
fruit that dangles therefrom
the purpled world will dance upon
between my lips which did sing
a rose shall beget the spring
that maidens whom passion wastes
will lay between their little *******
my strong fingers beneath the snow
into strenuous birds shall go
my love walking in the grass
their wings will touch with her face
and all the while shall my heart be
with the bulge and nuzzle of the sea
50k
They told me to sit small,
legs crossed like folded paper,
voice tucked behind my teeth
as if silence were a virtue.
Cover up
Because if you don’t
It’s your fault
Your fault for their actions
If you ask for help
It never works
“He has a bright future”
If you need it to stop
Need to make a change
You can’t
It’s your body
But it’s their choice
Your skin, a weapon
turned on yourself
distracting, disgusting
You would never ask the same of a man
People ask
Man or bear
The answer may seem obvious to them
But no
Bear
Bear
Always bear
Because if it were a man
It would be so much worse
A man in a room of women
Ecstatic and elated
A woman in a room of men
Terrified and petrified
My shoulders?
Do they distract you
How about the bulge in your pants?
That distracts me
But I can’t say that
That’s unacceptable and awkward
So for once
Maybe instead of protection
Education would be the way to go
Because the answer should never be bear
Oct 3, 2025
Oct 3, 2025 at 12:39 PM UTC
yours is the music for no instrument
yours the preposterous colour unbeheld
—mine the unbought contemptuous intent
till this our felsh merely shall be excelled
by speaking flower
(if I have made songs
it does not greatly matter to the sun,
nor will rain care
cautiously who prolongs
unserious twilight)Shadows have begun
the hair’s worm huge,ecstatic,rathe….
yours are the poems i do not write.
In this at least we have got a bulge on death,
silence,and the keenly musical light
of sudden nothing….la bocca mia “he
kissed wholly trembling”
or so thought the lady.
31.4k
Picasso
you give us things
which
bulge:grunting lungs pumped full of sharp thick mind
you make us shrill
presents always
shut in the sumptuous screech of
simplicity
(out of the
black unbunged
Something gushes vaguely a squeak of planes
or
between squeals of
Nothing grabbed with circular shrieking tightness
solid screams whispers.)
Lumberman of the Distinct
your brain’s
axe only chops hugest inherent
Trees of Ego,from
whose living and biggest
bodies lopped
of every
prettiness
you hew form truly
28.6k
I was told about days where
I wouldn't feel love
And that in fact I wouldn't feel anything
And that not even the overwhelming
Thought of life would bulge
Any feeling into my body
Does it make sense to say that
Nothing is a feeling?
I feel nothing.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 10:23 AM UTC
#
Each body part
sizzled in pure pleasure
in the blissed wake
of your oral efforts
brought forth the waves
of rapturous delight...
Spurs poetic inspiration
in equal liberation
of desires to please.
Bodies transpose
in fluid motion
as brazen eyes meet.
Savor the voluptuous image before you.
Indulge your eyes in my carnal halo
before they roll to the back of your head.
On all fours
knees between your thighs
tips of swollen breast
caress your chest
tasting fresh honey
upon lips in a kiss.
Ripples of ardor
hover
by wet trails
of sensual kisses
suckling towards
the apex.
Breathe in
the slow motion pace
that pulsates eagerness
to the fore tumescing bulge
leaking with anticipation
of viscous lava.
Tickles of silken hair
against flesh edges closer.
Emerging subtle grumbles
in deep resonance
betray your impatience .
Hands tightly twine
in tangled hair
to maneuver
the treasure hunt.
Licked lips pause
at the sight of fire
burning in
glazed gazes
before engulfing
the throbbing member.
Plump ruby lips
greet velvety texture
in a slow deep dive.
Tongue curls around
the flavor
in a dulcet embrace.
Moans release
as grip tightens
in my hair
settles the
rhythmic pace
to taste in an
oscillating dance.
The masculine aroma of heady musk
lingering there, arouses my appetite.
With my enthusiasm
attuned to
your preferred rhythm
suckling, slurping
surface and dive
in measured unison.
Break of breath
allows tongue
freedom to roam below,
licking, soft kissing
the tender hammock
of testicles.
Tongue and lips escalate higher
to mount another assaulting dive
deeper in the depths
of the cusp in cavity.
Wetted fingers
probe even lower
circling superficially
as gasp escapes
your heavy breath;
flaming eyes lock.
Finger dips in
with expert finesse
gorging hardened growth
within a wrapped hand.
Thighs tighten
with rocking grip.
Head thrusts onward,
drilling forward
in each dive.
Salvia slips
fingers grip
lips dip
Engorged swell, flesh tightens in an intensity
of volcanic eruption ...
HALTS
assault
Pace retracts.
Loosened lips kiss tip.
*“Soon sweetheart, your time will ***
inside me as we surrender to synergy."*
#
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 7:51 AM UTC
I saw a Man both Lean and Hard,
Who smiled at me with warm regard.
As I notice the Bulge within his jeans,
I stretch out my hand. to stroke his seams.
And see the Size of his Manhood Rise,
From Soft Flesh, before my eyes.
Then Kissing the Now Swollen Tip,
As it Slides between my trembling Lips.
Engulfed within, my Lips Now Part,
I feel the Beating of his Heart.
His sighs give rise to other tones
As I Hear the coming of His Moans
And he Collapses, Having Spent
His sweet Manhood now Content.
JMF '98
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
Yes to my muscles, but
how can I help but
Sigh at
the spots and
the thighs
which are still in construction
Adult loading
Where the **** are the instructions?
As I stretch
and bulge
And involuntarily
yield
to Maturity of Body
loading
loading
loading
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
rainstorms fiercely bulge the waves
toss honeysuckle and bougainvilleas
blow their blossoms high
towards the rainbow
that in sunny moments
sparkles over volcanic hills
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 10:55 AM UTC
You're only seventeen -
the light seems to shine
right through you,
peach-furred skin
dessicated
drawn in upon itself
- and old.
Your moisture-dewed youth
has evaporated.
It’s been emptied
****** clean
dried and drained.
You reach out
with snappable wrists
Your brittle bones
bulge and bow.
Your ribs vibrate
with every breath
air thrills and ripples
the whole chest cavity.
Your hands and feet
Minnie Mouse big
too big
for the fragile framed
tiny dancer.
Your hips have become
pelvic bone butterflies
that arch and flare out
from your sunken abdomen
concave
and strangely hung
with loose folds of skin.
Your eyes like oases
in the desert of you
cartoon-cute big
but sunken deep
into your head
as if drawing away
from the sight of you.
Just a few more Kilos
and you’ll be gone.
© M.L.Emmett
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
There are hearts of gilt,
And there are hearts of sin
There are hearts that lose,
And there are hearts that win.
There are hearts of stone.
But if my heart was anything,
It'd be a cactus.
Prickly and unwelcoming with tight alien-green skin,
That never fails to swell to accommodate whatever grew inside unseen.
With love it'd bulge,
And it'd shrink in the absence of love.
(But with the right care it could bloom the most spectacular flowers.)
There are strong hearts,
But even strong hearts give in.
My heart is a cactus heart,
My heart could keep it all in.
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 7:00 PM UTC
The first time I saw you,
Standing up on stage,
Your gentle protruderence beckoned,
I yearned for your girth.
Standing alongside one Michael Cassio.
A Florentine.
My eyes could not escape.
I disregarded my A1 in English,
All I wanted was the D.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 6:41 PM UTC
Another slimy page absorbed by gentle, tender hands
Another reality channel infected by impossibilities
Another grainy film shaded by green to hide the truth
All eyes are glued to these perfections
Simple utopias I can never be
Her hair, his eyes, their laugh, that smile
How disheartening it is
for my friends to say one word
when the tags on my clothing say another
A dent here, a scar there, a bulge elsewhere
hips too wide, skin too rough, hair too straight, eyes too red,
toes too small, nose too big, scar too dark, skin too light
My entire being is stitched together faults
So my eyes burn as yours shine
I guess it is yet another imperfection
But then again, are the blemishes even mine?
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
A desolate shore,
The sinister seduction of the Moon,
The menace of the irreclaimable Sea.
Flaunting, ****** and grim,
From cloud to cloud along her beat,
Leering her battered and inveterate leer,
She signals where he prowls in the dark alone,
Her horrible old man,
Mumbling old oaths and warming
His villainous old bones with villainous talk--
The secrets of their grisly housekeeping
Since they went out upon the pad
In the first twilight of self-conscious Time:
Growling, hideous and hoarse,
Tales of unnumbered Ships,
Goodly and strong, Companions of the Advance,
In some vile alley of the night
Waylaid and bludgeoned--
Dead.
Deep cellared in primeval ooze,
Ruined, dishonoured, spoiled,
They lie where the lean water-worm
Crawls free of their secrets, and their broken sides
Bulge with the slime of life. Thus they abide,
Thus fouled and desecrate,
The summons of the Trumpet, and the while
These Twain, their murderers,
Unravined, imperturbable, unsubdued,
Hang at the heels of their children--She aloft
As in the shining streets,
He as in ambush at some accomplice door.
The stalwart Ships,
The beautiful and bold adventurers!
Stationed out yonder in the isle,
The tall Policeman,
Flashing his bull's-eye, as he peers
About him in the ancient vacancy,
Tells them this way is safety--this way home.
4.2k
Stressed out to the max
Head uncontrollably whirring
My patience being taxed
My stomach is stirring
Blood rushing, veins bulge
Muscles tensed, tearing apart
In this instability I do not indulge
This madness, lost in dark thought
I need to be alone
Prevent any harm
Lay like a cold stone
To return to calm
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 7:42 AM UTC
She doesn't dress up for you.
How naive of you to even think that's true.
Her taking a few drinks or wearing a short dress.
Definitely does not mean that it's a yes.
She doesn't take those pictures for you to see and judge.
She does it because she accepts herself, every scar, every bulge.
She wears whatever she wants to wear.
And not so you can stand and stare.
She does everything she does only for herself.
Because she isn't ashamed of her imperfections, she loves them instead.
But God forbid a girl love herself in this society.
For she will then be destroyed by the patriarchy.
Yet she has risen above all the shaming, all the hate and all the horrible expectations they've had.
Do you really think that's so bad?
She doesn't care anymore if you put her down.
She is a queen and her confidence her crown.
May 12, 2019
May 12, 2019 at 11:06 AM UTC
you are just girl enough,
to be a real man...
so stand by me,
be a, be my man-girl,
shave that leathery face,
close and tight,
so I can kiss it smooth,
in front of everybody.
Go off to war, Cyrano,
write me love letters of
incredible tenderness,
poems as yet undreamt
come to me raggedy-man whole,
just enough girl in my man,
to make us both,
deliriously,
weep publicly.
Go ahead man,
write your beloved,
songs of the wars that worry you so,
that you don't show,
you think, I don't know,
but I am tough man tough enough,
plenty~enough,
to be yours,
not just the
woman, but that woman,
your beloved.
that bulge in your rear pocket,
not your wallet,
it's just some pocket tissues
you've been saving
for our reunion.
if you are afraid,
be not, be relieved,
you are just
girl enough,
to be a real man,
and I,
*well, I am tough man tough enough,
plenty~enough,
to be yours,
not just the woman,
but that woman,
your beloved*
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 3:07 PM UTC
My voice
Was the highest soprano in the choir
And I was well past puberty.
My chest may never be
As flat as yours,
My shoulders will always be
Slimmer and daintier,
My waist tucks in and allows for
Hips,
Hips that make me cringe with every ******* breath
Some days.
I will never have
That bulge between my legs
That you so wrongly call manhood.
I lack the things you tell me
Make someone a boy,
And sometimes I even lack the guts
To disagree with you;
But **** if that makes it alright to throw me in gutters,
Beat me up behind smokey dive bars,
Yell at me on the city bus,
Take away my ******* humanity.
Because I am a boy.
I am a ******* human.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 9:40 PM UTC
Eat then to toss it up,
Appetite sedated for the time being
then to just loose it all
In the fight of the stomach acids and the food
This will **** you,
but you still puke
Bulge on burgers and Shakes
then to loose it to the bowl
I used eat
then loose it
I bulged on burgers and shakes
I used to be
anorexic
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 4:39 PM UTC
Magazines, girlfriends, my mother
They always talk about closure
I have found that closure does not exist
Anywhere outside the labyrinth of mind
I have found that the only way
To get over my manipulative ex-boyfriend
Was to walk away without looking back
Was to learn to love myself unapologetically
And not long for anyone to do it for me
I never wanted closure after disclosing my assault
Never wanted an apology to flow
From his water-colored mouth
He was a family member
And I was a child
Cat and mouse
He made me forget that I am worth more
Than where his hands went eleven years back
And where he forced mine to go.
Closure can look like taking your clothes off
In front of a full length, 360 degree mirror
And saying
****
It can be thanking God for the bend in my knee
The curve of my hips
The bulge of my stomach
To thank Him for letting me live this long
After a suicide attempt
After an eating disorder
I should not be alive
But I am
Is that not closure enough?
See, closure is misleading
It is not the end of a stage in your life
But the moment you realize
You don't need anything else
To continue to live.
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 5:38 PM UTC
The Holy Ones
I want to shove socks in my pants, so it looks like I have one of those Italian-line painting ***** I want to do it when I go to the grocery store so fourteen-year olds and thirty-year olds alike stare at my junk as it fills the stitches of my pelvic arena, I want to make eye contact with mothers and grandmothers, brothers and dads as they shift uncomfortably in those handicap battery powered carts that are reserved for the handicapped but are often only used by the near-morbidly obese, near because they’re not quite dead yet, morbid because they can’t help but imagining my **** sliding past their tongue and what it feels like as the tip pushes past their uvula and they gasp for air through their nose because they’ve never had a **** like this in their mouth before. This would be my **** **** This would have me making lists of adult film star names for film star jobs I’d never take because I’d be busy making lists of phone numbers, the college girls I’d have my pick of ******* and the mothers and grandmothers who I’d be happily turning away from while I select my own organic radishes from the produce department at the specialty market on Vine. This **** is better than a rolled up wrapped stack of hundreds or the leather jacket I had in high school, it’d be better than when I walked down Michigan Ave in Umbro Valentino donning a Parisian accent, I can see me having to buy new briefs just to make room for this **** And my own **** getting jealous of the girth I’d be faking it’d swell up, and in the middle of ordering my four-pump Vanilla Almond milk Latte from Starbucks my gray wool socks would fall to the floor, and up from the band of my Acne Jeans would bulge the tip, just the tip, like she said when I was in college, or just the tip like I said when I just needed to feel something other than how emotionally wrecked you made me feel when you told me not to touch you anymore. You ****** me up righteously. And still, 380 women later, I’m ****** up and I don’t have a single pair of socks to wear
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 1:34 AM UTC
Young women know all about style -
how to fix the decimal point
between them and their mothers
differentiate themselves
from Special K over 40s wanna bees
mini skirted and high heeled
trying to catch their husband’s eye
Yummy mummies in their 30’s
are separated from the new stock
by firm elastic flattened midriffs
no bulge or wobble
unlined skin taut sometimes
navel peirced or *******
their legs wear the 4” heels again
on winklepicker pointed toes
for a mid century crop
of bunioned feet.
No scraggy necks or waddle
no tea tray arses only
plump peaches
in the bend over show
of skimpy, lacy thongs
of ****** floss
So, **** femme fatale is cool
body object the thing to be
flouncing and preening
flirting and *******
random hook-ups on the run
in the alleys of time on the net
in the warp of space
Killer ! Whatever !
Wicked ! Yeah feral !
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 1:08 AM UTC
*we are witness to atrocities
committed by regime
over its peoples
over time*
1.
we are witness..
shattering glass of reality arranged into chosen shard-feeds
like omni-gov surveillance into meticulous mind-grafts
spluttering eternal-stats for public mind control
spewing mini-truths of perpetual war raids
disillusionment of history forever rewritten
control supply-and-demand
create dark-cloaked dilemma and monitor shortage and famine
make-believe elements so well played to auto-frenzied latch
thinking is degraded and actions.. well, less said
2.
diligent and loyal yet harbour secret-hatred
feed visions stilted by politrix
deception and manipulation
propaganda is the oleaginous-game by wand-over-mind
totalitarian is the kingpin-holder of cards
and yet, who is really being played!
eternal marionettes on a conveyor-belt
can't even play with yourself alone
your **** your **** your every move..
watched - surveyed - and studied
by that ubiquitous-bulge eye you cannot escape
right opposite your low hard-bed
you're broken into popping-parts
that YOU won't recognise!
thoughtcrime-police is gonna accost ya
get up, comrade.. get UUUUUUUUP!
3.
we are witness
life-tube covered in darkened vapour-swirls
we are witness
children conditioned to watch their parents.. too closely
we are witness
truth so smothered, now re-fed by repeat-metaphor
we are witness
dictata.. dictata..
we are witness
austere existence in a tacky one-room flat
we are witness
subsist on black-wheat and imitation-repast
we are witness
regurgitate the party-dialect on and on and on
(after a while, we end up half-believing.. )
*only the clock which strikes thirteen
can smell the charred-reality
as leftover-truth is shoved
into incendiary obsolescence*
tick-a-damn-tock
and that would be..
one
S T - 26 sept
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 11:53 AM UTC
Eat then to toss it up,
Appetite sedated for the time being
then to just loose it all
In the fight of the stomach acids and the food
This will **** you,
but you still puke
Bulge on burgers and Shakes
then to loose it to the bowl
I used eat
then loose it
I bulged on burgers and shakes
I used to be
anorexic
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 4:39 PM UTC
Amanda manly
Strong chin, slight fuzz, bit of bulge
A man duh lady?
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 9:35 PM UTC