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"indecent" poems
When I was just a little girl, And as little girls were taught then, I played with dolls and a teaset, Made mudcakes for food, Wore skirts, made my hair into ponytails as I was let. I saw the boys with the abandon which comes with free wear and play, And I thought to myself, why am I a girl. When I was older, a teen and as teen girls were taught then, Walk, talk, rock softly Don’t draw too much attention Or attempt to explore too much. I saw the boys then with the abandon which comes with freedom to play, sit, be as they want , And I thought to myself, why am I a girl. When I was sixteen, oh sweet sixteen, And as sixteen year old girls were taught then, Don’t wear clothes that show your frame, That’s indecent and you will be in another home and will incur alot of blame. Don’t wander, argue, or express an opinion, You’re a girl, being humble, quiet and gentle becomes you. I saw the boys then with the abandon which comes with freedom of movement and speech, And I thought to myself, why am I a girl. When I was older, and passionately sought a particular career, I was admonished as many other girls in my time, It’s not a career for women, late nights, more men to be around, When you get married, that’s not going to work and troubles will abound. I saw the boys then with the abandon which comes with the freedom of pursuing their dreams, And I thought to myself, why am I a girl. When I was married, and setting a home, working and raising a family, I left my work as many other girls in my time, For my husband to follow his work path, Unquestioningly, unflinchingly, resolutely. I saw the men then with the abandon which comes with freedom of being in control of their lives, And I thought to myself, why am I a girl. But this is just the surface of my questioning being a girl, When boys and men around tried their stunts on girls and women, I questioned my existence. When many girls and women I know, Were told to stay mum on men close who took advantage of them I questioned my existence. When In the workspace, Women got paid less than men because their salary were subtly looked at as secondary salaries, Or needed to speak louder to be heard, I questioned my existence. When the onus of keeping a relationship working was the woman’s responsibility largely, I questioned my existence. When a woman got hit by her spouse, Its she who may have provoked him. When a man strayed, Its she who was not a good enough wife that he had to look elsewhere. I questioned my existence. The atrocities many men are capable of, The filth many men spread, **** hate, aggression, manipulation and more Abuse, gaslighting inside closed doors, Wearing a mask of sophistication outside Animalistic and entitled beings to the core. My apologies to men who are not, And I know some, But they are but a handful, Too insignificant in the larger way the world works. But then I see me, A harbinger of change, In my home and around. Raising my son differently, Advocating for change purposively, Actioning resolutely what’s right, Woman for women with all my might. I see so many more women now who retain their selves and are beacons of hope, They don’t sit around and just mope. And I am glad I am a girl, And I question no more, I question no more.
0
Feb 16, 2020
Feb 16, 2020 at 4:28 AM UTC
I AM A GIRL
When I was just a little girl, And as little girls were taught then, I played with dolls and a teaset, Made mudcakes for food, Wore skirts, made my hair into ponytails as I was let. I saw the boys with the abandon which comes with free wear and play, And I thought to myself, why am I a girl. When I was older, a teen and as teen girls were taught then, Walk, talk, rock softly Don’t draw too much attention Or attempt to explore too much. I saw the boys then with the abandon which comes with freedom to play, sit, be as they want , And I thought to myself, why am I a girl. When I was sixteen, oh sweet sixteen, And as sixteen year old girls were taught then, Don’t wear clothes that show your frame, That’s indecent and you will be in another home and will incur alot of blame. Don’t wander, argue, or express an opinion, You’re a girl, being humble, quiet and gentle becomes you. I saw the boys then with the abandon which comes with freedom of movement and speech, And I thought to myself, why am I a girl. When I was older, and passionately sought a particular career, I was admonished as many other girls in my time, It’s not a career for women, late nights, more men to be around, When you get married, that’s not going to work and troubles will abound. I saw the boys then with the abandon which comes with the freedom of pursuing their dreams, And I thought to myself, why am I a girl. When I was married, and setting a home, working and raising a family, I left my work as many other girls in my time, For my husband to follow his work path, Unquestioningly, unflinchingly, resolutely. I saw the men then with the abandon which comes with freedom of being in control of their lives, And I thought to myself, why am I a girl. But this is just the surface of my questioning being a girl, When boys and men around tried their stunts on girls and women, I questioned my existence. When many girls and women I know, Were told to stay mum on men close who took advantage of them I questioned my existence. When In the workspace, Women got paid less than men because their salary were subtly looked at as secondary salaries, Or needed to speak louder to be heard, I questioned my existence. When the onus of keeping a relationship working was the woman’s responsibility largely, I questioned my existence. When a woman got hit by her spouse, Its she who may have provoked him. When a man strayed, Its she who was not a good enough wife that he had to look elsewhere. I questioned my existence. The atrocities many men are capable of, The filth many men spread, **** hate, aggression, manipulation and more Abuse, gaslighting inside closed doors, Wearing a mask of sophistication outside Animalistic and entitled beings to the core. My apologies to men who are not, And I know some, But they are but a handful, Too insignificant in the larger way the world works. But then I see me, A harbinger of change, In my home and around. Raising my son differently, Advocating for change purposively, Actioning resolutely what’s right, Woman for women with all my might. I see so many more women now who retain their selves and are beacons of hope, They don’t sit around and just mope. And I am glad I am a girl, And I question no more, I question no more.
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73
(Ruining Steely Dan concerts since 2013) Parrot Dave you can go straight to hell. lumbering up          and     down the ******* stairs 47 times - for christ's sake SIT DOWN with your lovely wife (let's call her linda) and enjoy the show. you may think i am being overly harsh but let me explain: Parrot Dave doesn't even have               the decency to wear a proper Hawaiian shirt, the indecent **** ******* parrots? why, dave? they repeat endlessly too large                    too bright                  too primary   they are clones                      all facing the same direction       and you can hear     the sound      of the parrot voices     in an unholy union "It's a Steely Dan concert, man!" "Listen to the horns," says the horror of parrots. Parrot Dave, you're a real ******* have some ******* class.
0
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 10:22 PM UTC
Parrot Dave
The times here, mind clear removed fear, mind fully-aware they can’t calculate my circumference they try-angle-hate to encompass i’m too persistent consistently consistent my philosophy brilliant they’re mindfully malignant plots thicken and spots pigment perfect gentlemen, acting indecent handed them knowledge, didn't keep it then peep game, telling secrets I’m sure they’re getting seasick its been written, still going off the top the deep-end, the stuck on the plot
0
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC
Rap verses freestyle
*Quintessential charmer, libidinous crow pheasant, has an eye on him, thinly disguised mating calls disclose her keenness of intention, protruding derriere, provocative walk, her amour leaves nothing to guess, 'what you fancy is my desire' her acts yell out to him.*
0
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 9:20 AM UTC
The crow pheasant doesn't care even if her proposal is indecent
I am not the master of my writing - my writing masters me, seizing me when the seizure is a sure thing, it dictates to its enslaved scribe what it desires this utensil to reveal and expel - the contraries who having battled to a ****** draw leaves the battlefield trembling with indecent indecision; the optimal conditions for its macrobiotic invasion of my brain stem; the she-muse offers me two choices: she wants a poem writ forthwith on the lyrical expression of depression and refusal is non optional so I fantasize escape and that becomes her property as well; evidence against me to be used at my trials, the one where there is no statue of liberty from the limitations of prior bad acts; I offer the she-muse two choices: give me a cabin with WiFi and self-enforcement of solitary confinement and tie me up with the rope remainders of broken bonds, bonds that tied me up worse when they were broken and the peaceful withering that won’t disrupt disturb nobody from a distance my other choice is to bury me forthwith next to my parents and shutter my constant tearing eyes which are drop-resistant muse says that’s no choice I own your voice stilled or not, will bill your soul’s account for denial of poetic services weep; i don’t want the noises that curse this troubled bodyship don’t want recollections good or bad the muse-bitch cackles with insanity of delight for she accepts this writ as partial payment on her commission, whispers I love your lyrical expressions of depression that ****** recognition algorithms alert me that seizing time is nigh there is no on/off switch for one like you: father son and holy ghost
0
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
I am not the master of my writing (the lyrical expression of depression)
I am not the master of my writing - my writing masters me, seizing me when the seizure is a sure thing, it dictates to its enslaved scribe what it desires this utensil to reveal and expel - the contraries who having battled to a ****** draw leaves the battlefield trembling with indecent indecision; the optimal conditions for its macrobiotic invasion of my brain stem; the she-muse offers me two choices: she wants a poem writ forthwith on the lyrical expression of depression and refusal is non optional so I fantasize escape and that becomes her property as well; evidence against me to be used at my trials, the one where there is no statue of liberty from the limitations of prior bad acts; I offer the she-muse two choices: give me a cabin with WiFi and self-enforcement of solitary confinement and tie me up with the rope remainders of broken bonds, bonds that tied me up worse when they were broken and the peaceful withering that won’t disrupt disturb nobody from a distance my other choice is to bury me forthwith next to my parents and shutter my constant tearing eyes which are drop-resistant muse says that’s no choice I own your voice stilled or not, will bill your soul’s account for denial of poetic services weep; i don’t want the noises that curse this troubled bodyship don’t want recollections good or bad the muse-bitch cackles with insanity of delight for she accepts this writ as partial payment on her commission, whispers I love your lyrical expressions of depression that ****** recognition algorithms alert me that seizing time is nigh there is no on/off switch for one like you: father son and holy ghost
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44
Corruption and Seduction, twins living in discordant harmony. Firstly, Corruption lives in a crowded home, in the lamplit living rooms and in the starched collars and sore legged dining halls.         Seduction lives in the attic, and ghosts from room to room, leaning on others as it passes, like an injured soldier.              Guiding into places seldom spoken of and rarely trod. She asked him how he could change his mind so quickly. I think his mind was never made in the first place. Be it Corruption or Seduction, they live as synonyms and antonyms. A promise broken, words thrown aside or forgotten, a trust crumbling to dust. Credit this, not to one or the other, but to both, working for each other to accomplish the objectives laid at their feet by the gods. Moments of weakness, burdened with fear and doubt, belong to this indecent pair.          Scoffed by most, yet intimately known to all, Corruption and Seduction manipulate and corrugate.
0
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 1:23 PM UTC
Corruption and Seduction
The kite gets  high, stays aloft- quite some time displaying enviable dexterity, for fun do spectacular  somersaults as much times as it could, climbs up in air with a loud swoosh then look! how the wind gets ***** with her, if she has something of  a skirt, it goes up, up to an indecent height, she doesn't have that balance a player at such heights should have kept always. Its absurd, all these acrobatics silly kite displays before the world at high altitudes with a unholy interest to show herself more accomplished than what she really is, could you pardon that frivolity, because she has many more colors than clouds. He admits abashedly that he too was once in love with her frivolous attractiveness, but he never could understand a kite; in spite of the lightness, that makes it easier to travel heights, has kite a significance? After all what is a kite? her merit? a strange arrangement that defies common sense, all it can do is aimless flying. Isn't it a charge serious enough? even a dry leaf, or a falling feather can do these acrobatics for a while. What is the meaning of a kite, kindly someone notify , if it has any, meaningless flying is not for anything of substance, what kind of play is it,   if it is perceived as one, by any one why the folly of someone take us for a ride all these years, without a second thought, he wonders who might have promoted it,  had some ulterior motive, some point to prove; wind, mightiest of forces is made to look weak in everyday life . He would suspect, in the bargain many generations too spent their time in this vein pursuit without any thought. Any kite display a greed to go up and stay there, till the time it is possible to float don't want to be back, when wind is on her side unless force is applied, what does it signify? Kite has a hunger to touch wonder with its fingers he knows, and he can't but appreciate it and when the occasion arises she fly up to the cloud, play with him as if he is her secret lover, that hurts could such a liaisons are to be  be tolerated she knows how a cloud tastes at different times Yes, sky certainly intoxicates her, she want to move closer, doesn't it spell danger?
0
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
The kite conundrum
The kite gets  high, stays aloft- quite some time displaying enviable dexterity, for fun do spectacular  somersaults as much times as it could, climbs up in air with a loud swoosh then look! how the wind gets ***** with her, if she has something of  a skirt, it goes up, up to an indecent height, she doesn't have that balance a player at such heights should have kept always. Its absurd, all these acrobatics silly kite displays before the world at high altitudes with a unholy interest to show herself more accomplished than what she really is, could you pardon that frivolity, because she has many more colors than clouds. He admits abashedly that he too was once in love with her frivolous attractiveness, but he never could understand a kite; in spite of the lightness, that makes it easier to travel heights, has kite a significance? After all what is a kite? her merit? a strange arrangement that defies common sense, all it can do is aimless flying. Isn't it a charge serious enough? even a dry leaf, or a falling feather can do these acrobatics for a while. What is the meaning of a kite, kindly someone notify , if it has any, meaningless flying is not for anything of substance, what kind of play is it,   if it is perceived as one, by any one why the folly of someone take us for a ride all these years, without a second thought, he wonders who might have promoted it,  had some ulterior motive, some point to prove; wind, mightiest of forces is made to look weak in everyday life . He would suspect, in the bargain many generations too spent their time in this vein pursuit without any thought. Any kite display a greed to go up and stay there, till the time it is possible to float don't want to be back, when wind is on her side unless force is applied, what does it signify? Kite has a hunger to touch wonder with its fingers he knows, and he can't but appreciate it and when the occasion arises she fly up to the cloud, play with him as if he is her secret lover, that hurts could such a liaisons are to be  be tolerated she knows how a cloud tastes at different times Yes, sky certainly intoxicates her, she want to move closer, doesn't it spell danger?
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56
What's happening to hello poetry? I don't need to know when the next soccer game is And if I can watch for free. Only football I know is American like the pride that's in me. My blood doesn't boil the native sounds of my country. Since my  motherland is the Dominican But America my step motherland won custody and raised me, since the age of three. Don't forget is not who made you but who you fed you, who clothed you, who saw your first shot to a basket, who saw your first catch, who kept your body warm when you got another cold, and so on. This is "Breakfast for Champions" Just ask Kurt Vonnegut What's happening to hello Poetry? Show your art Get your due diligence Don't sell us your dreams don't broadcast your business unless is a story, book signing or deal. I don't need a spell to make a girl fall in love. I got these words For and to whom I might propose Love or an indecent occasion of lust. Let my words be the for front on this site but they're second to my actions. Since I don't speak much b'cause my Latin accent. What is happening to hello poetry? Private messages by strangers who don't write or speak words. Claim is urgent and as a poet You know kind hearted, love lost, And so on... You just might want to message their Hotmail. Sad story under prosecution Sad story the relation is abusive Mocking the painful truths of some of us artist. Just wanting a piece of the pie But when I order I even eat the crust and never leave crumbs. Take offense or not I just don't give a ****
0
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 7:44 AM UTC
***
What's happening to hello poetry? I don't need to know when the next soccer game is And if I can watch for free. Only football I know is American like the pride that's in me. My blood doesn't boil the native sounds of my country. Since my  motherland is the Dominican But America my step motherland won custody and raised me, since the age of three. Don't forget is not who made you but who you fed you, who clothed you, who saw your first shot to a basket, who saw your first catch, who kept your body warm when you got another cold, and so on. This is "Breakfast for Champions" Just ask Kurt Vonnegut What's happening to hello Poetry? Show your art Get your due diligence Don't sell us your dreams don't broadcast your business unless is a story, book signing or deal. I don't need a spell to make a girl fall in love. I got these words For and to whom I might propose Love or an indecent occasion of lust. Let my words be the for front on this site but they're second to my actions. Since I don't speak much b'cause my Latin accent. What is happening to hello poetry? Private messages by strangers who don't write or speak words. Claim is urgent and as a poet You know kind hearted, love lost, And so on... You just might want to message their Hotmail. Sad story under prosecution Sad story the relation is abusive Mocking the painful truths of some of us artist. Just wanting a piece of the pie But when I order I even eat the crust and never leave crumbs. Take offense or not I just don't give a ****
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30
You ever wish that you were a wild animal? Sounds a bit indecent, but reckoning the sense of freedom, order, and understandings ;then, you'll look at it through a bird's eye Doesn't it seem like animals have no issues at finding their purposes? They seem to know exactly what is it, in which what they are living for Oppose to us humans, they seem to be less frightened by death Do you think animals have religious beliefs? Some divine stranger they must let control their life. Or are they responsible enough themselves? And/or only have faith in what it mean to live ...Just live The things in which they used to do is still their tendencies today. Give me one lion that don't hunt anymore? One pack or tribe that is ran by female? One chimpanzee who think swinging from trees is out of style? One shark who think blood is disgusting? I never met a gopher who wasn't hip enough, who didn't "dig"; digging wholes Every cat I know rub their skull, ribs, backbone, tailbone and tail; in one motion against other creatures for what I figure as comfort. Shepherd, Yorkshire, or hound; however, they all get on the mailman's nerves Humans... We just seem lost Not knowing where we belong Steady trying to figure out right for wrong Attitudes always going up or down Need to much to crack a smile The slightest ordeal can make us frown A successful human is visioned as having access to the whole world Do you ever see a honey bee left behind in a swarm? Or a polar bear climbing a tree when it's warm? Their world has no critics No trends No high expectations Just eat, sleep, and **** Is that it? Or there's more to it? Two separate lives But I'm influenced
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Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 3:55 AM UTC
Animal Kingdom
You ever wish that you were a wild animal? Sounds a bit indecent, but reckoning the sense of freedom, order, and understandings ;then, you'll look at it through a bird's eye Doesn't it seem like animals have no issues at finding their purposes? They seem to know exactly what is it, in which what they are living for Oppose to us humans, they seem to be less frightened by death Do you think animals have religious beliefs? Some divine stranger they must let control their life. Or are they responsible enough themselves? And/or only have faith in what it mean to live ...Just live The things in which they used to do is still their tendencies today. Give me one lion that don't hunt anymore? One pack or tribe that is ran by female? One chimpanzee who think swinging from trees is out of style? One shark who think blood is disgusting? I never met a gopher who wasn't hip enough, who didn't "dig"; digging wholes Every cat I know rub their skull, ribs, backbone, tailbone and tail; in one motion against other creatures for what I figure as comfort. Shepherd, Yorkshire, or hound; however, they all get on the mailman's nerves Humans... We just seem lost Not knowing where we belong Steady trying to figure out right for wrong Attitudes always going up or down Need to much to crack a smile The slightest ordeal can make us frown A successful human is visioned as having access to the whole world Do you ever see a honey bee left behind in a swarm? Or a polar bear climbing a tree when it's warm? Their world has no critics No trends No high expectations Just eat, sleep, and **** Is that it? Or there's more to it? Two separate lives But I'm influenced
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36
Somewhere in the lake of deep sleep is an island, dark and mysterious, entangled mangroves here,  resist movements where I snake in like a thief excitedly breaking in to own house, pretending to be an alien and find a body double living there acting out one's secret- fantasies and voluptuous desires. I won't dare to speak aloud here, where, the overpowering smell of too ripe fruits of indecent passions waft. The dark chamber, the smoke filled ***** den of my mind, is to  take secret refuge and be one with a dream that flies me to the border lands of psyche.
0
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 12:20 PM UTC
***** Den
A holy dip in a river, revere you may, Or any philanthropic act may it be, Only wisdom finds divine salvation, From cynic cycles of birth and death, Believe in boundless bliss beyond ….17 Relish respite in temple serene, Cherish in the shadow of a tree, Squat or lie on a flat ground, Renounce worldly comforts, Peace prevails in plenty. Believe in boundless bliss beyond ….18 Dwell you may, in ecstasy, Of fanfare and fortitude, Attached to materialism, But, to revel in the divine bliss is; The only redemption of lingering life. Believe in boundless bliss beyond ….19 Delve into the divine discourse of deliverance, Sip the holy drops of sacred rivers, Worship the lordship of Almighty The Lord of Death dare not pinch you. Believe in boundless bliss beyond …20 Pangs of birth, panic of death, Over and over, again and again, Make one and all sick and sullen. Cultivate divine diary of deeds, Enroll the ultimate bliss of eternity. Believe in boundless bliss beyond …..21 He who cogitates cool inward, Be content with what he has, Contempt to what he has not, May look like an innocent child, Or an indecent mad cap outward. Believe in boundless bliss beyond …..22 Question yourself – Who are you and me? And other kith and kin? There lies delusion in delight, Of experience and exposure, Of trials and tribulations, Ending up in ****** dreams. Believe in boundless bliss beyond 23 Almighty is all pervasive, In you and me and all around, To be furious is to be foolish, Drop ego; uphold equality& equanimity, As the best way to sacred sanctum Believe in boundless bliss beyond 24
0
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 7:44 AM UTC
Ponder beyond ( part 3 of 4)
A holy dip in a river, revere you may, Or any philanthropic act may it be, Only wisdom finds divine salvation, From cynic cycles of birth and death, Believe in boundless bliss beyond ….17 Relish respite in temple serene, Cherish in the shadow of a tree, Squat or lie on a flat ground, Renounce worldly comforts, Peace prevails in plenty. Believe in boundless bliss beyond ….18 Dwell you may, in ecstasy, Of fanfare and fortitude, Attached to materialism, But, to revel in the divine bliss is; The only redemption of lingering life. Believe in boundless bliss beyond ….19 Delve into the divine discourse of deliverance, Sip the holy drops of sacred rivers, Worship the lordship of Almighty The Lord of Death dare not pinch you. Believe in boundless bliss beyond …20 Pangs of birth, panic of death, Over and over, again and again, Make one and all sick and sullen. Cultivate divine diary of deeds, Enroll the ultimate bliss of eternity. Believe in boundless bliss beyond …..21 He who cogitates cool inward, Be content with what he has, Contempt to what he has not, May look like an innocent child, Or an indecent mad cap outward. Believe in boundless bliss beyond …..22 Question yourself – Who are you and me? And other kith and kin? There lies delusion in delight, Of experience and exposure, Of trials and tribulations, Ending up in ****** dreams. Believe in boundless bliss beyond 23 Almighty is all pervasive, In you and me and all around, To be furious is to be foolish, Drop ego; uphold equality& equanimity, As the best way to sacred sanctum Believe in boundless bliss beyond 24
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48
I had to disassemble it Our world Take it apart Bit by bit Word by word Those words Letters Full of meaning Could no longer exist Anywhere My friend, my lover And my refuge Suddenly turned Traitor Turned foul Deceptive Dangerous My friend, my lover My language So I began the demolition Of clandestine concepts Tearing apart nouns And adversary adjectives violently, I separated verbs And adverbs Thus impairing indecent interjections Until our grammar Finally collapsed Now there is only silence Safety in signs like Minuscule monuments All bereft of meaning And I am in mourning For I have no words To throw into the void Only memories Of distant dialogues Dreams
0
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
Taking Apart Language
Dont Try To Overthrow Me, This Is My Territory, Don't Try To Touch Me, You Fraile, Cold Hearted, Tantrum Throwing Annoyance, Don't Speak, About The People Who Are Better Than You, Dont Speak Lies, Which Only Some Believe Dont Try To Crush Me, You Foul, Demonic Child, Don't Glare At Me, I Have The Strongest Stare, Don't Say You Want To **** Me, You Would Never Succseed If You Try, You Are Simply To Weak Dont Try To Take Over Because, You Are The Opposite Of The Human Spirit, You Are The Flip Side Of Incredible, Trying To Break Through The Wall, I've Been Forced To Rebuild, Over, And Over, I'm At Full Strength, And Yet You Try To Break Me Down, You Make Me Laugh You're The Omega, You Misquito, Constantly Buzzing Around My Ear, Telling Me What A ***** I Am, And You Are An Angel? You Are Demon You Reddheaded Brat Shut Your Mouth, You Disease, No One Wants You, No One Wants To Taste The Hate You Hide, No One Wants To See The Side I've Seen, At One Time, You Were Funny, Bubbly, Let Me Pop Those Bubbles, Just Like You Popped Mine I Am Indecent? Because I'm Ugly?, Only In You Crap Brown Eyes, Tell It To My Face, Not My Friends, I'll Break Your Nose, How Will You Feel Then? You Are Nothing To Me, A Waist Of Space, I'm Tired Of Getting Pushed Around By You, I Am Your Alpha, I Have The Power To Hurt You, Injure You Permanently, But I Wont, Just So You Know, I'm Strong, Physically, Intellectually, And You Are, The Frost Who Wishes To **** My Rose, But  Good Luck The Climate, Is Getting Warmer
0
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 8:27 AM UTC
Don't Try To Overthrow Me
Dont Try To Overthrow Me, This Is My Territory, Don't Try To Touch Me, You Fraile, Cold Hearted, Tantrum Throwing Annoyance, Don't Speak, About The People Who Are Better Than You, Dont Speak Lies, Which Only Some Believe Dont Try To Crush Me, You Foul, Demonic Child, Don't Glare At Me, I Have The Strongest Stare, Don't Say You Want To **** Me, You Would Never Succseed If You Try, You Are Simply To Weak Dont Try To Take Over Because, You Are The Opposite Of The Human Spirit, You Are The Flip Side Of Incredible, Trying To Break Through The Wall, I've Been Forced To Rebuild, Over, And Over, I'm At Full Strength, And Yet You Try To Break Me Down, You Make Me Laugh You're The Omega, You Misquito, Constantly Buzzing Around My Ear, Telling Me What A ***** I Am, And You Are An Angel? You Are Demon You Reddheaded Brat Shut Your Mouth, You Disease, No One Wants You, No One Wants To Taste The Hate You Hide, No One Wants To See The Side I've Seen, At One Time, You Were Funny, Bubbly, Let Me Pop Those Bubbles, Just Like You Popped Mine I Am Indecent? Because I'm Ugly?, Only In You Crap Brown Eyes, Tell It To My Face, Not My Friends, I'll Break Your Nose, How Will You Feel Then? You Are Nothing To Me, A Waist Of Space, I'm Tired Of Getting Pushed Around By You, I Am Your Alpha, I Have The Power To Hurt You, Injure You Permanently, But I Wont, Just So You Know, I'm Strong, Physically, Intellectually, And You Are, The Frost Who Wishes To **** My Rose, But  Good Luck The Climate, Is Getting Warmer
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68
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
0
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 10:18 PM UTC
NAKED TRUTH
Long walks, long talks under the south sky, we knew it was love December, snowflakes, cold night but you made it warm White gown, black suits, sweet vows, but that’s not how it ends Black lies, midnight fights, angry cries, we know it’s not love (not anymore)    This is the morning when the French man curses Paris This is the morning when the sun loses its light This is the morning when promises become lies This is the morning when are love kisses the lips of goodbye    Chorus: Because on the eighteenth, summer turns to winter All that we have withers Everything warm and bright fades on the arm of September I can taste my tears, I can feel my fears You walk away with no words of love to remember    Whiskey, dancing under the night sky, I have heard you died November, tears fall, sorrow cripples like a thief Ugly box, pale cheeks, another goodbye, I pray to see you breathe Regrets, lost love, indecent goodbyes, you left me twice    This is the morning when the French man turns to dust This is the morning when he takes his life This is the morning when memories fake the aches This is the morning when even fears and tears can’t bring you back    Chorus: Because on the eighteenth, summer turns to winter All that we have withers Everything warm and bright fades on the arm of September I can taste my tears, I can feel my fears You walk away with no words of love to remember    Coda: Your awkward smile, your deep blue eyes Old  photos will remind they’re once alive Your broken dreams with an unfinished song No more Tuesday nights for you to sing along    Because on the eighteenth of September there’s no morning, only mourning
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Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 12:32 PM UTC
The Mo(u)rning
Long walks, long talks under the south sky, we knew it was love December, snowflakes, cold night but you made it warm White gown, black suits, sweet vows, but that’s not how it ends Black lies, midnight fights, angry cries, we know it’s not love (not anymore)    This is the morning when the French man curses Paris This is the morning when the sun loses its light This is the morning when promises become lies This is the morning when are love kisses the lips of goodbye    Chorus: Because on the eighteenth, summer turns to winter All that we have withers Everything warm and bright fades on the arm of September I can taste my tears, I can feel my fears You walk away with no words of love to remember    Whiskey, dancing under the night sky, I have heard you died November, tears fall, sorrow cripples like a thief Ugly box, pale cheeks, another goodbye, I pray to see you breathe Regrets, lost love, indecent goodbyes, you left me twice    This is the morning when the French man turns to dust This is the morning when he takes his life This is the morning when memories fake the aches This is the morning when even fears and tears can’t bring you back    Chorus: Because on the eighteenth, summer turns to winter All that we have withers Everything warm and bright fades on the arm of September I can taste my tears, I can feel my fears You walk away with no words of love to remember    Coda: Your awkward smile, your deep blue eyes Old  photos will remind they’re once alive Your broken dreams with an unfinished song No more Tuesday nights for you to sing along    Because on the eighteenth of September there’s no morning, only mourning
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34
My dear miss Able asked me about a hidden place. A place where words go to find lovers. A Tinder for f̶o̶r̶e̶p̶l̶a̶y̶  wordplay. Where "She" swipes right on "Him" to create "Them". Where "Un" and "Faithful" got together and made "Faithfulun" Because "Faithful" is also seeing "Dyslexia" Where my friend "Alone" swept left on "Everybody" And never changed. And "In" became "Indecent" when he, infatuated, Increasingly indulged Into "Inappropriation" while dating "decent" and then Indiscreetly descended into "Insanity". Where "Baby" got "Back" after "Laid-Back" split when "Laid" got "Off". Miss Able doubted this place even after her first son, "Question" who took her surname. But this place does exist- Where gold is mind inside a poet.
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Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 4:04 AM UTC
Inside A Poet
The wild green tree speaks to her lovers, all through the day, flirting innocence she was to the gentle breeze, those lovely foliage swaying side to side. With the indecent demands of the rowdy wind, she was rumbustious not to be left behind even a bit. Then, the long persistent buzz, of honey bees, theirs was an intense affair, with the inviting white flowers. The tree was still, as if in goosebumps, though impetuous, isn't it a diversion lovable? **I was the lover, hope personified, the tree, in my dreams I wished, was waiting with all these momentary engagements, for that one great love that thrills her, from tips to the roots, deep down, unique, in its intensity, when it happens. The green leaves, white flowers, the cacophony of roosting birds, under the shade was a world, moving on its own pace, all the while waiting for the magic love brings.** The tree was a song of love, wind's whisper, sweet exchanges inspiring to many lovers around, all through the day and night. At dark lonely nights, an oily moon appears, very late, as if it is reluctant, the tree stands silent, looking wistfully at a winking star, as if her true love was finally found, though light years away. **I stand lost in thought, in my garden, where flowers wilt, looking at the flickering light, at your window, getting engulfed by mist**
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May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 7:26 AM UTC
In the hope of Love
Poked & prodded at Everyday Everyday Everyday I walk outside naked regularly (The only one, too) A shady pornstar they've  Made me out to be Every corner of flesh, Every corner of flesh It's indecent to be clothed. Spread open my legs to A gaggle of flashing camera bulbs.  Express critique Save a pic Jot down notes  'Move it, kid.' Spread open my legs to A pod of alien queens Scalpel wrenches, protozoan logs  I'm the life of the party As their oval heads crowd around My *** things Experimented-on weird-o's meander The halls of this wherever-I-am Free to leave at last I sometimes go home after A day of that And do an odd thing: I cocoon myself in blankets And sleep for long stretches of time.
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May 21, 2012
May 21, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
Where Are Your ****** Organs
The history of my stupidity would fill many volumes. Some would be devoted to acting against consciousness, Like the flight of a moth which, had it known, Would have tended nevertheless toward the candle's flame. Others would deal with ways to silence anxiety, The little whisper which, though it is a warning, is ignored. I would deal separately with satisfaction and pride, The time when I was among their adherents Who strut victoriously, unsuspecting. But all of them would have one subject, desire, If only my own -- but no, not at all; alas, I was driven because I wanted to be like others. I was afraid of what was wild and indecent in me. The history of my stupidity will not be written. For one thing, it's late. And the truth is laborious. Berkeley, 1980. Trans. Robert Hass and Robert Pinsky
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2.3k
Account
Igor was torn  between casting          the body of a girl          or young woman,          that was merely sexually attractive - or whether to employ a procession of young nubiles as       secretaries; now that Natalia had thrown him over for Ivan, he needed  a girl or young woman who was sexually mature;       possibly even suitable for marriage;      sexually mature; sexually attractive, desirable, **** luscious; marriageable;                   informally, beddable: Ivan constantly surrounded himself w/ a posse of nubile young women, to forget,      that's what Eli needed to do; mid 17th century: from the Latin nubilis ‘marriageable,’ from nubere,                       to cover or veil       oneself for a bridegroom;      from the nubes  the ‘puffy cloud-like nips’                      of a child bride;                            [risqué]                            photos of coeds of the                                    fifties & those of | _sex-trafficked nubiles_            from last week; |        glamour isn't glamorous; as GMO skanks get injected w/ female growth  hormones                                     just in case they                                decide to         to be mothers someday         slightly indecent or liable to shock, especially by being sexually suggestive; "risqué humor"  ribald, rude, ***** Rabelaisian, ***** **** earthy, indecent, suggestive, improper, naughty,   locker-room; ****** ***** ****** crude, adult, coarse, obscene, lewd, ****** blue, raunchy;             off-color "risqué stories": mid 19th century: French,                 _past participle of risquer ‘to risk’_
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Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 3:04 AM UTC
O for the hex of my ex's **** eyes
Igor was torn  between casting          the body of a girl          or young woman,          that was merely sexually attractive - or whether to employ a procession of young nubiles as       secretaries; now that Natalia had thrown him over for Ivan, he needed  a girl or young woman who was sexually mature;       possibly even suitable for marriage;      sexually mature; sexually attractive, desirable, **** luscious; marriageable;                   informally, beddable: Ivan constantly surrounded himself w/ a posse of nubile young women, to forget,      that's what Eli needed to do; mid 17th century: from the Latin nubilis ‘marriageable,’ from nubere,                       to cover or veil       oneself for a bridegroom;      from the nubes  the ‘puffy cloud-like nips’                      of a child bride;                            [risqué]                            photos of coeds of the                                    fifties & those of | _sex-trafficked nubiles_            from last week; |        glamour isn't glamorous; as GMO skanks get injected w/ female growth  hormones                                     just in case they                                decide to         to be mothers someday         slightly indecent or liable to shock, especially by being sexually suggestive; "risqué humor"  ribald, rude, ***** Rabelaisian, ***** **** earthy, indecent, suggestive, improper, naughty,   locker-room; ****** ***** ****** crude, adult, coarse, obscene, lewd, ****** blue, raunchy;             off-color "risqué stories": mid 19th century: French,                 _past participle of risquer ‘to risk’_
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44
Nashville lights, twilight sights The dancer's dream, the faded stream perfumed ally, vagrant sally The words that call, the deadly fall Embraced indifference, padded surveillance The silent dreams, The nightly screams. Whispered messages, diluted references Fresh bound hopes, depravity copes indecent alliance, vengeful compliance dressed for show, momentum's flow A southern will, the bitter pill These little flickers that embrace The dreams of fame's tormented face. Alisdaire O'Caoimph
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Mar 24, 2011
Mar 24, 2011 at 1:23 PM UTC
Nashville
I have always aspired to a more spacious form that would be free from the claims of poetry or prose and would let us understand each other without exposing the author or reader to sublime agonies. In the very essence of poetry there is something indecent: a thing is brought forth which we didn't know we had in us, so we blink our eyes, as if a tiger had sprung out and stood in the light, lashing his tail. That's why poetry is rightly said to be dictated by a daimonion, though its an exaggeration to maintain that he must be an angel. It's hard to guess where that pride of poets comes from, when so often they're put to shame by the disclosure of their frailty. What reasonable man would like to be a city of demons, who behave as if they were at home, speak in many tongues, and who, not satisfied with stealing his lips or hand, work at changing his destiny for their convenience? It's true that what is morbid is highly valued today, and so you may think that I am only joking or that I've devised just one more means of praising Art with thehelp of irony. There was a time when only wise books were read helping us to bear our pain and misery. This, after all, is not quite the same as leafing through a thousand works fresh from psychiatric clinics. And yet the world is different from what it seems to be and we are other than how we see ourselves in our ravings. People therefore preserve silent integrity thus earning the respect of their relatives and neighbors. The purpose of poetry is to remind us how difficult it is to remain just one person, for our house is open, there are no keys in the doors, and invisible guests come in and out at will. What I'm saying here is not, I agree, poetry, as poems should be written rarely and reluctantly, under unbearable duress and only with the hope that good spirits, not evil ones, choose us for their instrument.
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1.9k
Ars Poetica?
I have always aspired to a more spacious form that would be free from the claims of poetry or prose and would let us understand each other without exposing the author or reader to sublime agonies. In the very essence of poetry there is something indecent: a thing is brought forth which we didn't know we had in us, so we blink our eyes, as if a tiger had sprung out and stood in the light, lashing his tail. That's why poetry is rightly said to be dictated by a daimonion, though its an exaggeration to maintain that he must be an angel. It's hard to guess where that pride of poets comes from, when so often they're put to shame by the disclosure of their frailty. What reasonable man would like to be a city of demons, who behave as if they were at home, speak in many tongues, and who, not satisfied with stealing his lips or hand, work at changing his destiny for their convenience? It's true that what is morbid is highly valued today, and so you may think that I am only joking or that I've devised just one more means of praising Art with thehelp of irony. There was a time when only wise books were read helping us to bear our pain and misery. This, after all, is not quite the same as leafing through a thousand works fresh from psychiatric clinics. And yet the world is different from what it seems to be and we are other than how we see ourselves in our ravings. People therefore preserve silent integrity thus earning the respect of their relatives and neighbors. The purpose of poetry is to remind us how difficult it is to remain just one person, for our house is open, there are no keys in the doors, and invisible guests come in and out at will. What I'm saying here is not, I agree, poetry, as poems should be written rarely and reluctantly, under unbearable duress and only with the hope that good spirits, not evil ones, choose us for their instrument.
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36
I sat by the window side at the bus And ate some chocolate cake with gusto Headaches from last night's partying And suddenly I dozed off while eating How strange... Someone tapped me on the shoulder I ****** and opened up my eyes And saw you with your gentle smile My face with smudges of chocolate How embarrassing... You asked if the seat beside me was vacant I nodded unable to speak for shame and fear Of opening my mouth full with chocolate cake Too conscious how my teeth would look like How pathetic... Side by side, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder Instantly felt the warmth of your smooth skin You glanced at me and smiled again very slowly My cheeks were blushing of my indecent thoughts How pitiful... You asked softly if where my destination was I answered politely afraid of looking directly Too distracted by the musky scent you have in you I wanted to ask what perfume you were wearing How awkward... The journey was tediously long and I had hangover We sat there for five hours in companionable silence But my insides were screaming with excitement By your mere presence, I felt I was safe and sound How weird... "Excuse me sir, may I pass?" I nudged you respectfully Your eyes widened a little bit and nodded in silence I got off the bus and stared as it continued on the road Regretted that I never even dared to ask for your name How hopeless...
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Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 11:56 PM UTC
Beautiful Stranger