"groveling" poems
I fall to my knees,
Kneeling before you,
My Master,
Groveling at your glorious feet,
To reveal the chains of submission,
Weighing down my delicate form.
You gaze upon me,
Beholding soft skin shimmering,
As my body is folded over;
Viewing my tantalizing beauty,
As I bestow myself,
To fulfill your deepest desires,
Conjuring the darkest yearnings,
Manifesting within.
“Rise, Baby Girl’’,
Your deep voice commands,
Reverberating within this crimson colored chamber,
As your figure towers over me,
Beckoning my legs to stand,
Obliging to please you,
As my hazel eyes encounter,
The blazing intensity of your own,
Sending flames to burn,
Down to the small of my back.
Fear is the armor I allow to fall,
Tumbling to the ground,
Cloaking myself in trust,
As I allow my body to be,
Touched by dominant hands,
Trussed up by ropes and chains,
To restrain to me.
Willingly becoming prey,
To the sweet, antagonizing caress,
Before your hand aggressively strikes,
My behind,
Sending me into a realm,
Of pleasure and pain,
Morphing into one sensation.
Free is the response I experience,
As you bounds my wrists,
With your tie,
Pinning me down,
Straddling my body.
Placed between your thighs,
With your heated lips,
Conquering every inch of my body.
The Sting of the flogger,
Is a bite against the skin I crave,
As silence is the language,
I choose to speak,
Feeling your fingertips claim me,
As your territory to reign over,
As you please.
I yearn to satisfy the hunger,
Starving to be your nourishment;
For Sadism to feed,
Upon masochism,
As a balance of power is established,
As we lose ourselves in fiery passion.
Dominance and Submission,
Forces meant to bond to the other,
In a marriage of infliction and reception,
Of blissful agony,
Accepting the temptations you direct,
Towards me as guide,
To obtain our darkest of fantasies.
Submission speaks out within,
The silence as I give you,
A proffered hand,
Succumbing to the sensual dreams,
You promise to me,
Allowing you to possess me in any way,
You wish in accordance to our terms.
May you indulge upon my form,
Like decadent candy you crave,
To devour,
Savoring every taste,
Sound, smell, and touch,
In this licentious dance between you,
My Master,
And me, your fervent lady,
Of submission.
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 5:18 PM UTC
Twentysomething Emo
looks at teenage Emo
and laughs.
It was something purely aesthetic,
with brain chemicals churning
and wiry bodies yearning
under the guise of straightened bangs
and perched beanies,
skin tight black outfits
parading the dusty grounds of Warped Tour.
Twentysomething Emo is the real deal--
lamenting over high school salad days
because real life is so unsure,
college degrees and full-time jobs,
watching friends and lovers come and go in our lives.
After a long day of responsibility and groveling,
we drive home (or somewhere just as distant)
with our emo anthems blaring through the speakers.
We scream the songs back at them,
truly feeling the words for the first time.
I'm the same age as William Beckett, Adam Lazzara, and Pete Wentz
when they wrote these songs--
and though the bangs have receded
and the jeans have slackened,
I am perpetually Emo.
The unrequited love and the nearing distant future--
it's come too soon.
I hope thirtysomething Emo looks back
on my meandering twentysomething Emo
and laughs--
as he plays the melancholy tunes pouring out of the speakers
with some more of life fading away in his rearview mirror.
This town gets smaller every day.
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 12:45 AM UTC
Bend down today
in humble submission,
in groveling forgiveness,
and wash the feet
of another.
Partner with your savior,
recognize the filth
of your own sin,
and wash the feet
of another.
Become acquainted
with the essence
of your existence
by washing the feet
of another.
Esteem one higher
than yourself,
meet that lowest place,
and wash the feet
of another.
You will find
how you too will
become clean when
you wash the feet
of another.
So do not tarry,
no, now, today
bend down
and wash the feet
of another.
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 2:25 PM UTC
I am just your average sinner,
sly glances say, I am second chance, time around .
I spin mediocre wildest-dreams
in rundown hope hotels
I am just a pretty sinner with a
dusty trail of lust
like green pollen in my wake.
A vehicle of possibility
to all the places we can drive our devils,
with cocktails and vague musician
who lean back on wooden chairs, against walls of fading paint.
with tables for sins
to be laid out like Thanksgiving.
My sins are neon signs in yellowed rooms,
My sins are rusted cans kicked in old beach towns.
My sins are hot pavement under cracked rubber tires rumbling above.
My back arched in a prayer to the sky.
The rise of my hipbones like majestic mountains.
My sins leak from my eyes. First one, then another.
Down, Down they fall
I fall to my knees.
They fall and I curse them for leaving me too.
I fall to my knees like the traveler who has journeyed too long,
On my knees and I kiss the dirt of home.
I am humbled and groveling...within my sinning.
And I pray a much louder prayer. I am a much humbler servant, with much to forgive.
I wear my sins like a raincoat to keep me dry from all the
good intention and 'well-deserved!' that might be coming my way.
I twist my sin into a paper flower and wear it in my sinful hair next to my sinful eyes by my sinful mind.
I am just your average sinner
Dreaming of living a better life someday.
Praying to be a better me, someday.
Someday is a funny place to live
With towering hopes
and skyscraping desires scratching at its sterile walls.
No, not for me.
I am just your average sinner...
with extraordinary sins.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 9:04 PM UTC
Lately you just look at me- like I'm the worst.
And that ***** cuz the only approval I ever wanted was yours.
All I do lately is make you so angry,
So come on please tell me, what am I missing?
Did I just forget something?
Or have I ****** up everything?
Oh, I hate when you're mad at me.
It doesn't lose it's affect because you're angry perpetually.
Trying so hard to please,
I'm begging you for mercy.
Your "dead to me" looks hurt enough to **** me.
You know you've done some bad things too.
Much worse than me, and I still love you.
When I asked for you not to be so disappointed in me,
You just laughed bitterly.
I must pay a million times over for one tiny slip, a lapse, a small sin.
When I said I was on the edge you called me a liar- again.
I swear to God I'm trying.
May he strike me if I'm lying.
Today I didn't even want to come home.
I'm working myself to the bone-
And for nothing.
What have I done to make you distrust me so?
Maybe I could make you stop hating me if I could know-
Why?
Was there ever so desperate a soul as I?
Groveling over the smallest faults on my knees.
Doing everything I can to make you forgive me-
For whatever I've done.
The flames of your distaste burns hotter than the sun.
Sorry I'm a disappointment.
All those awful things you said, I'll just assume you didn't mean it.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 4:30 PM UTC
The is my commune.
This is my sanctum.
It's transforming into something solid.
Somehow, the back cracks before it's due.
And I'm left with this twisted image of you.
My oh my.
How you have grown.
This body is something that you have never know.
You'll walk on my shadows and I suppose that I'll tug you along.
Churning masses that never happen.
I don't want you to stay here, but where would you go?
I'm not sure how to respond to this repertoire, this power play of sort.
I do what I do best, I'll turn my back on yours.
I'll fold you up and tie you to a carrier pigeon's leg, let it take you away.
The bag lady will feed you in the city park.
You'll cluck and duck like the rest of them.
Naked on the cold cement sidewalks eating bird food with your tiny little beak.
No one will see you but me.
And I don't care.
I'll jog right past your groveling hands.
You won't remember me, I'll be a dream in some forgotten land.
Go hide your head under your wings.
The dove that is the loudest, isn't always the most lovely when he sings.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 1:06 PM UTC
There is a chaos theory that is dominate in my mind,
one of proper thought that has gone array,
visions of violations to our fellow man,
and whispers amongst the thieves.
If there is no honor,
then the point will be to survive in anarchy,
groveling and scrounging in the night,
to feed the pains in our bellies,
In my eyes, I will **** to feed,
but there is others who will not allow it,
and the storyline will be "I will need to be fulfilled before you'
maybe I will commit another act of treason.
After the rapture, those who live will be wasted,
like it was since ever since,
there will be title fights for structure and hierarchy
but it will still be life after Armageddon.
What will hope do to mankind?
its remains to be seen.
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 5:52 PM UTC
gravity,
you amaze me with your
paradoxical pull
grasshoppers, greenshanks,
groveling serfs and grandiose kings
all feel your wicked weight
the bearable lightness of being
is at your cosmic command
some wear you like gossamer, others filigree
for the forlorn, you are ball and chain
for Sir Isaac, you were scripture,
chapter, and verse, Mathematica
you keep me and thee tethered
with invisible faithless cord
to this spinning stone
to attempt to defy you is folly
even with rockets at full ******
for ultimately we must
again bear your weight
but, grave though I have called your grip
you beatifically bestow
this bearable lightness of being
that cannot be seen or heard
only felt
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC
i will never quit
i will never give in
i will fight till i die
even in death
and even in the afterlife i will win
BTW, FYI:
I already WON
i know it
and you know it
smirks
you are just groveling
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
It's one after another
Big business on parade
Groveling before Congress about all the loot they made
Millions upon millions on the backs of you and me
Hurting all of us, not just metaphorically
Then there is Congress, passing laws for the rich
And the mighty corporations, how I wish
We had in real life, Jimmy Stewart's Mr. Smith
At least Elizabeth Warren is out there kicking ***
And thank God, we've still got a free press
Exposing the dishonesty, e.g. arbitration is very bad
And old Bernie sure raised a ruckus, it's not over yet
Still, I have hope, I love the USA
So full of character and characters
What did that candidate say?
Vote your conscience (and your intellect) come Election Day
We the people will finally get to play
Oh yeah, and for real, God bless each of you today.
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 6:36 PM UTC
Maybe I just can’t hear it
Maybe, but probably not
What if someone comes along after all, what if all I need to do is sit
Sit right here where he told me too
Like a child scolded and sent to his room Just because he asked, “Daddy, when’s dinner?”
He only asked cause he felt like he hadn't eaten since last winter
I swear by my own life I’m listening
Maybe I just can’t hear it
Maybe, but probably not
But, who knows?
Maybe I’m asking the wrong questions?
Maybe I’m destined to a life of harsh lessons so I can relay the message
Maybe, but probably not
Probably just isn’t good enough for me
How many years of this lay ahead? Two? Three?
Surely it can’t be that many
The trick to practiced apathy
is that it tends to never leave
I’ve known the uncaring flag I’ve flown so long that I’ve forgotten your name
after that day
The passion part of my brain was never the same
It doesn’t boad well for my attempts to stay sane
Sometimes having the strength to carry my own cross really *****
Because it seems no matter how much slack you pick up the world weighs the same
I’m not sure if I can listen to one more someone complain about the pain
because honestly I don’t care who hurts the most, I don’t care what you’ve gone through because you're here now, and for Christs sake quit looking behind you!
Nobody’s back there!
You keep talking and saying “But look where I've been!”
I don’t care! Give me a thousand whens, a thousand wheres, Go ahead, sit down, have some coffee... Share
But if by the end of the day you’re still looking over your shoulder then there’s nothing anyone can do for you so stop groveling
The only person who you can sell your soul to is yourself and the buy back price is steep, so take a step before you make a promise you can’t keep.
The buy back price is steep.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
the dirt
continues to grow and fester
beneath my fingernails.
but i don't stop groveling
down to my knees,
i don't stop to breathe;
to rest.
you, who bears god's love;
whose love i could not know.
you and your sin-stained palms
continue to enshrine
dilapidated ghost towns.
i undo the stitches on my wounds
and pick at the grisly scabs
under your scrutiny,
yet you chastise me
for the pool of blood
bespeckled on your feet.
the darkness
already dropped,
the night hides me once more.
the living sorrow,
simmered, bitter, and fresh;
everything remains.
Aug 10, 2022
Aug 10, 2022 at 11:49 PM UTC
In this drafty bedside cavern
I lay with my feet up against the wall
tap tap tap
Held up over my hard head
Resting against the hard ground
Back here, where my pillow is my headstone
This palace is a burden,
Utterly insufferably forgiving.
Fantasy hits the ceiling
A dream shot from my mind
CRACK
Moonlight shines through the cave's newborn fissures
Useless to me
Uselessly groveling under shadowy sheets of sky
I need this sterile fluorescent light.
It dances across my face
pitter patter pitter patter
It drops into my eyes,
Falls into the chasm between my lips
Cold and reeking of rot
Cold and tasting of an invasive species of mildew
I swallow, choking back tears
I eat it
It eats back.
Feb 12, 2024
Feb 12, 2024 at 7:38 PM UTC
An empire built on enslavement
conquering and plunder
striving to maintain order
via censorship in a modern milieu
the irony isn't lost on me
watched the news today
a self declared expert
cited a rather lengthy inventory of mass murders
a veritable host of troubled people
he seemed well informed
but half dead inside
as if something was internally devouring him
an expert in stolid stage craft
oblivious to his self inflicted harm
until he watched the playbacks that evening
pretending, posturing, play-acting, contrived concerns
now collapsed in a fit on the floor
groveling pitiful fragment
vomiting bourbon tears
out of sight, above detection
by them
the watchers
tomorrow, a different city
another "shooting spree"
another interview
another barren bereft onslaught of absurd rhetorical questions
hand ringing, and staged pandering consolations
another pallid parroting reporter who thanks you for "tuning in."
"next up, Sports!"
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
In chains trying to make change
Arrange for a plane to far away plains
In vain he hopes to stand
On his two feet but love, he cannot believe. So much pressure he bought it no receipt. I got these white collars stressing me, telling me, wear your tie pick up your feet, please, my ancestors didn't fight to see, me, 36 floors up fashion hanging me, from the metaphorical tree. No they won't see me groveling on my knees. I'm a proud black man dyeing to be, free, and its funny cause we all dyeing to be, something, and time don't cease and we just micro-living in peace, or pain, or plain vanilla.
(Columbus day)
In a noose finding proof
Board a boat to a faraway moat
Round we go, at least he's afloat
In a sea of uncertainty,
certainly, he can handle what he see's
But what about what he feels
I don't know what's worse.
The loss or the hurt.
I see the day as the end of natural earth.
Borders crossed never to be returned.
The order was established I'm still fellin the aftershock. They mock my art, mock my creativity, try to mock the essence of me. But in a sense its good, I guess, allowing free expression to get this stress off my chest. Blessed I feel every day to know I aint got to go. The box that surrounds me is just metaphorical. Even the rules in place are deplorable, meanin ignorable. If it don't help it hurt and the new jim crow need some work. But as long as I can escape it, as long as I can break out the box, as long as I can stand on two feet, the oppressor will never catch me on my knees in a noose or fighting to get loose. My mind is already liberated, my education has focused my hatred, and I realized they the ones that need the savin.
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 12:02 PM UTC
When you lay down
And your phone falls
And literally tackles your face.
I feel as though technology.
Places a point on it side
For us thinking we have controlled
Every advancement.
Its not a coincidence,
Its a slow, groveling battle cry
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 11:28 PM UTC
I know it’s not all gone
I still feel it in me
Corrupting all my hard work.
I have to
Have to
Have to get it out
All of it. Leave!
Why did I have to cave in to temptations of my organs.
Temptations of my flesh, it swells with the delight of its trickery
Making me think that just a moment of pleasure would be okay
Wouldn’t stick
It’s okay, you look alright today, she said.
Go ahead, just a bite
Now a few more, you won’t regret it
Sweet, sweet nourishment, dropping like lead in my stomach
And showing through my front
Bulging out on all sides and distorting my figure
I cried to her, You said I’d be okay! You promised I’d be fine.
She whispers back, Oops, I guess I was wrong
You’re not strong enough to just take one
You’re weak. Pathetic and weak. What would you do without me to yell
Scream, Now get rid of it.
Pathetic and groveling I crawl forward on my hands and knees, kissing her feet
My lips come back with bile at my teeth.
Not that easy though, she beats me, pummeling my stomach
Choking my lungs and nose, tearing at my throat like talons
Wiping the acid from my lips and the blood from my nose
With the back of my hand
I choke out a hoarse pleading whimper,
Can I be done yet? Am I finally done?
Mia laughs and caresses my face, leans down to whisper in my ear
I’ll never be done with you.
The whip cracks and again I crawl forward, shackles dragging behind me
Sobbing and grateful.
Oct 6, 2011
Oct 6, 2011 at 9:32 PM UTC
Don't take this away from me
This is all I've ever dreamed
Your words are tasteless toxic
And they're deteriorating me.
Everything you speak is venom
Crush my teeth trying not to listen
I'm spinning in my attempts
But still your words get in.
Trying to adapt to your cruel intentions...
no hope of escape.
My big heart pulls me back in
Dying daily is my fate.
How do you not care?
Where do you aquire such a skill?
How can you not hear the cry of my people.
Weak and groveling...
Turn my groveling into gold.
Jul 21, 2017
Jul 21, 2017 at 10:18 PM UTC
It's sad to say this
We live under umbrella terms
On some kind of spectrum
Abiding by Murphy's law
Being read our Miranda rights
Numbers on a scatter plot
In other words it's an open invitation
For one trick ponies
To sideswipe us
Knock us for a loop
Knocking us down a few pegs
Making us a laughing stock
Sieg heil the zeitgeist
Study the hermit's manifesto
It speaks of finicky beggars
And groveling choosers
Honor slayings
Oscar-worthy faked *******
First rate blood baths
Second rate novelty acts
Bending over backwards
And knee **** reactions
Cooking up something abominable
Having it hit the fan
To ensnare and entrap all who are near
Hot off the knock-off stenograph
Tack on another ten thousand years
In other news...
-Tommy Johnson
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 5:45 PM UTC
Ubermensch gone doggy between your legs,
a minute heathen, incensed prophet, whose
last rites scatter.
Moth-ornate tome in a terrible scream, whose
barbed print appeals to what lucid interval
gains thee.
Heights to take as lovers, brain's genitalia in
a bunch.
Meridians frolic in arms risen, hence, hence--
crushed tumult in touch.
An infectious groveling that other may see,
take hold.
Odd aphrodisiac, you--human half, halved,
halved and halved.
Penumbra, split-screen vision of Zion, come--
I came, I implore with birthright.
A studious damnation leaves us a leprous
expose, eye-candy as sweet as sacrament.
Skies sent and returned gone swamp-green,
can't you feel the interplanetary squelch that's
bound us?
Strange...fool of chills, hunched with electrified
hair come I, full of longing, barren.
Let us decipher one another, break judgement
over our knees, and caress one another's
downturned eyes.
Let us have a look at one another till we become
worldwide, let us perfect our immoderation.
Konstantinos Mark
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
Wanting, longing, craving, loving, yearning, needing.
Heart beat racing faster and faster,
Only ending in disaster.
Body trembles as hands shake,
Crawling on the floor like a snake.
Hope, pray, wish, dream, desire.
Anything will be done to achieve,
To get what is most in need.
Nothing will get in the way,
For what will be a final “hurray.”
Begging, pleading, groveling, quivering, trembling.
Falling to your knees,
Looking up towards the trees.
The man walks by,
With a twinkle in his eye.
Hope, pray, wish, desire.
The world turns dark,
Living in a world with a shark.
Cannot run, cannot hide,
The man takes you for a ride.
Wanting, longing, craving, loving.
The mind takes flight,
As the man goes into the night.
The stars shine,
Nothing helps the mind.
Hope, pray, desire.
The man returns from darkness,
Bringing the harness.
It’s a hefty price to pay,
Nothing need be say.
Begging, pleading, groveling.
The blood is cold,
The skin cannot hold.
Everything is at stake,
Tomorrow may not awake.
Hope, desire.
Needle ****** the skin,
Patience running thin.
Bruises show from times past,
The rush will come fast.
Begging, pleading.
Loved ones have slowly vanished,
Alone forever and banished.
Heart stops beating,
Eyes stop seeing.
Desire.
Feb 17, 2011
Feb 17, 2011 at 9:24 AM UTC
i. smile, they’re watching
–lips part, pink toes curl
against flat carpet;
what a performance
ii. wipe the disgrace
from your brow,
flick it behind your
shoulder; let it follow
on the ground as a
groveling shadow
iii. you see your reflection;
just another ship in a bottle,
with brown eyes and a temper
to match the sea
iv. lights beat against
bruised eyelids,
no sleep, no sleep,
you hush to yourself,
fingers pressed against
the neck of a bottle
v. this is a nod to sycophants
stuck with broken ships,
who, at some point, unfurled
their sails and found no gale
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 7:09 PM UTC
I'm young and poor,
Sitting here all alone
not knowing where you went,
The free water cup in front
of your chair is empty
and mine is
barely half full,
Being spent in sips
as the cigarette smoke
whirls in the room,
creating a haze
and leaving a daze
in my eyes,
the old lonely man
to my left
is writing a novel,
I stop him to look,
groveling,
“and what about you?”
he laughs,
“it's a story about
the time I crashed
my ship in the pacific ocean,
I didn't have any
sunscreen lotion so
the vision I had
shortly after
was a hallucination
of a beautiful
mermaid woman,
She helped me swim halfway
to a beach before my energy
was lost and I was put to sleep,
After that,
She spoke without speech,
She swam without
a breech in waves,
she stayed by my side for days,
I laid on her fin until I
found myself sunken,
rib like projections
coming from my throat
which filled my lungs
in the dark water
I was so afraid of,”
What happened
next surprised me,
I didn't think,
I took my cup
and with the last
of my money
I filled the drink
with coffee,
I glanced at
the thirsty old man
as I walked
out the door,
His laugh still
echoes in my
memory.
May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010 at 6:02 PM UTC
He Don't
want me but he loves to **** me , cover it up with words of love, Words &promises;, like I'll do better& we can start again.Sorry.
He Don't
want me but as I grow and my body swells I laugh within myself,I lead my self down this destructive road knowingly, given in to my own self needs, My want to be happy wasn't meant to be hiss imprisonment, The words thou the Way he said em ,The ways he feed them in to me,Left me feeling Unique,Special,Like a Queen, & him then The king of all kings, His subjects groveling at his feet.
He Don't want me
and no matter how much I want to do this all over again Knowing the results in the end is already evidently clear, I wont win,Not him,He's not up for grabs, not a treat to be had, Just the trick-ster playing on my lonely heart, When it comes to the Man I want yeah He came real close ,closer then most for me to still be dwelling on past Re living it as I see myself leaving in stead of spreading wide for him..
He Don't want me
No matter what we say or do, I know this to already be true, like the declaration's and amendments set forth for something better, protection was better,
How funny I'm the only one paying the price in this life time, Man Oh Man I can count past my hands how many times I heard "girl you know I only want you" or "be my wifey"
& lets not for get he says over & over again "I'll take care of you".
Funny the caring and all the rest He's said to the lil' no ones- like me plus that wifey thing He's been spitting to them other Chicks he calls queen,
I've now seen him with so many, So many times since claiming me His queen
& its been long since know that He Don't want me.
So I'll LEAVE!
Always Me Ayeshah
Copyright © Ayeshah K.C.L.N 1977-Present YEAR(s)
All right reserved
Feb 3, 2010
Feb 3, 2010 at 8:17 PM UTC
The thought
that we may have made the wrong decision
terrifies us,
so we choose to ignore the possible exploration it might take to realize
what the right decision might actually be.
The gray, old statue sits lopsided in my mother’s garden
Twenty four inches high and leaning ever forward in the mud while
enduring the sun
and enjoying the snow or rain
Because she gets the most attention in the weather that depresses humans,
Mortals drawn to her alluring virginity and enduring divinity
Groveling for guidance and searching for silence in less than tranquil gardens on earth.
Mary cries gray tears for America and grey tears for Europe
Because we all fling questions up to her for the same reason.
But we will never realize how small we are until we hit our knees and stare eye to eye,
Instead of
staring,
crestfallen, down at muddy Mary in the garden.
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 12:11 PM UTC