"genitalia" poems
Feminism is not a bad word
It is more than four words
If you are a woman if you are a man
If you believe that gender equality
Is important, if you stand by your mother
When she shouts, “I am equal!”
Then you are a feminist.
And I’m tired, I’m tired and I’m frustrated
That the patriarchal society we live in
Would rather demonize equality
Rather than let it stand tall as the statue
It deserves to be.
All it means
Is you believe that women and men are equal
That they deserve to be treated both fairly and just
And I trust-
That the only image of a feminist in your mind
Is one that hates men, that burns bras, that simply get in the way.
And sure there might be a few of those, yes
But I would like to ask you
Since when did one represent the whole?
Since when were all white Christian men
Devalued, dehumanized because of Jeffery Dahmer?
If I were to follow your logic
If we were all to follow your logic
We’d have to lock up every single one of you
All because a few of your fellow men
Perverted an ideal that at the heart of it was good
And please be good
To your feminists please know that it is not a movement
To strip people of rights but to grant rights to those who have been denied
Feminism isn’t a bad word
It’s a word that holds an ideal
That genetics that genitalia do not dictate
Whether or not a human being is held to the
American standard of equality.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
Human directives, veracities unverified
Bellies belching with anger, murderers
Udders dripping hate, foundling banters
Hunters striking the hungered, unfortunate
Glare sight to seek the truth, hold me lets sink
Tear motions and debates of inequality
My Dafur, the realm of the fur, demise
All armed in Sudan, the arid, a battlefield
Emergency alarms sirens from 2003
The indefinite complications and hunger
A land of the displaced, starving nomads
Hear me out in these non-dissolving conflicts
Guantanamo bay detention a prison vicious
A base for “war in terrorism”, reciprocal laws
Inhumane human interrogations persists
A breach, a revolt, the hunger riots devolve
Force-feeding, torturous measures applied
All undressed, humiliated, genitalia exposed
A Rwanda slain in divide and rule
Civil clashes, mashes, all trashed
Swaying war rapes, tapes, the raves
Machetes slashing necks and hands
A lust of power, a genocide slaughter
The Tutsi slewed and unsewn from a patch
Autocratic regime boring divisions
Territorial ethnic cleansing, a holocaust
The oppression of Jews, Romanis, Poles
Homosexuals, the disabled and mentally ill
Indifference pooled in pits and camps
The institutional social indoctrination
The honor and killing to expose shame
The violation and dishonor of moral fabric
For what is “good”, “bad”, fixated moral values
Buried waists and head, awaiting stones to hit
Confessional secrets of only what lays within
A torment watching witnesses, all dangling
Marxists calls ships to stow ashore
Masses kidnapped, confused in deceit
Invalid contracts awaits signatures
The white immigrants to be enslaved
All aboard, now abroad to revolve labor
Wage packages taken to pay for freedom
Humans bought and sold to be owned
Slaves yorked and counted as assets
Bounded to serve plantations and homes
A human, non human, a chattel, a slave
A debt ******* offended and *****
Untamed and made to obey a master
A falling global strings unturned
Tunes strumming hate, war and pain
Human trafficking, violence, inequality
Child abuse, civil conflicts, capitalists
Commercialism, zero hour contracts
For if we have no rights, I have none
For if we have no peace I have none
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 6:54 AM UTC
"Look at my beautiful girl."
This title is thrown at me
and I find it hard to
breathe.
You label me a girl,
I know you know no better
but it still wounds me
deeply.
"Look at her, she's so pretty!"
You should know better
than to call me this
pronoun.
I asked kindly that you
use different pronouns
but you throw these
pronouns at me in
a taunting manner.
"You were born a girl so you are one."
I was born a human with
female genitalia.
I do not classify as a
girl or a boy.
I classify more as me,
as an
agender.
Please don't yell or shout
or tell me I'm wrong
because then you're saying
you know me better than
I know myself and
that may be true
but I don't believe
it is so.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 9:38 PM UTC
**** men, guys, dudes, boys... in fact anything that walks on two legs and has a ***** between those two legs, or any other kind of elongated genitalia for that matter.
**** the simple ones who guzzle beer and scream at other men in a small box
**** the sensitive ones who weep at the intensity of their emotions to you
**** that cool ones who speak in a language of esoteric band and brand names
**** the intellectual ones who have their opinions shoved so far up their **** it bleeds out their mouth
**** the business types who's cool indifference is callous
**** the health-conscious gym-working-out ones who's 9pm bed time leaves you star gazing alone
**** the hippy ones who's lofty, hot air talk leaves you with a nasty feeling in your nose like you need to sneeze but it is stuck inside
**** the ones who are "different" but an trip on the bus is more entertaining than their recycled conversation
Last of all **** the decent, hard working, ones who have girlfriends that are non-flaky, pulled-together, skinny-organic-soy-latte-drinkers, only-wear-Karen-Walker, I-have-no-daddy-issues, law-majors
**** it all really
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 5:29 PM UTC
Throwing themselves beneath the mechanized yard-work goliath,
Salvia flowers bow their heads, heralding my passing
Stooping to remove their violet hats,
Thrown to the ground, trampled underfoot by passing metal,
A muddled **** of
half-death, half-birth
Floral genitalia broken into fragments, shards of color
Yet always they bow
Stooping, self-subjugating, submissive, servile, stretched
to their absolute maximum, fibrous tendrils ripping from the bed of grass
Until they flutter gently
Half-mocking their half-living counterparts
Still rooted firmly in the mulchy beds.
May 6, 2012
May 6, 2012 at 11:00 PM UTC
for logic to work, certain coordination words must be excluded from ever attain a thesaurus privilege, certain words must attain the same consistency as numbers already present, for worded logic to work, certain words cannot entertain synonyms or antonyms, and must be freed from the shackles of sophistry.
can one animate object truly objectify another
animate object?
i ask, because this supposed feminist
narrative of man objectifying a woman
seems rather bogus -
as i have to reiterate -
can an animate object truly objectify
another animate object?
i "think" (i.e. "i" deny) this to be
highly unlikely, near impossible...
i am innately inclined to the puritanical
observation,
that i can only objectify an inanimate object,
point being: a man can no more
objectify a woman than an animate
object can make an animate an inanimate
object without having to subject himself
to hammering a nail into a plank of wood:
using a hammer.
how can an animate object (a man)
objectify another animate object (a woman) -
without, first of all objectifying a part of him
as quasi-inanimate, namely his phallus?
women do not seem to be complaining
about objectification of a woman,
rather, a man objectifying his member -
and isn't that the point, to posses an object
that you're not subject to obeying?
once more how can a woman
be objectified, when in fact man is
attempting to de-subjective himself from
his genitalia?
an animate object can't
objectify an animate object -
since the contradiction is:
both are in animation...
the only time objectification
happens is when an animate object
subject an inanimate object into a purpose...
a hammer is hardly a woman,
while is hammer one-dimensional,
a woman is either mother, sister, vice,
a one night stand, a girlfriend, or a wife...
women are never objectified -
they are subject to the self-objectifiction
of man, by man alone...
and if you think that's post-modernist jargon,
let me spell it out for you:
T, O, G, E, T, A, H, A, R, D, O, N.
objectification happens when an animate
object subjects / encompasses an inanimate
object into a subject of the animate object's
intent...
unless of course you care to disclose
a fetish for necrophilia...
since only in necrophilia are women actually
objectified.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 8:34 PM UTC
Tyra Banks was the first person
I touched myself to the thought of.
I didn't know what genitalia was
But her *******
seemed
so
inviting.
May 21, 2010
May 21, 2010 at 8:58 AM UTC
I'm tired of hiding
Behind playful banter
And casual laughter.
I'm bisexual.
And I'm so **** tired
Of pretending that I'm not.
Why does it matter really
If I'm so willing to love?
This is a thing that should be praised,
Not hidden away.
If it's what's on the inside
That matters the most,
Then why are we so concerned
About what sort of genitalia
Someone has
In order
To love them.
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 3:24 PM UTC
May I have your attention?
This information is for you.
Put this in your dictionary,
****** doesn’t mean ‘let’s *****
It might do where you come from
But some of us were raised better.
We recognize and accept
The Constitution to the letter.
It guarantees our freedom as
Citizens of this fine nation.
Nowhere does it say nudists should
Be treated with degradation
And blocked from freedom to be
Who they really are at heart.
Denying natural freedoms is
Where fascism gets its start.
If you have been trained in a way
That genitalia is abomination
You’re the one who is indecent
And needs some repatriation.
It’s not like someone naked is
Automatically getting it on.
That’s just inside your mind, so
Only you can make it be gone.
A lot of what you are thinking
And the very thing you are fear
Is not real, it’s irrational
This is what you need to hear;
Some may not find you ****
When they see you naked
But those are not nudists.
They’re unclothed bigots that fake it.
May I have your attention?
This information is for you.
Put this in your dictionary,
****** doesn’t mean ‘let’s *****
It might do where you come from
But some of us were raised better.
We recognize and accept
The Constitution to the letter
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 10:18 PM UTC
walking down my street
lynching trees surrounded
by the playing children
"my daddy got that one hung!"
cries one child
"yeah, but i mutilated his genitalia!"
shouts the other
oh so bright and gay
is our neighborhood!
dedicated adults!
happy children!
walking the SECURE HOMELAND street
sweet the smell of decayed flesh
all our dreams!
american dreams
so well fulfilled!
who will turn werewolf tonight
with me?
who....into a vampire!?
thru the lynching trees!
laugh and play children
laugh and play
Jul 13, 2010
Jul 13, 2010 at 5:49 PM UTC
when i'm drinking i always think
the whiskey bottle
to be in a predicament
of the bus stop;
i mean, waiting, for my
eager slurp (god i wish
i could insert an onomatopoeia
right now) -
i ate that body part and even
nozzled it, i mean
i stuck my nose in it
being ripe... you better have
sunday's news to let me forget;
i swear, performing oral
*** on women's genitalia
makes you into an orator...
or perhaps a gardener -
that skin fold sure as **** speaks!
well, better testimony than
abraham circumcising isaac
against holy ordained orders
not to; but then the cat and dog
doing overt-masturbation licking
the **** thing;
yes darling... pooch pooch ouch ooh
now chow ready for a pampering?
munch a moo choo cha cha wee wee?
yeah, get that slobbering *****
filler out of here;
oi! bring bang the blonde comb-over ferret!
i ain't doing the spider dangle
without it!
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 8:14 PM UTC
I dread 2nd and King to this day.
I was born into a poor family:
dad the drunkard,
mom the **** addict,
brother abusive,
and sister wrist slitter,
in '84.
Mealtime portions measly.
The house's fragmented windows,
chipping paint
and carpet, ash stained beyond cleaning,
forced me to attempt an escape
several times.
Its a wonder we had a house at all!
I was the only one who worked.
From 10:00 until 7:00
in the dead of winter I used to stand
in clothes so thin
I was better off not even wearing them.
In '97 I was too young to work
legally.
But I wasn't too young for the men-
and I admit, some attractive-
who would pull up to
2nd and King.
I just crawled in the backseat,
assumed the position,
and took my beating
for not being born to the right family,
class,
city,
house...
...... corner...
..................men...
.................................
I can't look at that sign
marking the corner
without thinking of
crotch after crotch
until it was etched in my brain
that the male genitalia
was the epiphany of evil.
I have to turn my head.
I dread 2nd and King to this day.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC
Intestines twisted into a bow
Skeleton, no skin, all bone
Chased into a grave
By someone "brave"
Head cut off, and hung at the hips
Mouth sewn shut, wires in the lips
Promised a voice
In a place of just "noise"
Ears forced down into the pharnyx
Tongue cut off, and swallowed
Chained to the dark
Left with a "spark"
Wasabi poured into each eye
Needles poked into the iris, to dry
Breathing fractured breaths
In the times of "stress"
Fingers shredded in blenders
Toes were sold by the vendors
Broke the rules
To be reduced to mere "molecules"
Heart frozen in ice
Lungs cracked in slices with a knife
Crawling towards a light
Dipped in "fright"
Genitalia, mutilated
Thighs and chest burned til it was disseminated
Walking into the darkness
Trying to reach the "conconscious"
Frigida glacies
Oct 23, 2019
Oct 23, 2019 at 1:25 PM UTC
i used to care so so much
for this world,
but then a cat on a street taught me
to do otherwise,
there i was, by the lorry bins
on an estate, and there he was,
autistic as he was,
i stopped, he gestured his five whiskers,
i asked afoot at the crucifix: 'may i pass?'
he gestured with a blank stare that
i was granted...
so i passed... i didn't want the poor
****** to feel displaced...
or as in vision: a giant Venus over-flowering
of genitalia descending onto Plato's academy
into picture like a roof - asking - will the argumentation
seize to continue?! a floral goddess could
not enlightened these stone hearts,
so descent of a goddesses' genitalia comparable
to a flower could not weaken and make root
of weeds and later flowers into these hearts,
and i know so... oh i know so...
i know the strength of this brotherhood -
it's akin to a tear hearing the islamic call to prayer...
and the competing disavowal of an engagement with
women, simply for their despotism in the realm
of the household, which only women of blue Indians of
the former Raj know how to avoid, via sway unto
Bengali en-route to the Himalayas.
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 8:05 PM UTC
i must be the only one
who finds sparrows
amusing outside my window
filled with song,
the same in me trying to imitate
their song with a range of onomatopoeias
never written (thankfully, poets
who write sparrows' song, may you
be disgraced, chirp chirp,
beat-box that **** elsewhere, where
you're welcome by admirers),
the same in me laughing
at the kangaroo hops
unable to use both feet to walk
in the guttering of the carcass plateau of crows...
but there my laugh,
like the last whims of a pope when a robin presides
over the ritual outside the window on the sill...
i find pronouns unable to capture
timing, a class of words for standing still,
they just can't capture timing, they're space
orientated, a man of 70 will say the same
of a man aged 20 about a woman,
but both will be idiotic about the size of
her earrings concerning her promiscuity:
bigger the earring, the bigger the need to feed
her juiced up genitalia lips...
warm **** and cold mouth,
some say in reverse: getting ****** off
is like ice-cream being eaten...
and cold in reverse would give you circumcision
defined lawfully as **** a cold genital
assertion of womanhood will peel the skin
right off... ask for a cake you''ll be welcome
away from the bony **** of your hand's embrace...
perhaps marriage... and that cold mouth
that encompasses all hidden glaciers;
still, the **** is about sparrows in rain rain gutters
hopping along to the orchestra playing only
one tune that's ha ha ha.
all in all, when aroused, one hole warms
up the other cools down... the third?
don't know, don't care, apparently it's exhilarating,
trying to turn men onto all three
and away from homosexuality,
with the fourth (woman's ego) being missed...
could never equate that to a phallus and a hole...
i always felt ***** by that thing, the fourth dimension
once the **** was explored... it's all Dostoevsky after that...
everything is permitted, no deity exists,
i guess a the end is required of such a poem as this.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 10:20 AM UTC
People are nothing more than a blur of genitalia,
gasps,
groans,
grunts,
g-spots
to savor, then scrap.
The Catch is a rehearsed routine,
catcalls turned to cat scratches
and long blonde hairs stuck to his lapel;
his wife will make
****
sure
he'll repent.
Lip bites and ***** licks,
the high leaves long breaths
escaping quenched lips.
**** falling for you,
I'd rather
**** you and leave
standing up straight
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC
A blasphemous ******** as the dwelling beast salivates in its hollow. The glaring screen in the darkness is its only light. Years upon years it has followed the same sick fantasies. Self loathing and sickening it has reached the paramount of the low. Trawling the deep dark corners of the web to find his fix. Like a ****** addict it has delusions of needing his fraudulent fetish. A tiny drop of drewl collides with the derelict ground. It flows onto the pile of stale hardened tissues used to dispose of the beasts ****** off spray. A trundle to the local park to put a spring in its step. Watching the adolescents thinking corrupt thoughts. Child bearers stab the beast with scared stares of disgust. Attention is being drawn towards the hairy obese miscreant. Ripped shorts to expose the genitalia of the malevolent monster. A father approaches, intentions of confrontation are obvious. The monstrous **** runs to the road, unaware of the approaching speeding bus. It is drawn under the wheel crushed with the weight. Blood spurts in every direction, like a hot needle to a balloon full of acid. Slowly he dies in agony and suffering. The evil **** got his penance. ***** for eternity in the dark depths of hell.
The devil reserves the darkest places for the darkest men. His penance came, as will yours.
By Joseph Burns
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
Where Purity is the Covering of All Flesh
and no private part of the human body
may be shown
and thus where the lack of Purity is Dishonesty
and therefore are Dishonest Paintings
wherein are depicted female ******* and such
buttocks and navel
and where genitalia female or male
asleep or awake
and such are shown
and crotches and such flesh and curvatures
may arouse
such being Dishonest Paintings
the Eminent Guardians of Purity
announce multiple positions vacant
of Reviewer of Dishonest Paintings
and so to cover up with black paint any signs of *******
and so of any other part of images in such paintings
as buttocks cover up with black paint
and so on each Dishonest part of human anatomy
to be covered with black paint
and in this task one always to use a firm, long brush -
the longer and firmer the better for the Soul -
so that
one may not come too close to such obscenities
as coming close one may be aroused to ***** desires
in male
(Females need not apply for said position
for such lascivious creatures are always
in a state of wet desires)
and so in covering with black paint
the Sanctity and the Will of Heaven prevails
and human souls transported to Divine Ecstasy
at the sight of paintings with black holes
corrected by expert Reviewer of Dishonest Paintings
and such positions to be filled
by honest men firm in their resolve
and long in stamina and determination
they should arrange their own transport
for various locations in the Holy Empire
for indeed Various Positions are available
and while the renumeration is handsome
derived from confiscation of properties and means
of the Perpetrators
of those Works of Perfidy and Damnation
those Artists who produce and who engender
Dishonest Paintings and such Works
and far more too included in Renumeration
is the Seat of Purity in Heaven -
O the pay shall be Eternal Heaven
Apply directly and in person
at the South Wall of the Grand House of Divinity -
put your scrolls in the holes
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 4:20 AM UTC
Arabs are on their knees
Command them left and right, whatever you please
The female goddess with her divinity
But she mustn't succumb to her desires
Cursed with a voidhole, a witch with no flying stick
Strike the strings and they will shiver
Their Gods with invested interest in genitalia,
Debating vice and virtue
Perverted thoughts, oh, let them pass
As she rubs her blood oozed inner thighs
I can hear the delicate moans and quivers
Society under her thumb
Quickening breath, fast paced heart and wide spread legs
At last, the land of promised *******
Virginity fetishists with holy manuscripts
Tribal war, the darkest of blood
Mount your ******* to the highest heights
Reach their moral mountains and hijack their sanity
Fear stricken by your circular thumb-motions
For they will associate ***** blood with vanity
Ignorance at their gates
No light escapes, shattered lives
Facts infecting their pride
Worshiped not for her intellect nor beauty
But for the voidhole she carries
In the desert sand, she remains a liability
Until she becomes a miserable bride
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
The lights were still on
As I lifted myself from
The air mattress
To check my back
For bedbug bites
I noticed a young roach
In the sink
He scattered quickly
Then stopped
Staring
As if to dare me
To try and **** him
He was the prideful matador
And I the swollen eyed
Stumbling bull
It was life and death
I tried to smack him
With a water bottle
But he ran and hid behind a pipe
So I took a bottle of aftershave
Tried to drown the *******
In a refreshing burning winterfresh
But he was untouched by the splash
Then he scattered across the wall
I ran and grabbed the worst book
In my collection
The premier book of major poets,
1970
They printed Simon and Garfunkel
In there
I tried to smash the
cunning cockroach
But my fingers touched the
Smashed corpse
Of a previous conquest
I quickly threw the book in disgust
And wished it was the roaches
Wife or mother
Lying dead
Smashed by an awful publication
He ran quickly
Laughing at my frustration
Proud
Then he settled in a hole
Under the edge of the counter
He was the victor
He raised his sword
Toward the sun
And stabbed me in the heart
I fell onto the air mattress
Drooling
The young roach returned to his nest
Proud
He found the fattest female
Flipped her over
With his filthy fluttering legs
He tore open her thorax
Then inserted his roach genitalia
Into the wound
Inseminating her
And assuring his legacy
While I slept
Alone
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 1:11 AM UTC
A frat boy's superficial nightmare
selfishly appropriates the dance floor with her all too big of a ***
with two legs like a grand piana
thank God mommy didn't name her “Hannah”
she ain't too nifty
but tries with the hope of one day weighing less than 250
with her love handles only do so with extreme caution
don't you dare mention how you sit next to her in a class of 60
though her desk is situated at the other end of the room
tell her she's pretty
but move into ultrasound when completing the phrase with a direct reference to plump or ugliness laugh if you find this funny
and don't if you don't
but don't don't don't tell me to leave subversion
to people who actually know how it works
because I do
but I do not think it's appropriate to call this satire
because it's so close to what I've heard and what so many young women hear on a daily basis
so please
remember your acne
your pygmy genitalia
and the embarrassing fact that you
and the last carbon-based life form you had as a ****** partner
share a set of grandparents
be a gentleman
keep your chauvinistic squeals to a minimum as you compare such women out of your league
to pigs because your tail couldn't be more of a spiral at this point
*******
get out of the way to make room for us sea cows
immaturity
jealousy
****** frustration aside
whether you like it or not
this is where we ******* swim
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 8:48 PM UTC
Why is it
Boys can’t hula-hoop?
And have you ever
seen them try?
They concentrate real hard an all
but just can’t make
that hoop fly.
They all have this notion
to spin that ring real fast,
thinking if they hope
the spinning motion’ll last.
The beads inside just rattle.
With no smoothness to the sound.
They bounce around on boys’ hips
then smack against the ground.
And maybe it’s because
they have a bulge within their pants
that gets caught up on the hula-hoop
so boys just simply can’t.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
I came from a generation that stuck in between the nostalgia,
The grandeur of aesthetics and hypocrisy in the genitalia
Too many amateurs which they called pretenders
Too many pretenders which they called profounders
Of Artistry in every countries culture.
I am not the most impressive writer just like Shakespeare
Neither close to the modern writers on which they give praise
My age is a few leaps away to the end of my youth,
At twenty, I found words of impulsiveness and courage elicit from my mouth.
I am just someone who embodied the face of my leagues
They call me the soul of their generation as they please
I may write pretentiously, but I speak for the marginalized
I dream for my inked piece would reach them, I hope to get them amazed
I am the soul my generation
A little careless with my actions, telling others I'm brave
A little wild, yet I screamed that nothing bounds me
A little innocent with life's surprises, and so I apologized and called it as a mistake.
I'm a few every people that you've met.
I carry the pieces of the individuals who have touched me
I flow like the river which takes parts of the fallen objects in me.
Vulnerable to anything, Easy to gain what the heart desires
Misunderstood like the innocent criminals,
Goes along with changes
I'm maybe everything they thought I am
I'm maybe someone you never thought I am
Or nothing in with your choices
But one thing's for sure; I'm free.
Jun 23, 2017
Jun 23, 2017 at 10:39 PM UTC
I did not ask to enter this world a female,
but it's what God granted me.
I did not ask to be regulated by hormones,
but it is what is expected of me.
I did not ask for this child,
that was forced upon me late one night.
I did not ask for this judgement,
that is so easily handed out.
I did not ask to be called 'baby',
by that man on the subway.
I did not ask for the opinions of my weight,
which are so casually thrown about.
I did not ask for a smaller salary,
due to the genitalia I was provided.
But this is the life I was given, and so I find my tribe.
I find other women who grant me peace and protection.
I advocate for women whose voices are not heard.
I fight for my future daughters.
I protest the hate.
I protest the inequalities.
I protest for our Mother, Earth.
I protest, and I stand, and I cry.
My ****** is my home.
My womb is my decision.
My body my choice.
Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 4:59 PM UTC