"gew" poems
My ******
When I asked you what part of me was sexiest, that's what you said.
It weirded me out at first.
I mean,
I have a nice ***
Great ****
Good hips.
Vaginas are icky.
They smell and leak gew and blood.
But I don’t know,
now I like it.
I love the fact that you love it.
Maybe because it's the most intimate part of my body.
No one's wanted that part of me before.
No one's touched me like you touch me,
kissed me where you kiss me.
It’s deeper with you,
and I guess that's because
you love me
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 12:08 AM UTC
When I asked you what part of me was sexiest, that's what you said.
It weirded me out at first.
I mean,
I have a nice ***
Great ****
Good hips.
Vaginas are icky.
They smell and leak gew and blood.
But I don’t know,
now I like it.
I love the fact that you love it.
Maybe because it's the most intimate part of my body.
No one's wanted that part of me before.
No one's touched me like you touch me,
kissed me where you kiss me.
It’s deeper with you,
and I guess that's because
you love me
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 1:13 AM UTC
When the horns wear thin
And the noise, like a garment outworn,
Falls from the night,
The tattered and shivering night,
That thinks she is gay;
When the patient silence comes back,
And retires,
And returns,
Rebuffed by a ribald song,
Wounded by vehement cries,
Fleeing again to the stars—
Ashamed of her sister the night;
Oh, then they steal home,
The blinded, the pitiful ones
With their gew-gaws still in their hands,
Reeling with odorous breath
And thick, coarse words on their tongues.
They get them to bed, somehow,
And sleep the forgiving,
Comes thru the scattering tumult
And closes their eyes.
The stars sink down ashamed
And the dawn awakes,
Like a youth who steals from a brothel,
Dizzy and sick.
1.9k
Life is far from fair. He was born to this place, but his ancestors took it by foot. So long ago he can’t remember what being the immigrant felt like. Can’t remember the xenophobic slurs were placed in other people's tongues to whip the different out of him. This took place so long ago now he doesn't remember what blood spill looks like, can't remember his fist drawn back. He is the **** Italian immigrant, the fire crotch Irishman, the Gew the ******* and now the towel heads. He is everyone who has made himself at home hear afraid again, that a new immigration will take all the parts of their home he loves the most. Forgetting quickly he was the ones marching last time around. Refugee is so much more of a statement then immigrant. An immigrant is looking for a better future. A refugee is looking for any at all. They fleeing from war torn promises and bombs that fall from the skies like rain. My government fears ISIS, those towel heads, they all look the same to our fear filled eyes, so we through them to the wayside. My government does not speak for me, I would welcome every refugee.Anyone who has that common enemy, who wants to fix it with love and a new life, I open my eyes and my arms wide.I remember that I didn't belong here at first, that we were promised something more. I can't deny that to you and yours, I welcome you. Life's not fair, it’s clear to see, I am sorry that you are you and I am me. Difference only in where I was born, difference in this is already my home.I am sorry. Sorry that those with fear filled hearts have no room left to welcome you. That they are so worried about what pain might feel like that they can not feel sorrow for the pain you are already felt. I am sorry. To every middle eastern refugee that has been denied the right to live humanely… all I can do is be sorry.
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 4:44 PM UTC
Lati ball dressed for the costume party with relish.
She wanted to look pretty.
She wanted to look mysterious.
So she took a mask from her closet of witches, tied the lace bow around her head.
"My" she said as she stared into the mirror.
She thought 'the men will ask me to dance, the men will forget the rest.'
Lati Ball went to the dance, the mask fit on her face tight.
The people did not reconize her. But she was the best!!
"oh who is this women!" they all cried,
"she walks like an angel, and floats like a swan!"
She swept around the floor into another land.
The night gew late, Lati Ball had to stop inbetween dances to rest.
Then the clock rang 12 times, and a cake was brought out.
A cake of 12 candles.
Lati Ball wondered whos birthday it could be.
So she hurried to hear.
The hostest of the party laughed and said
"the cake is for you, the cake is for the best! now take this knife and cut some for the rest!"
But before Lati could cut the cake, she wanted to make a wish!
So she leaned over the cake and said to herself
"i always want to be the Best; Better than the Rest!"
So she blew at the candles.
But the cake was made out of wood, and caught fire.
It burned her face, it burned her mask.
Soon the mask was part of her face,
and she looked like death.
Oct 26, 2010
Oct 26, 2010 at 7:10 PM UTC
If truly it's known,
By all hearts like tone,
Our love shall be immortan
we shall be free of slave dark groan,
And pious to the hell of love gew-gew.
Drive me whereever you want to settle,
And heal the incurable disease you've done,
To sell the chain-of-rock to our bones,
And leave the pain in our flesh,and around the cruel fireof hell.
In fart,utter a deep rumbling in a distress;
We preffer to be left alone in peace,
But?love had come to soar our peace.
Where's our destiny?sourrounded in evil aure,
we seldon see throug the mist;
The scene on a tall summer that so pale,
Across the blue sky,the white cloud float shoals,
Or?disapper and quitly sail,the wast time;
Swell and fell into dream's haze,
Where eyes look long like a lover's gaze
What time in mists shall we tast?
Calmto the battlement of enternity of love;
Unknown!
Till the sun be set;they are all gone.
Maight the timid heart ,quiet dispassionate moon?
When the agony of nightmare caurse begin,
Or,a devil that rides human soul?
Shall wondered around our souls?
AH!It's too late to goven the kid of love's soul,
For the day evil-light shouted daze,
By hopes and fear,cried our souls,
Like the shadow's flames which the sun throw,
Even,more like the shadows of lives than life's blow.
In move,yet with something beauty very rare,
Traced,do they live on slop,
Pearhaps,be of noblest hopes,
The trace of intention that maight have been fair,
For purpose,each man's action must be hidden from scorn,
Hope like nature,oaktree man's saddest,
We loom in the world without watching time,
A wast so far,dark night is near,
To flash us back to the hell,where no wind breathes or ripple stires
We wish we were given a chance to restore the unwanted past!
Oct 27, 2024
Oct 27, 2024 at 9:26 AM UTC