"lolita" poems
1.MY MOTHER WOULD STAND IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR AND PAINT HER LIPS RED FOR A MAN WHO WASNT MY FATHER.
2.MY BEST FRIEND STOLE HER MOTHERS LIPSTICK TO IMPRESS A BOY AT SCHOOL AND THE NEXT DAY SHE CAME INTO CLASS WITH A FAT LIP.
3.THE BEAUTIFUL BOY FROM MY FIRST PERIOD CLASS FRESHMAN YEAR BROKE MY HEART WITH LIPSTICK STAINS CRAWLING UP HIS JAW.
4.THE INSULTS ON THE BATHROOM STALLS WERE WRITTEN IN BLOOD RED LIPSTICK.
5.MY GEOMETRY TEACHER USE TO SNEER AT ME WITH SCARLET LIPSTICK ON HER YELLOW TEETH.
6.THE GIRLS IN MY FAVORITE BOOKS ALWAYS MADE ME CRY. THIER RED LIPS STILL HAUNT ME.
7.WHENEVER I’D TAKE IT OFF MY LIPS WOULD STILL LOOK PINK AS IF YOU’D SPENT HOURS KISSING THEM.
8.WHENEVER I THINK OF RED LIPS I THINK OF THE SCENE IN ****** WHERE HUMBERT IS ******* HIS LITTLE NYMPHET IN A DESPERATE ATTEMPT FOR HER TO STAY AND HER RED LIPSTICK IS SMEARED ON HER MOUTH AS SHE STARES UP GLASSILY AT THE CEILING
8.WHEN YOU FINALLY GOT OFF MY BROKEN BODY THAT NIGHT MY RED LIPSTICK WAS SMEARED ACROSS YOUR CHEEK. YOU PULLED ON YOUR PANTS AND ZIPPED YOURSELF UP . YOU THUMBED THE RED MESS ON YOUR CHEEK AND SMIRKED AT ME AND SAID. “GOD I LOVE THOSE RED LIPS"
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC
a future promise
a hard on like bundled gym socks
in stuffed blue jeans
a future threat
a shriveled phallus wrinkled obsolete
she remembered fondly
being beaten drum chatter
and seized like slow roasted
fall off the bone pulled pork
****** raggedy Ann
catapulted beyond Euboean heavens
ravaging scrotums Gordian ******
with her wild fiendish mouth
drinking a river of
haloed golden showers
spit and ****
in a runaway hot house of glistening pink
buttery spires
engorging her macerated orifices
half eaten radish
chocking on hordes
of big do do *****
a ****** face; cross eyed
Babylon abalone
bashed Ashly mashed
begging for
a face full of swinging *****
like caped chandeliers
trotting faint giggles
in a constellation
of ruptured arteries
and thick sparked ****
on her knees
milk glitter faced
scared with happiness
she counted one smiling bruise at a time
her badge of calamities
black and blue silhouettes
grinning invitations like party favors
without a crease of shame
her skin rapturous
spackled patchworks
bled like torrential fountains summer tide
while every body had fizzy red ice phlebotomies
and steamed through her drooling tumble pie
lust ***** totem
house of winding labyrinths
honey pumped transfusion
flush on blush
opera of tangled limbs
red pulse wedding flowers
slick ***** palace
blood tongued orchard
caressing knotted mooned
**** spill
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 2:22 PM UTC
Ballerina stance leaner
porcelain poised demeanor
lined up for a chance at that old 500 gram repeater.
Yeah, a little firecracker,
a little fire eater.
Twiggy figure, ****** fire dome where her little wires teeter.
Excellent muse material
my ***** optics viewed ethereal
Beauty, and she knew it.
Arrogance.
Noted, duly.
Pittsburgh's resident fire ant, with a grace to match her face
And a whole crew of troglodytes racing to get a taste
So thanks Angela Chase;
I prefer the fantasy too.
And thanks to you my chickens won't be sleeping easy in their coup.
Loop Jabberwocky with Calligraphy
and dabbled in polygamy. purpose:
****** cyst bubbles to the surface.
Misinterpret the tongue touching and hand clutching,
you were baby girlie thumb-sucking
But thought more than twice about it when it came to dumb-fucking.
Pretty face: check
Depression: not yet
Appreciating phonemes, but still a nervous wreck
false carrot tops to bed, awkward with the ***** work.
Near waif redhead. Pittsburgh Boys. the city lurks
It's been a minute since the girl scouts got at me, I bought it.
Hop in the DeLorean tell Lauren that I'm off it.
Mar 16, 2010
Mar 16, 2010 at 2:47 PM UTC
TRUMP
i never said a word about you because
would it be rude to call you an embarrassment?
you're everything i'm not and you're
everything i fear in a person but
tonight i thought about you and for the first time
since i blocked your number that night i was
supposed to come over i kind of maybe sort of
missed your touch but i didn't miss you
i loved you when you were inside of me but
could barely stand to be in the same room with you otherwise
you made my heart pound like a bad anxiety attack after
seeing your 47 in math and thinking woah i might not graduate
and realizing even worse: with a grade that low i'll never make it
to outer space (which means we'll be stuck on the same planet
forever no matter how hard i try to rid myself of you you will
always linger between the cracks in the sidewalks and broken
picket fences you are suburbia's biggest fear)
POOH
you taught me that lust never leads to love
and you stole my favourite book. i wonder
if you ever read it but you stopped talking to me
out of the blue, apparently i had done something wrong?
i mean,
that's a first
i dream about you more often than i'd like to admit
sometimes you drop in just to say hi but most of the time
you call me a ***** and tell me you wish i were dead but
no matter what you heard about me i swear to God i'm pure
or maybe God was right when he burned my skin alive and
watched me become ashes in the middle of nowhere with no one
around to hear me scream for help, have i sinned too much to be
let in to Heaven?
******
beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful
beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful
beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful
beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful
beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful
SIRIUS
history repeats and i've been stuck in this loop
since i can remember i fall in love with the same
person over and over again i fall in love with you
and you fall in love with him and i stop believing
in love all together but i fall in love with someone
else because they remind me of you and i hope you
think of me from time to time and miss me as much
as i miss you as i try to fall out of love but it never
works the way it worked so easily for you, first love
doesn't mean forever love because the first is never
the last and everyone said so but i was hoping that
maybe one day we'd get married in the garden down
the hill by your house that overlooked Lake Ontario
or the ocean as you liked to call it because you could
never distinguish the difference between blues
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 2:05 AM UTC
i dream about
that girl
that girl
who can wear that
dress
and smoke
after school
she can let her
hair down
even on the hot days
and let it fall
and dance
on the small of her back
she breaths in
the lethal fumes
that don't even touch her
her porcelain skin
too taut to let the
poisons in
she sits and lets
the sun melt on her face
as she lays on the freshly
cut grass
the boys staring
and her not caring
i sit and stare
at that girl
who sits and stares
right back at me
through the smoke
of my infinite
dreams
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC
He is hot and ***** and menacing
like the naked flame of sexuality
But ah, the girl has cravings
He is dangerous and a threat, maybe
A few ***** dreams to fulfill
But ah, the girl played with him
He might be filthy, in fact
A love affair so low, so black
like Lo and Humbert on the car
She is confused but not abused
Very different things, these two
Try to make her a victim
she refused
She is fatherless
She killed him before he could **** her
So Daddy comes to save the day
She has a hole in her heart
He drinks from her fountain
of youth, of blood
And they go around, they dream on
Sad sad dream by wire
Giving both of them life
Her parents would choke and so would
his wife
She didn't die and he didn't ****
They simply carried on with their lives.
Now they chat on Signal like old friends
with a past to hide, both of them
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 2:49 PM UTC
****** Colombiana
Dressed in red
Her name was Ana
Leaned in close
She named her price
Expensive taste
Aim to entice
Desperado, El Caballero
Like Cisco Kid
The hall was narrow
Was on her knees
Always prayed
In his pocket
Underpaid
En Colombia la vida loca
Slowly reached
Her skin like mocha
A forty-five
To Ana’s head
Mucho dinero
****** dead
Mar 2, 2010
Mar 2, 2010 at 6:54 PM UTC
She's the girl with the Bambi Eyes
Hidden behind a pair
of heart-shaped sunglasses
The ones I bought her
I like to roll her name
off the tip of my tongue
from the pit
of the fire
of my *****
Great artists steal
She took my heart
and fueled it with temptation
and had me
fullfill her wish lists
with kisses of wishful thinking
if I thought I was going
to get more than pics
Seductive
snapshots
slipping
Something beautiful
in the back of my mind for once
'cause all I see dark
things sometimes
It'd be nice to shed some light
on the situation
like I'm worthy of enlightenment
we are all one narrative
choose your own anima archetype
******
operative
word
plays
my heart like a harp
and makes life seem
more
harmonious
The more she stares me down
with
assisted
spontaneous
combustion
on her mind
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC
*Perched upon the peasant’s altar
Anomalous, conglomerate, anorexic, and onyx
The concubine’s cake with the Oxford comma,
Communal and picked and eaten at by little birds
Nominal trauma oozes visceral
****** and break
Sever and break
Steep walls of amorphous clay
Congeal to the walls of the willow
Exquisite and infinite, infidel
Flight
****** Lo, light of my life,
Long hair dripping with whiskey*
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 12:11 AM UTC
Mostly depressed
Slightly undressed
Pink lingerie
Egg white souffle
She stares, unaware
Of herself
But does not spare
Myself
From that agonizing beauty
Awe-striking allure
Of something so utterly
p u r e .
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 3:41 PM UTC
The autumn winds ***** her mercilessly,
as idle hands lunge for delicate petticoats.
Their ugly, pockmarked howls pinch her deeply
with each new limb they expose,
until her tears drop like leaves, unheard
and become soiled.
By the winter, she’s left leaning awkwardly
like a slapper against a lamp post.
Her body but scattered, bent baguettes,
freeze-set with the frigid, nightly chills,
which preserve her stark immodesty
and her malign revenge.
Yet spring adorns her with tentative protruding buds,
glazed like freshly shellacked fingernails,
as her body itches with the swellings of youth
and foliage fastens frills around her chest,
summoning the dewy-peach lustre of virginity.
Now she basks in our wanton, forgiving glares.
As the summer teases, she writhes Lolita-like
in a raincoat that clings to her, just so.
Her barely concealed fruits spilling out,
as the sun caresses her skin hotly, until she ****
with that cacophony of lilac bells gawping, grape-like,
ringing out the sweet moans of her petite-mort.
Oct 7, 2020
Oct 7, 2020 at 10:53 AM UTC
She's the girl with the cherry red lipstick,
the full ******* and rounded hips.
They call her sweet ******
pretty little ******
You'll know when you see her.
She'll answer you with, yes sir.
But don't look into those lovely eyes;
they will hypnotize; entice.
And her tongue is sugar coated
with sly and tempting lies.
They draw you near and nearer
every time she licks her lips.
She captures the young men's hearts,
with her seductive youth.
She feeds on their lustful stares;
their male hormones, testosterones.
Their jealous girlfriends
give her the strength
to make it through the days;
to ignore the painful shame.
But every lonely night she cries
herself to sleep,
and prays to the heavens
to retrieve her innocence.
They call her sweet ******
pretty little ******
But I know her well as Sorrowful,
and pretty with a grieving heart.
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 2:11 PM UTC
Do you know the darling Abigail?
She lives inside my mirror.
The little ****** girl,
With the wicked smile so queer.
Do you know the darling Abigail?
She laughed and smiled and danced.
The she beauty beheld at once,
Did leave me so entranced.
Abigail is in my head,
She’d never been before.
The ****** beauty lies there,
Smiling calmly on the floor.
Oh behest the silent beauty,
She creeps beneath the bed.
In solemn mocking silence,
She crawls inside my head
I regret that faithful night of poisons,
The dancer i did betray.
It was never my intention,
to send Abigail to her grave.
I guess there is no repenting,
There’s nothing i can do.
At night i feel her cold dark hands,
And her smile of “how dare you.”
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 11:20 PM UTC
senorita
her name is ******
living in a half empty cup
under neath the stars
of a lofts stairs.
****** dances and dreams
wonders if life is all it seems
as its perceived,
questions her thoughts
traces her dreams
chases the feelings
that so desperatley brings ****** to her knees
perhaps there is a plan
maybe its all just a test
as ****** sips her cup
under the stairs
a man comes and says hey bonita como se llamo
****** she speaks softly and smiles
hola senorita he replys
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 1:35 PM UTC
A nymphet,
A fruit never to be tasted
Forbidden.
And sadden it would be wasted.
Stollen
Never asking but demanded.
Ravished
A desire never to be sated.
a youth wasted,because we never waited.
The weight I bear it well.
Tempting the fates
I dreaded hell.
Our death awaits.
Dipped to deep in her spell.
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 12:27 AM UTC
she lives among the stars
a galaxy in her own being
drawing in each person passing by
making them fall in love,
with her eyes
and the stories they tell
with her body
and the magic it creates
with her soul
and the music it sings.
she is unknown to them all
but they still fall
harder and faster than ever before.
because she is a galaxy in her own being
a beautifully intricate mystery,
that they will never solve.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 10:54 PM UTC
degenerate beauty queen
treasure from the dredge of the Earth
strung up like Christmas lights
white crystal **** aflame
hydrangeas cower from her gaze
pink ribbons stained with age
droop lonesome in soft noir locks
pulled loose from men along the way
she'll be lucky if she doesn't die young
photos on the television
gunned down in some gang's maze
or somewhere in the gutters she calls home
expensive death bought by scratch
she'll be lucky to make it to twenty three
cigarettes and xanax soothe her to sleep
dancing on a silver pole took her hazily
high school diploma left her trailer park bound
never felt love 'less it came from a bottle
kissed only by knuckles since she began
running from ambitions to become no one
just someone's baby mama left shattered
she smiles to the world, for anyone who can see
inside she's full of rage, i see the tear stains
mascara runs black from her bambi eyes
complacent at best, naïve at worst
****** never grew up, she just grew angrier
i pray for you and the person you've become
ring me when you find your head
ring me when you find your way home
there's nothing from you that i wanna take
no matter how insignificant or terrifying
i love you forever and always
Oct 3, 2021
Oct 3, 2021 at 3:22 AM UTC
tight silk ******* with the lilac bra to match,
cream coloured knee high socks.
a collection of classic rock on vinyl and a compliments jar covered in news articles.
too many celebrity perfumes, but a versace collection that makes her think of the beach;
peach smelling deoderant.
chapter books on the floor accompanied by hair ribbons of baby blue and cotton candy pink,
****** by Vladimir Nabokov laying near the juvinile pale legs of beautiful sixteen,
as she paints each toe nail red, pink, white.
almost naked body, remember her tight, fresh lace set
hair perfectly auburn, lips perfectly light coral
mouth slightly open
Led Zepplin playing.
hairspray and rose powder,
unlit vanilla candles and twilight scented creams
she smells faintly of Modern by Banana Repulic and her daddy's cigarettes.
silently waving, a flag of patriotism
the beautiful, elegant sixteen.
-part 1
conceptcollection
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 11:46 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected]
when i start by name
perhaps in a flap of fault
exculpate my soul
for maximum rectitude
is the true fill of my heart
glory to the sons of Russia
Kudos to you all and your foremen;
Nikolai Gogol the master in the dead souls
Alexander Pushkin the effeminate poet
Vladimir Lenin who knew what was doable
Alexander sholenestysn the Siberian jail bird
who was on the poetic phone by five
Feodor Dostoyevsky the epileptic Karamazov
Maxim Gorky and Antony Chenkoy leave them alone
Ayn Rand the woman who shrug the atlas for we the living
Vladimir Nabokov the school master who asked for ***
from her student the adourous ******
Boris Pasternak the Muzhik like Leo Tolstoy
who wanted land beyond the horizon
for doctor Zhivago the **** peasant
or Vladimir Makayavosky who slapped the public
in the face of their capitalistic taste,
Glorified be you all you sons of Russia
your Muse is beautiful and erotically crazy
glory for your humour and your finer threads
with which you have woven for me my poems of dystopia
glory be to you all in the stark oblivion
of Leon Trotsky and his penman Leonid Brezhnev
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 12:15 PM UTC
I was 7 when I learned the art of touch
but that doesn’t make me Lolita’s sister.
I was 14 when I thought I figured out *** and love
were one in the same.
So tell me why everywhere you touched me
I began to turn black like a the band of a fake ring on a child’s finger
I began to turn a colour I could not wash off
with soap and water.
The darker I became the more you began to
smell of rotting meat left out in the sun.
You were festering and the holes in your heart
burned through to your skin.
Sometimes in my sleep
I still smell you waiting in the darkness.
And sometimes in the shower
I still find deep marks I cannot ever seem to get rid of.
Everyone in this life might mistake the look in your eyes as love,
but I will never be so easily fooled again.
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 8:50 AM UTC
Innocent saucer eyes open wide,
Sweet budding lavender laughter.
We’ll all go down-
One by one.
Silence aggravates the wreckage
Of what I used to be.
Into an abyss of false love
I’m falling.
A love that is mistaken,
Shown in the form of tender kisses
In detested secret places-
On a moldy couch
Covered in cat hair.
The crippling angst of your fingertips
Against my cold youthful cheeks-
Tracing the outline of my fatty jaw.
Slow circles of smoke escape your chapped crusting lips,
As chunks of flesh turn to rotting hostility
Against ones own body-
The bitterness of the cold turns to sweet comfort
As a lovely numbness becomes my regularity,
And emotions and physicality become one
Persisting to disintegrate-
my soul has become
a boiling bubble of spoiled milk
With the putrid stench of pillaged skin-
The devastating devouring desecration
of a ravaged--
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 4:19 PM UTC
she licked her lips, tasted a pinch of salt.
"i’m not like other girls"
isn’t that what every other girl says?
****** bambi eyes, eyelashes curled in a q.
he drinks until she cries, scared she will be
shot. imagine pretty little petals upon pretty little
thighs.
"i’m not like other girls"
ringlets, hair bouncing waves upon waves upon
ocean, sea, tidal
waves.
he smokes until she dances, in circles, through
vapors, underneath a table that holds too much
quick *** and liquor.
"i’m not like other girls"
and he could have said, “i’m not like other boys”
but he was broke, in denial, in and out of love, in and out of
hotel rooms.
words sound so much more appealing in darken
rooms.
"no, bambi dear, no you’re not."
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 4:57 PM UTC
you're a haze of ninety-nine cents dreams,
naivety bottled in your distressed jeans
and your lolita-inspired bambi teardrop eyes;
and i'm the devil behind why you've cried
your mouth chokes with fury and rage
'so why are you still here?' i ask again
but secretly, i know you and your obsession
-the glory tales of getting heartbroken
you know i'm pure poison flowing in your veins,
a disaster functioning on self-hatred and novacane,
but you're wild violet and champagne in a sweet kiss,
desperate to be inundated into my abyss.
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 4:49 AM UTC
****** grew up
she got herself a man
and a disability card
****** grew up
and she's not yours anymore
****** grew up
her life has changed
did you take advantage
not of her age
but of her winter?
Did you want her locked in your cell
was it convenient for you?
Well, the winter's gone
She's not the girl of your dreams
She's the woman of your desires
****** grew up
but always in your heart
always in my heart
the girl she was
but you can't take it anymore
the fact she grew up
it was going to happen
as soon as she left winter
and you were summer
but now the summer's burning
and you are not the flame
the beautiful, deadly winter
the place where she lived
the comfy, White walled, mind crowded Winter
where she still lives
but now put a handful of pepper
and a handful of flames!
would you take it better
if summer had a girls' face?
It was nice, keeping me in a jar
It was nice, helping me out
what were you?
a wolf? a friend? a ghost?
true love? My Humbert Humbert?
all of this? and even more?
Did you really know me
(because you do)
did we build something more
on Spanish lessons and kisses by wire
did I lead you on
well, I'm partly guilty
and not guilty at all!
we were friends! not lovers anymore!
****** grew up
but always in your heart
always in my heart
the girl she was
What light do you throw to yourself?
You are not guilty of your feelings
but you must abide...
I cannot, either, forget our past
But I must move on...
****** never grew up
but she's not yours anymore
Friend
or
foe?
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 4:08 PM UTC
I was 7 when I learned the art of touch
but that doesn’t make me Lolita’s sister
I was 14 when I thought I figured out *** and love
were one in the same
so tell me why everywhere you touched me
I began to turn black like a the band of a fake ring on a child’s finger
I began to turn a colour I could not wash off
with soap and water
the darker I became the more you began to
smell of rotting meat left out in the sun
you were festering and the holes in your heart
burned through to your skin
sometimes in my sleep
I still smell you waiting in the darkness
and sometimes in the shower
I still find deep marks I cannot ever seem to get rid of
Everyone in this life might mistake the look in your eyes as love
But I will never be so easily fooled again
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC