"centerfold" poems
I am a white, Jewish girl from Florida.
Hit me.
Hit me with your white girl jokes,
Your Jewish American Princess stereotypes.
I will giggle and squeal right along with you.
Because yeah,
I do order white chocolate mocha frappuchinos from Starbucks,
I Instagram pictures of my nails,
I take selfies, whiten my teeth, straighten my hair,
Shop at Forever21 and drink Naked Juice like it is my job.
Yeah, my daddy buys me things,
I don’t pay for my data plan,
There’s no way in hell I would drive a sedan,
I wear Nike shorts and avoid any nearby cameraman,
And let me tell you, I love jamming out to old school Britney Spears.
Hit me one more time, because none of that means I am any less intelligent,
Any less diligent,
Any less likely to face judgment
Than any other slice of diversity around me –
I am a white, Jewish girl
My nose is not its own cartoon,
I eat bagels (but I absolutely hate lox),
I’m not tan or even the least bit tinted,
And god knows I don’t wear Uggs.
Tell me I need to get married young,
Major in business,
Wear clothes that leave me airless,
Get some of that European gracefulness,
But don’t tell me I’m dumb.
Don’t tell me I’m not thoughtful.
I’m a white girl.
Take a glance at my resourcefulness,
Understand my goals of being ambitious,
Get rid of your own stereotype-inducing cockiness,
And notice me in all of my flawlessness.
Because I am a white girl,
And I am unique, strong, inventive,
Empowered, passionate, adventurous,
Indomitable, unbeatable.
I am an individual –
Not part of some whole that you put me in to stabilize your mold,
Not the example of a societally scatterbrained ***** meant to be your centerfold,
Not a previously worn-out piece of clothing thrown to the gutter unsold,
Rather a human being of my own rules and my own morals
A human being with ideas and intelligence and power,
A white, Jewish girl,
A person.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 5:31 PM UTC
She was the
heavenly centerfold
in the magazine
of his imagination.
Taunting angel ****
Too unreal to touch,
too real not to try.
~mce
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 8:56 AM UTC
I’m not sure what implored me to put the picture as my centerfold.
Of that I’m sure I’ll never know.
Instead, I just did. No questions asked.
Though the picture had always perturbed me in a slight, quiet way, it was something that my father prided enough.
Why should I not pride it as well?
Besides, my wife said it really “tied the room together”.
I told her that I still didn’t understand that phrase,
But that’s neither here nor there.
Every day, I passed that painting on the way out the door,
And on the way back in to the heart of my home.
My wife and I embraced a multitude of times
in front of our deer-headed ******
In his suit, painted onto that canvas, framed with gold leaf
That shined just so, when the sun hit it.
And I’ll always remember that my father left it for me
When he died.
Me specifically.
I inherited the deer head, and the body of a businessman.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC
Three children sit behind a dumpster
outside of the Pier Pizza Parlor
unaware that they are children
Seven years later walking past Bridge Square
a girl remembers
**** we're out of cigarettes
and my mom's fucken car is locked. man.
and joints rolled with single ply toilet paper
burning through precious *** in the seaside woods where Indians
used to die
She, curling hands,
flattens a photograph of three kids in swimsuits and baseball caps
crouched under the rainy eaves of a waterslide
lighting a one hitter and gazing at their tiny dying world
now like a centerfold
it's covered in lubricant sweat and spittle
after too much time under the wrong beds
She sits on this small fountain
wistfully blinking and ******* down the cigarettes she wishes she could lock back up
kneading her dead legs and wondering
if it's better to have a past smudged by erasers
or mottled with bruises
May 30, 2010
May 30, 2010 at 10:58 PM UTC
It started out a day like any other.
Down at Billy Bobs Nuclear Power Plant and toaster repair.
Where I sit in front of the monitor
with my dumb blank look and stare.
Until my friend Jim came in,
with coffee, doughnuts, and a magazine, he had grabbed from the john.
Wouldn't you know it the centerfold was gone.
So, I stood up to stretch and yawn.
As I sat back down I knocked over the coffee,
And the jelly doughnut rolled out the door into the hall.
The array of toasters went up in flames,
as did the magazine and the wall.
Jim started talking like Captain Kirk,
as he went into his Star Trek mode.
I slapped him hard across the face,
and informed him this Enterprise was set to blow.
That's when we both turned and saw the florescent green ooze,
seeping under the door.
At that point it was every man for himself,
as I pushed the elevator for the 13th floor.
Leaving the babbling Jim behind,
with the elevator on its way,
pipping in a soft musical version
of Jimi Hendrix's Purple Haze.
(which seemed to me rather odd)
Once the doors slid open,
thinking there's never been a 13th floor before,
I was surrounded by flesh eating zombified rodents,
About to become their lunch de jour.
As the zombie rodents zeroed in,
my friend Jim showed up...What luck.
With communicator in hand, and in his best Kirk voice,
He said, "Scotty beam us up".
As we were high in the sky,
I saw half of the south implode.
As boring as this day started,
you never would have know'd.
I hated to leave the world behind,
In such a mess, after my coffee spill.
One thing I did leave, believe you me,
Was Duncan Doughnuts the entire bill.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 6:30 PM UTC
Dreadful it was today, and beautiful, when
the echoing barks of my shame, shrouded in mistaken hindsight, were
pulled forward in such a way; a fluid line took shape in my mind,
and seemed to twist onto itself, like pinching the centerfold of a long thread.
So there they were, all intertwined, aligned,
an inevitable strand of God's DNA,
or however you call him,
vulnerable and hanging at the peak of my forehead in sweet mercy,
seen so clearly, I cried.
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 8:58 PM UTC
The midnight sky kisses the rooftops
as i stroll under the moon
busy cars whirling around me
splashing sounds of time in bloom
the promise of tomorrow dawns
only a dozen moments away
here under a blanketed midnight's sunset
I can see the stars at play
Sing me a song of new beginnings, will you?
hum me a tune of autumns past
paint me a tiny glimpse of wonder
Ill be sure to make it last
give me the graciousness of sunrise as it
waltzes with the clouds
Ill take a moment of forever
if you give it to me now
Show me the mystery of beauty found
cemented in dirt of city streets
grant me patience for the melting of
my heart's frozen winter sheet
as I whisper to the moonlight of pain
shadowing bitter pasts
send me a centerfold of peace tonight,
and the wisdom not to ask.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 6:04 AM UTC
Depression is a funny feeling,
More so because it's not a feeling.
Depression can best be described as a weight,
A weight that is exclusive to an individual,
A weight that you must carry on your shoulders every grueling, painful, dreadful day.
It's crippling,
Dragging you down to an excruciating low and proceeding to stomp on your ribs whilst you gasp for the crisp taste of air, struggling to breathe
Restricting the flow of oxygen to the ceaseless fire inside your heart
It's invisible,
Not noticeable by the human eye, out of our perception.
A condition that nobody will be able to comprehend until you open yourself up like the centerfold of a book that has been awaited and anticipated for years by the populace.
It's misunderstood,
They think that it's a mindset that has been ingrained into your thick skull through the years,
"It gets better,", an infuriating phrase that you hear everyday which drives you to the edge and puts you on the edge of your seat, wanting to let out all that pent up rage,
But that's too much effort.
It's a lack of motivation,
Laying in bed pretending that you're ill just to avoid getting up and doing something with yourself.
Distancing yourself from any potential social interaction because you don't want to bring another person into the cesspool of hatred and sadness that is your life.
It's death,
Slowly but surely delivering that final blow that pushes you over the metaphorical edge that marks the ceasing of your life.
There's no cheating depression.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 9:05 PM UTC
Show me your pastel shades in water colours
And hide your laugh lines in candle light
Please
Keep your grimace in your sneer pocket
No one wants to see your teeth
I know how sharp they are
I know your growl is so guttural
It is hunger
This canvas soaks up everything it touches
But can’t force anything to mix
There is no texture in your vibrancy
And too much in your shading
So much green in your jealousy
That no one is debating
I know what shades of orange to be
When I need to light a fire
What shades of grey to fill my mouth
When I need to be a liar
But you
Dear model
Airbrushed to centerfold
Show me
Your pastel shades
Where your humanity should be
Watercolour your water colours any hue of blue and green
Picturesque my sunset
And lay me on the grass
Between the fading of your daylight
And the dying of my earth
And don’t dandelion my locks
Because
I won’t turn to face your sun
Don’t dampen my clay
With whatever colorful tears you drip
Some things just never mix
Even though
They look so beautiful
Together
On paper
Jan 3, 2012
Jan 3, 2012 at 5:19 AM UTC
You stare at me with bedroom eyes
A venus in relief
Unapproachable and untouchable
Is there beauty underneath?
Puppy dogs and rainy walks
And you hate men that are liars
But, what we all would like to know
What sets your soul on fire?
Spread on the page to all the world
Legs spread and showing all
You're a vision of such loveliness
I would wish for you to call
But, that is just a fantasy
Something buried in my mind
A woman half as gorgeous
I would spend all my life to find
Years go by you age in life
But you still stay twenty three
For the image that I have of you
Is the one that I still see
Your poses are just perfecet
I would love to lay one kiss
On parts of you...untouchable
But I'll just settle for this
All others who came after you
Were pale beyond compare
comparisons of body parts
and of course...your silky hair
The centerfold you posed for
such a long long time ago
Haunts me like no other ever
I just wanted you to know.
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 9:44 PM UTC
Right captain, in people we cannot trust?
What Is that smell?
Cut the crap this is planet hell.
Dogs sniff butts of girl dogs men sniff butts of girl dogs also...
He would do a ****** donkey if no one watched then cheat on his wife take off to Reno with the bosses wife.
Run with the money let's go to south America. Cheat steal lie **** up the system before some dope does
Leave nothing left for the children of tommorow. Let them suffer in land fills of sorrow.
Toss more trash around puking bums ****** young girls uptown
The Catholic priest hates the cannon law of 1982 when the Pope was ashamed of me and you...
The nuns play bingo in the hall
While alter boys **** off in the bathroom stall
Emancipation proclamation was the quest of Playboys centerfold
Hue Hefner is still the hero some hate to say... Now most have grown old and gone astray...
Now internet ***** has taken hold?
These times will pass unto a stranger day...
The golden rule has rusted away...
D. Clare
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
when I'm put under,
I'm thrown up out of a centerfold
scorching the sky with wings of fire
but my eyes are
crystal
cold
so when I'm put under,
I'm beaten down through color hues
an inner battle between the part of me that
wants me
and the part of me that
still
wants
you
but when I'm this far under,
I drown
we're the same, the me that was
thrown up
and the me that was
beaten
down
I put myself under
and it puts me closer to you
entering your world of smoke clouds and
thoughts that are
supposed to skew
but all I think of is you.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC
10236 Charing Cross Road
Holmby Hills, CA. 90077
*To go where young rabbits frolic and dance
Would be a sweet treat if I had the chance
To swim in the water where famous cottontails get wet
Where champagne bubbles are spilled by the elite jet set
Maybe I might win a million dollar lotto
That could be my ticket to enter the grotto
Past muscle bound bouncers, inside velvet ropes and stanchions
To ogle, google and spill my own bubbles at The ******* Mansion
To escape normality and alter reality before I grow old
Playing with Playmates and Bunnies and this months Centerfold
10236 Charing Cross Road, Holmby Hills CA. 90077
Without a doubt this is the address of Heaven*
Thank you
Mr. Hefner
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
His waltz-walk, just added to loveliness
in a southern township
made a balled hum like a grown elm
sprung from pillboxes or a revved engine –
the tip tapping, centerfold pouring tea
and fertilize the carnal burn.
I have an afterglow from watching him,
he treats it like a sunrise;
it splits to a peak, and dissolves untouched.
We think of such moments as a fever,
I hope he considers my smile a moon jewel
a valuable pepper of pearls
she wept and they fell from her head –
but not I, no, I know that girls do not cry.
And there will be a moment I know
he is walking to me, he will waltz with me.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 5:16 PM UTC
A recently revived drowning victim
I'm judging picture books by their centerfold
All the wit in the world won't
save me now
and even though I've made it
This far
I'm still too afraid
to keep ********* through the pages.
You should see
All of my paper cut scars
This is a courtesy call
I hope to hear you
Say you're sorry
and just because
I saw you dancing along the wall
doesn't mean we're friends
In fact
quite the reverse.
You're a man
And I'm ******* insane
There's no way for you to know
how much I've hated
You
I guess it's been years since we talked
So that's my fault.
Retraced steps lead me
to the lip of the pool
Cholera never looked
like my scene
But I feel your genes spreading
Like Jesus and Peter
you'll pass me down this legacy
of hatred, strife and
Pestilence. My god.
I bind my books
into your back
and read you bedtime stories
each period forming a
caldera in your skin.
I touch it.
And this tastes so good
Almost like another life
if I can stay here forever
you may never find me again.
Don't you see how beautiful it is?
I'm not afraid of you anymore.
I think I realized
I just know you
Too ******* well
it's like looking in a mirror
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 3:10 AM UTC
The luxurious display of her naked frame
Complimented by the smooth, creamy color
Of her French vanilla skin sparkled within
The glow of the ultraviolet rays expelling
From the cores of my eyes purely crafted
By the hands of pure entertainment
To the rhythm of the breeze her hair swayed
A strikingly beautiful centerfold she was
With her thighs spread open as a warming invitation
Page after page my fingers harmoniously treaded
Characterized by intense levels of passion and lust
Value unquestionably worth billions of dollars
The entire physique of this dazzling creature
Can not be bought simply because she's worth
Much more than men could want to think or believe
She leaves behind a streak of sharp, quality eye catchers
Too bad the vision doesn't stray too far from the magazine
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 4:44 AM UTC
Today, I see
the world's centerfold,
telling me
everyone's problems,
from the death of
a mother's first born,
to the loss of a small bill,
losing your midnight
snack privileges,
to losing your father
to God's mercy.
And staring at
this centerfold,
I can't help but
crack a little smile,
maybe lough a bit,
because I can't help but think
that through all my sorrow,
all my downsides
and negative thoughts,
I remember how
no matter how bad
my life can be,
all my ups and downs,
I will rise in the end
and I will be around
those who love me.
And to those people,
I thank you.
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 10:41 AM UTC
We're as fake as the plastic melting under our skin
The collective imagination of a societal binge
Our beauty is a mask, a lie told to us by magazines
The product of industrial dreams, all fantastic schemes
We live in a Barbie Doll world, where we worship fake *******
We lift weights at Gold's Gym while we pound our huge chests
We know nothing of true beauty, under the façade of the Glossy
Eight by Ten
We cover our blemishes and we can't even be comfortable in our own skin
We are infatuated with the surface, skin deep, lustful of the pretenses
Our masks hide our vulnerabilities and our true intent
While reality is crumbling at our feet and we hide beneath a veneer of
A glossy face shot, the airbrushed images on the cover-girl-poster-boy-pin-up centerfold
We've lost sight of the aged and the gifts they hold
Celebrities ride around in window tinted limousines, so they can't be seen but we're so pretty that we have to preen
The paparazzi all want the next shot for the next scandal but they airbrush that too
We are so busy believing the lies that we have become afraid of the truth
Camera's are as ubiquitous as grass and our privacy is all but laughable while our smiles aren't genuinely affable
We post pictures of ourselves on Facebook, yet our self esteem could use a second look
We talk each other up and beat each other down, but we're keeping it onehundred while hiding a frown
We've become fast paced and slow witted, we're breaking the seams that our families knitted
We place beauty on a pedestal and worship at its alter, but we fail to foster true beauty in our children and wonder why they falter
We listen to society and shun our parents, our role models have become degenerates
We allow our little girls to dress like tramps and wear makeup and our little boys don't respect them and treat them like toys
And we wonder why they cut themselves
We pay movie stars and football players millions so we can entertain ourselves
But we can't pay our teachers enough to educate the masses
yet it's okay to collect a check and sit on our *****
And our troops don't have the armor they need because of our self indulgent greed
We forget about the little guy as we climb the corporate ladder to survey the sky at the top
But when the **** goes down, we can't pick up a mop
We won't lift a finger to lend a hand because we're so afraid of our fellow man
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 12:36 PM UTC
Drip drip the rain goes
The farm rots and the wind blows
Time fades away like light into darkness
The Blackness drips come centerfold
In the realm of the nothing it can be so lonely
Dreaming about a better time with your one and only
But hope is like the poor man's change
Give it up and things will stay the same
So the black gives in to bright
The stars are shining over the night
The city glistens like a diamond rock
And you and your love wake up together
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 7:17 AM UTC
Searching with a ravenous smile
Beyond depravity to find
Lustful home in a woman with
Pinup soul and centerfold mind.
Like prowling wolf under full moon
To find in habitats untold
Attracted to a body with
A chest that shields her heart of gold.
Sensuality unrestrained
Approaches as innocent knave
Seeking that woman who has too
Naked Eros towards the brave.
Drawn out by libidinous need
That only making love can cure
His darkness only wants her light
Everything about her is pure.
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 7:54 AM UTC
i am a blade tucked safely in Tupperware
my lonely teeth hidden under clammy pillow
feel these nightmares like they were yours
i could blush with you all night
when my mouth feels dry
it is not from the absence of presence
but from the rotundity cascade
that your hair ebbs as it collides with mine
i'd like to think this folly is something
i can put on the centerfold
a gift too pronounced with an utter
of my masked gravity inside all the
beer you pour into a proud papercup
days shrink into nothingness
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 1:06 AM UTC
if i were a song
you'd sing me out at the top of your lungs
until your parents were banging on your door
telling you to turn it down.
if i were a centerfold
you'd tear me out
and pin me up on your wall.
if i were a steven spielberg film
you'd flip through the movie channels
and choose me to watch over all the others.
i could be the first thing you order off the menu,
the gel you use to style your hair,
the pen with which you write,
the book that you dog ear and leave notes in.
but i'm not.
so you don't.
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 6:40 PM UTC
A shadow crossed the room
in the corner of my awareness
A cloud outside somewhere, probably,
but for an instant, I thought that motion was you.
Thoughts of you are casually intrusive.
Maybe you’d crawled into my luggage - and hidden.
There’s a complex birthday-candle wish.
Desire owes no deference to logic
When I think of you, my tummy becomes warm satin and I know,
that in your hands, I could be boneless and lusciously obedient.
For a while, anyway.
I remember us at the beach, lounging in deep parasol shade,
how your tanned skin glistened with tiny beads of sweat
and your endless legs stretched out like a centerfold’s.
Or you pulling me up out of the pool, one-handed, effortlessly,
with enough force that I briefly flew, and how you’d gently guide me down.
“What are you doing?” I’m virtually slapped out of my ****** fantasy, by Lisa, who’s standing, exasperated, sandaled toes tapping, purse in hand.
“Daydreaming,” I answered weakly, as I jumped up to get myself ready.
Has it only been four days since I left you?
I already feel tragically underheld.
.
.
A song for this:
Ain't it a shame by The B-52s
Locked Inside by Janelle Monáe
Jun 28, 2024
Jun 28, 2024 at 8:34 AM UTC