"chode" poems
sundog—small and incomplete
half-chode rainbow.
light.
at least once a week for
the clever dreamer,
the girls with no eyes,
the men with small *******
there is
fortune in the river—it swims
away when I take you breath
down to it in a bucket. and my hands
quilt flawless wade of
nighttime water.
*where is the colored light?
nowhere, sundog.
nowhere.*
Jun 23, 2017
Jun 23, 2017 at 12:31 PM UTC
Jaa raha hu me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mout se ankhe milaye ja raha hu me.
Zindgi se rafta rafta hath chudaye jaa raha hu
me.
U to meri duniya me kaha kirdaar koi uska he.
Darta hu kahi sadma na lage meri duniya me.
Bas isi liye us ek apne se duriya banae jaa raha
hu me.
Mout se ankhe milaye jaa raha hu me.
zindgi se rafta rafta hath chudaye jaa raha hu
me.
Bas guzarish itni si he. Use khamosh na rehne
dena.
Aap sabhi ke hatho me apni aamanat ***** jaa
raha hu me.
Mout se ankhe milaye jaa raha hu me.
Zindgi se rafta rafta haath chudaye jaa raha,hu
me.
Tumhe ab tanha ***** jaa raha hu me.
***** jaa raha hu me
Nk —
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 2:56 PM UTC
Green I am
They call me yoda
Lift my robe up
**** my choda
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 7:13 PM UTC
Me and the boys
Getting the ****
Sparking some blunts
Red Lights on a hill
Out on the town
Crew lookin' fresh
Get blazed in a car
Red Eyes in a bar
Talkin and walkin
Buddy's being a *****
Didn't see it coming
Red Lights down the road
Buddy had his blunt
Car threw him up
But we're way too high
Red Lights in the sky
Red lights and blue
Ambulance coming
Buddy's still bleeding
Our Red Lights are running
Ran into the woods
Lungs on fire
Blunts on fire
We started a fire
This blaze was crazy
So we dipped the wood
And seshed again
Red Lights in the hood
Got my *** home
Three bowls to the dome
Still some kush in the pouch
Red Light on the couch
Years have passed
Since we all smoked grass
But I think about it still
Those Red Lights on the hill
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
Once there boled a harmistor
With yarler like a tom
He ***** and frissed, but after this
His murly belly pommed
Choe and choe, then choe some more
He criggled at the thought
That sumpty soon he’d choe the moon
And abend would be glot
What could bew the buggle?
He plawed his nomer friend
Harmistor, you silly mer,
The pomming ne’r will end.
And so the woddly harmistor,
Bezined and full of dee,
Proquined the shole, the land in foll,
And called it Hungary.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC
She's lounging on the futon playing Stardew Valley. We both get a kick out of it. Mainstream gaming can **** a ***** Exceptions occur, of course. I look into the bathroom mirror through a splatter of mouthwash and toothpaste and groom my hair, my face like I think highly of myself. I don't. I shave and I pluck, admire the edges, pretend I'm of feminine energy, pretend according to the faces and voices that matter. We have to look out for ourselves somehow, but in whole what the world can see of us makes them think we're outsiders trying to climb into an exclusive box. I want to find myself beautiful, and I know you must be happy with yourself, but there's no pleasure in false positives. Where is the touch of appreciation? To struggle visually means that windows are better caked. Not cis, nor have I ever been. In the end, I'm content enough choking in the wasteland.
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 7:33 PM UTC
Oh, *****
the one I rode
in my old country abode.
Though of length you had a dearth,
I shan’t soon forget your girth,
the warmth of that width a stone-lined hearth.
To wrap my hand around your body
was a breeze; overall you weren’t too shoddy,
and I could hold you with such ease.
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 5:17 AM UTC