"masturbated" poems
Dear Stranger,
I had a dream last night.
A dream, which I will never forget.
A dream, where I didn't fall into the trap of my neighbour uncle luring me into a false promise of chocolates when I was five years old and kissed my ******
A dream, where I slapped the stranger on the road instead of running away when he masturbated looking right into my eyes on the middle of road.
A dream, where I brought the true colors of my so-called brother in front my family when he tried to rub his tool on my ***
A dream, where my ex didn't try to undress me when my soul was tearing apart.
A dream, which I will never forget.
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 6:28 AM UTC
Now I'll record my secret vision, impossible sight of the face of God:
It was no dream, I lay broad waking on a fabulous couch in Harlem
having masturbated for no love, and read half naked an open book of Blake
on my lap
Lo & behold! I was thoughtless and turned a page and gazed on the living
Sun-flower
and heard a voice, it was Blake's, reciting in earthen measure:
the voice rose out of the page to my secret ear never heard before-
I lifted my eyes to the window, red walls of buildings flashed outside,
endless sky sad Eternity
sunlight gazing on the world, apartments of Harlem standing in the
universe--
each brick and cornice stained with intelligence like a vast living face--
the great brain unfolding and brooding in wilderness!--Now speaking
aloud with Blake's voice--
Love! thou patient presence & bone of the body! Father! thy careful
watching and waiting over my soul!
My son! My son! the endless ages have remembered me! My son! My son!
Time howled in anguish in my ear!
My son! My son! my father wept and held me in his dead arms.
1960
2.7k
I'm so happy-
I've masturbated until I can't feel
and that's okay.
My hair is brittle;
the water's iron and so are you-
your love's a mess.
God is angry
because he doesn't have to exist
to be real.
Hipsters ruined liking Wes Anderson-
Bill Hicks was brilliant
and everyone is an intellectual.
Your ideas aren't yours-
your words are mine
and mine are yours.
Writing to be antidepressed,
because singing is for the shore,
for your shore.
Let's pick each other's psychology,
like we're removing clothes
or missing ads,
and get lost in each other's darkness,
because, "I love you,
I suppose.
I suppose."
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 2:14 AM UTC
Expatriots await the nights in Kuwait
where the dingoes and dominoes and salamanders bait
the ladies in purple to their eminent doom
of sleazies and stabbings and babies in womb.
Don't get me wrong,
I enjoy a good time, if friends are around and we got a dime
or two
and a fire for the masses and we're shaking our *****
as if we are actually aware of the outcomes of our actions.
I know we haven't the slightest clue
what a Jesus Christ is, or if it hides under our beds at night
or if it was a Jew.
What's written in books can be written by crooks,
because literacy and knowledge are ******* beautiful
but can give one more confidence than the world has to share,
and the whole theory of Relative Pride falls to pieces when one has more self-efficacy than ability
and the children with their sweet little ideas and purity are not humble but fall victim to humility.
So what's in a name?
Letters, vowels, consonants and connotations
traffic tickets, family vacations
****** and protests (though not necessarily related)
teenage boys and ***** minds and those who have masturbated.
But who hasn't?
Those without names, or faces
or honesty or hands
probably have their members tied up in steel-spiked rubber bands.
I'll see you again in retox dehibilitation
and we can converse and create
while under the crutch of sedation.
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 5:46 PM UTC
If you masturbated a hedgehog,
which ***** would you
make stiff first..
And how many schlongs
could you handle at once..
Wow thats deep....
Sep 20, 2020
Sep 20, 2020 at 4:50 PM UTC
How much do we have to take before we can go without, how long before the draught? death by entertainment, it seemed so glamorous how could one go without?
I knew better to begin with, now its time to have faith in my oneness. opening a new chapter to a story that has no end, doing away with infinite incarnations perpetuated by masochistic sin. Death to the creator, the created, the masturbated, incubated, presipitated falsehoods of pajentry. Death to all the silly megabytes of pompous epiphany. Death to the beast that thrived off of insecurity. Death to all that which is no longer me.
Unsimulated, unappropraited energy that is free to be anything but alerts on a screen. False flags of fullfillment waving endlessly with self pity. Perfectly punctuated cries for help and lol's that reeked of nothing but "I hate myself."
Cut the net, it's a trap for something fluid with that which doesn't connect. Don't bother looking here for love, it is already in all that doesn't limit itself.
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 5:56 AM UTC
*no wonder i watch *********** it's a moral struggle these days downing a whiskey trying to down america 1930s. al capone would have laughed with me i'm sure, and shouted: cuba! cuba! fiddle castrato! well, there was the violin to mind in tao when the castratos masturbated;. oh look... the pope! where’s my bishop purple and cardinal red? down the toilet, with the goldfish i’m assured: bobs the necktie password concerning the onomatopoeia the bubbles made when appearing: bubbles are called bob... ok?*
it was only an old man attired
in the usual monochrome of gray,
so i walked,
scratched a stone wall,
and by the 2nd gesture similis i
pulled my hand scratching toward my chest
to resemble a stone heart:
equivalent chinese? small is european stone:
writing this i missed six knuckles and felt the rest.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 10:28 PM UTC
A dog broke from her leash and bled out on an unfriendly neighbor's lawn.
An old man masturbated in the rain.
A little girl made a story from the shapes of clouds.
Food rotted.
Water dripped.
Ice Inched.
Electricity prevailed.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 9:35 PM UTC
Say what I say and mean what I mean this stream of consciousness thing is quite a release and I know it's not a diary but it's fun to let others spy on me even if only one or two or three will ever see what I'm writing it's still exciting to be open and share because I was closed off from people for the majority of my life and it had to do with self-esteem but now that I don't care what others may think this whole experience is quite liberating so let me become even more openly free and dare to share something that has been bothering me and that is the fact that so many asshats have mocked and teased and called me gay or alluded to it by what they say and it's been happening my whole life and even in this rehab stay the homophobia is in play and yes I'm effeminate in so many ways but here's the real secret, oh my gosh, I'm not gay! but part of me wants to just pretend that I am to make it uncomfortable but it wouldn't be fair of me because I'm comfortable in my sexuality and that would be retaliatory and just as inflammatory but beyond all of that I really don't get it why people are so upset about how others do hit it can't we just live and let live why do we label each other by whatever preference that we discover to help us feel closer to love because isn't that what human beings are wired to do so come on I implore you all who are stuck in your hatred to tell a coworker about who you thought of the last time you masturbated and then I'll ask you again if it's any of your business
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 5:09 PM UTC
“have you masturbated yet”
no i haven’t
“do you even know how to”
yes i understand the mechanics of it
you put a couple of fingers in and
wiggle them around
“why haven’t you masturbated yet”
i lied when i told you that there was
a short answer to this
either answer involves yelling
and screaming so loud
that a fire blossoms
in the middle of my chest
and my voice cracks
and people can hear me on the
other side of the restaurant
this is not a quiet answer
it is not a quick one
it is the pull of a trigger
right into who i am
and it is a cruel
slash at my insecurity
have you ever heard of
****** autonomy
or maybe personal space
questions that
a grown man
an elderly man
should never ask a teenager
let alone a transgender teenager
and the age gap
42 years
a year younger than my mother
doesn’t make this a friendly thing
it makes you a pervert
(but i will answer this again
so more people than you
can look at me like i am
even more of a freak
than they originally thought
i do not **********
because looking at myself naked
even before getting into the shower
when i brush my teeth
and my ******* swing
like twin pendulums
over the basin of the sink
i want to cut it all off
and no
at this point
i do not care if i bleed to death
i have been bleeding for years
since that first person asked me
if i was a girl or a boy
and no
you do not understand
because you were not born
in the wrong body
you have the hanging anatomy
between your hairy thighs
and the biologically male on
your birth certificate
as proof of that
there are no
scars on your arms
or on your chest
parts of you are not going to
be cut off
and scooped out
so people will see you as
and address you as
male
so do not pretend that
you understand
because you do not
and you do not try to)
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 9:28 AM UTC
spot the door through which
i walked many a times,
an elevated version of Kant
about what sort of man you
are, beside animals,
i can't be a vegetarian in this
department -
let's just say with one i experienced
the trade exhaustion and we just
lay there and i kissed her closed
eyelids -
with another i talked and looked
at the pictures of her daughter -
with another i jumped into a cold
shower while she masturbated herself
because she was so **** hot
and the cold water felt so refreshing,
with another i paid her extra £10
to perform oral *** on her -
and with one...
the epitome of climbing a mountain...
'that's only the second time it
happened to me...'
yeah, an ****** on the job;
and of course with another the sacred sin
of the trade committed, a kiss on the lips;
but of course one had to be prone to
kleptomania and steal my debit card...
i just lied that i lost the card in the park
while taking a **** wiping my *** with
wet grass;
one also took my saracens (rugby team) beanie
after i got it off two saracens fans buying
them a pint each in a liverpool st. pub.
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 2:11 PM UTC
And so I'll like your selfie,
and I may send you an encouraging message.
Digitalized and marginalized
you exist upon a screen.
To me and my solipsist mind,
all that is real is all that is before me.
All that is after me is fiction,
something I, and millions of other poets may attempt to write,
but realness is lost.
It can be compared to trying to relay a first hand experience to another,
it is impossible to do completely.
I can tell you that the trees swayed nonchalantly and that the water was crisp and welcoming but you will never know what it was like to be on the lake that day.
If Jesus Christ himself were to tell me change my ways...
Put the music on repeat,
put the *** in the pipe,
pull the covers over your chest,
put your tongue inside my mouth,
and wake up,
I will do the same.
The thought of you,
the idea of you,
the digital image of you and everything you've said to me excite different parts of my body.
All these things excite my mind.
Your words excite the blood vessels in my cheeks and your body excites my groin.
I drink a tall glass of water,
I ********** thinking of you,
and I fall asleep hoping to dream of you.
I dream of you putting your tongue in my mouth.
My body excites in my slumber,
and though I only kiss you in my dreams,
I **** you in my shower.
I'm a mountain man dreaming of the desert,
and you're a Midwest girl dreaming of the ocean.
I want to feel your legs around my neck,
your hands held in mine,
and your tongue in my mouth and around my ****
I want this of her and her and him and her and you but I cannot have it.
So I've masturbated 3 times today and if the son of God told me to change my ways I might need to ********** twice, thrice more.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 11:58 PM UTC
My dad used to tell me that I shouldn't like boys because they were no good.
I used to believe that there was no way to avoid getting pregnant and that it just happened.
The first time I ever masturbated I was sure there was a baby inside me.
I used to blame my dad for me being gay.
I used to think that you were one of those "good guys" that everyone told me I would find.
Everyone told me it was my fault for ******* you and I believed it.
I knew you were falling in love with me but I didn't want you to leave.
Even though my whole body was shaking as you slid your hands up my clothes,
you wouldn't stop
Even though I told you about my past and you saw that I was frozen in fear,
whenever you pinned me down you didn't stop.
I now know that i'm gay because that is just how my brain is wired
when you jokingly told me the ****** broke I still didn't get pregnant
I now know that there is no such thing as a "good guy"
there are only people and their morals
I tell everyone that I hate you but the only way I could stop talking to you was by moving away.
I'm not in love with you but I miss our all nighters and the dinners we would make for each other.
you made me feel like i was the only one that mattered and that i was the most stunning and powerful woman in existence.
Although I plan on never seeing you again I am still stumped about the way you made me feel.
our relationship was just as messy and confusing as this poem
you are officially the most mysterious thing that ever happened to me.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 1:08 PM UTC
Girl from wherever,
You appeared with a coffee in hand,
At my table
So we talked,
and we walked.
My friends were infatuated,
Their pupils dilated
I’m sure one even masturbated,
to a dirtier, devious you, locked in his mind
But you were too pure for me to.
Your eyes were big and brown,
Big and brown, I could see in your house
Through those big brown window-eyes
I saw love, pain, sadness, and reflections
Of a time that you longed for.
Your skin was soft with a suntan,
But it wasn’t a suntan,
it was a piece of perfect toast,
it was wheat bread,
smooth and a light dark.
One night we talked,
You on the floor, me on the couch
We danced, we sang and we laughed,
But you were leaving the next day,
I had nothing to say, but thank you.
You told me you were the perfect match
For me, a man of Pisces,
“I don’t believe in that,” I said,
But really, I think there is something to it,
We decided we would be perfectly matched.
Oh, but you were leaving the next day,
And I went to sleep, with you in my arms
You were a girl from wherever, my norwegian wood,
I was a pisces that was too clever, but you understood,
Goodbye girl from wherever, my norwegian wood.
I think back to that day, those days,
And I wonder what you’re doing,
Ha, funny thing,
I don’t remember your name,
but you’re my norwegian wood.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
Your prayers and thoughts
are not sufficient.
Tweeting and posting self-indulgent
bullshit; you are shallow
and your not-so-subtle
political agenda sickens me.
The President said we should unite,
despite a year of trying to divide us.
Although, he doesn't need to say much
because all we've ever masturbated to
is one country for all...
except for people we don't like.
I am caught in a web where
each strand is a headline;
where every attempt to be free
pulls me deeper in; where
the spider is me and you
and you and me; where
I am eaten by myself.
I tell myself to not care
-- it never works.
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 12:47 PM UTC
**** all the children get a chance at the sandpit... only the dog collared ones attempting wrestling matches of biceps tonguing rhetoric touring waggle get the pulpit... kinda **** if you ask me: said sir sacrifice-a-lot when sir lancelot married; but all the **** happened after the ukrainian ***** it was the russian bourgeoise one... you forget you dim-witted bolshevik... the russian one... the russian one! not the ukrainian one! ah crap... too late, the crimson lunar eclipse from edinburgh to st. petersburg gave me mythological charisma; endeavour of the readers who can’t remember my tourism earning the year 2007 as distinct: i can earn an awareness of lying about the jealousy i have for the century of being a musketeer defending louis vix; ja athos! ein athos! i’m athos.... wrinkly & masturbated ******** toss! hey ** hey ** we dig dig dig dig dig, it's what we like to do... coal mine.... coal mine... coal mine... with a millionth diamond... we dig dig dig dig dig... hej ** do lasu by sie szło... high ** high ** unto abreit macht frei we go.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
perfect sunny day--
insects sing so loud!
as i surf the web
pond water--
my hair dries as i click,
getting hot again
One summer years ago, at my childhood home, in a nudist colony whose so-called 'co-founding' is my family's only legacy--perhaps right before my grandmother had passed, or when my father's prostate was scheduled to be removed and he thought it best to hire someone for a last-minute memory (despite his sex-negative crutch-christianity, just in case the operation cost him his jive)--i googled, 'prostitute,' while looking for **** and the atrocity i found took all of a second to challenge my complacent illusion that i could remain separate or disconnected from the global oppression of women and girls while i consumed the products (i.e., fantasized about having *** with and/or 'making love' to simulacra-women; masturbated to pictures of them) of an industry whose widespread lack of any substantial commitment to fairness, safety, legal recourse and work-place equality has contributed to a new generational acceptance of the ancient memes that perpetuate bigotry:
dismembered girl
on an open body-bag--
why does this exist??
the insects clacking,
droning in the grass--
summer can't hide death
her hip bones' marrow showing,
young prostitute's corpse--
limbless
her legs gone--
the image chokes me
from speaking
my sisters, too young to tell--
who do i tell?
why should i tell?
i read she'd run from her ****
they put her in the river.
young girl,
her blood still--
i can't feel my heartbeat
young woman,
her torso bare--
unfeeling stumps
young woman,
her legs gone,
skin gray from the river
young woman,
your legs gone--
i choke on words
.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 11:30 PM UTC
Chapter 1
-
two aspirin
a coke and bed pan
puzzled a chronic ********
and an upset stomach
Chapter 2
-
a thirteen year old Jewish boy
gets ****** off
by his mother, sisters
and the ladies in the neighborhood
to celebrate
just bar mitzvahed
Chapter 3
-
her blow jobs are Shangri-La
while sky shadowed eyes flutter
a slumber party ******
shimmers lips of **** confetti
finger ****** good
hoping to marry
eight inch packin
tattoo boy
Chapter 4
-
she married a stingy man
and her hopes of love
turned into a book of
instructions
protocols
and
standard operational procedures
Chapter 5
-
she masturbated
eyes bulging
into a scrapbook of horrors
thinking you're so handsome in a mask
with that rusty blade
her **** burned
like hell
Chapter 6
-
the amputee pouted
your knives
look great in a stained basket
go ahead
take an another arm
and a leg
as she sold off her
last gloves and footwear
Chapter 7
-
a starved crocodile
has his belly pierced
by an annoyed lion
turned
the meaty peach abomination
into cat food
Chapter 8
-
God and Satan
makin deals
for souls
burning cigars and incense
just more backroom politics
and strip-poker
Chapter 9
-
a mantra
on a subsonic level
liberates from the ravages of nature
beats back the ugly
of home made sin
when tragic turns magic
-
Sep 26, 2020
Sep 26, 2020 at 2:20 PM UTC
I once realized that I had stopped dating because I was bored.
I listened to 100 women, on 100 dates, and the stories
all started to sound the same.
I was only listening because I wanted to hear something new.
I want you to tell me you're a circus freak, and show me your skill.
I want you to tell me about that guy you murdered once.
I want you to tell me about the time you went Skiing in an Avalanche.
Anything, for the love of all that is good and holy.
Just don't tell me about your job.
I want you to tell me about the most uncomfortable thing you've ever masturbated to.
I want you to tell me about the missing child you found.
I want you to tell me about that one book that inspired you and changed you, forever.
Anything.
Tell me anything at all.
Just don't tell me about your Ex.
I want you to tell me about that time you spit fire during a luau.
I want you to tell me about your wedding on a mountaintop in Tibet.
I want you to tell me about the time you took Acid, and turned into a bird.
Anything.
Just don't talk about the weather.
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 2:09 AM UTC
Youth was masturbated away
to cheap candy and commercials
and their time ended quickly
Bicycles and pavement
and the unpredictable spills
scabs and limps
and flesh on the track
Children fought like their ancestors
throwing fists and sticks
and crying when
they lost
their virginity to pain
Bee stings and bright shoes
and slamming doors behind
dropping food on the floor
and never hesitating to
pick it up and eat it
Stomach aches
and bad dreams
it must be awful to be a child
to only remember anger
Cross legged and thumb wrestling
name calling and falling
and car rides home
Their eyes in the clouds
wishing they were grown up
and the parents look down
with a contradiction they’ve
thrown up
Oct 3, 2010
Oct 3, 2010 at 9:43 AM UTC
Plastic love entwined inside the drunk texts
All of our love is metaphorical ***
And astronomy
Physiognomy and vibrations.
Vibrations and our innocence
Our ****** social innocence
It can't be what I want.
I can't be what you need.
walk through my road of different shades of red
Tread, tread, tread,
And revive me if I'm dead,
Then tell me how much you masturbated today.
I'll squeal a bitter "yay"
And pretend I know who you are.
A robot.
Taut,
Squat,
Astronaut.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 4:36 PM UTC
the best vanishing techniques
done w/ mirrors
or so I have been told
set to spare the glance
of any foe so bold
to rescue all the monkeys
in the vast mountains of China
there are few wild
undercover panda bears
we are headed for a strange future
where all events are known
whose contours undiscovered
reckon towards the fact
every so often the world pauses
& rare blossom is shown/sewn
then quickly extinguished
this age is at an end
& yet
maybe it's just me
my day in sunlight
burning in the grass
eating little purple flowers of springtime
my cat searching for aphids & robins
squirrel assaulted by sparrows in humidity
I am annoyed w/ everything
manic w/ guilt
last night I drank 4 beers and masturbated
not in that order
smoked 3 cigarettes--not much there
days but still--I feel so guilty
I am so lazy I can hardly make myself
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 1:34 AM UTC
I handed my gun to fate and waited
Sat in a slump and masturbated
Today had been a long ******* day
Licking **** and shining shoes
Taking time to remove myself mentally from this plane
To regain a strand or grain of sand of sanity
Today, I looked in the mirror and my reflection laughed
I pulled that ************ through and beat it til it cried
I then flipped it off and hoisted it back into the glass,
Like nothing had ever happened.
And it didn't, if someone asks.
Today, looking fate straight in the eyes
I came, gathered all my belongings and ran,
Cause that ************ would've pulled the trigger.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC