"masturbates" poems
Miss mother nature, goddess of earth
your grass masturbates my feet
and the clouds cushion my bedhead –
I am alive
as the plants breathe, I
can watch myself as they watch me.
I am mundane, plain, a concrete building
brutalist and manmade
but their real existence, live vines climb
and make me seem attractive…
Even as I want to be dead,
they kiss me as a husband would his
sleeping wife –
even loving when unaware, forgetting
acknowledgement
being beautiful all alone.
Miss mother nature, goddess of earth
I am alive
no longer manmade in your home.
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 3:31 PM UTC
A woman who dies in labour,
In the pains of pre-delivery
For no reason but poor midwifery
Is a martyr and a true martyr
Than religious charlatans,
For she has only died in heroic
Defense of life and its perpetuation,
She is better than you the user
Of contraceptives in odious fit of
Family planning frivolity,
With condoms and the stuffs
Weapons of your ****** war,
She is a true martyr
To allow live sperms to meander
The valleys and fountains of life
Without dodging them shrewdly
Through wiles of science and tech,
Sperms and ova when in a duel they are
God’s intent of life, and human lives
Alack, suffocating them is heinous
A sin as big as murderer
Or a terrorism of the Twin towers
Or a **** agent armed with gas poison,
Let them, the sperms enter the walls of life,
Minus fear of deathly virus, let them enter,
They intent to give life naturally, Godly,
And if they have Aids, then you are
A martyr who died in support of life
Against the wiles of the evil one,
You are better than him that
Masturbates to waste the *****
Of life, God’s grand purpose of
Them to be the first stations of life,
You **** them, you commit ******
Genocide, massacre, macabre,
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 7:58 AM UTC
Pumping iron,
Sweating blood,
Gritting teeth,
Plays in mud.
Macho man,
Athlete of space,
Needs to win,
Every race.
Loves his body,
Masturbates all night.
Looks straight in the mirror,
**** to his own sight.
Goes to the gym,
To wallow in sweat.
Work out, work out, work out,
NOT BIG ENOUGH YET.
Can't stand them,
We all call them jocks.
Self centered ignorant *****
Wish they could **** their own *****
Mar 24, 2012
Mar 24, 2012 at 9:53 PM UTC
i scratch my *** in school and disgust myself
im sexualized
i stand in church
listening to the priest
AMEN AMEN AMEN!!!
everybody repeats mindlessly
im thinking to myself,
everybody in here probably masturbates
i wonder if the priest watches ****
i bet
i bet they all watch childporn
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 10:52 AM UTC
so you call yourself pro-life
okay, I guess I can pretend to respect that
which then means that you must also
respect the fact that I am very loudly pro-choice
and thanks to science
I know that a bundle of cells
and a living child are not the same thing
because an actual fetus is not fully formed
until the third trimester
and by fully formed I mean that it is
for all intents and purpose alive
but before that
there is nothing but a group of cells
there is no brain
no heart
not even pearly pink fingernails
so now what, huh?
you’re probably going to keep protesting
Planned Parenthood and harassing the people
that work there, right?
because all that Planned Parenthood does
is condone the vicious and inhumane ******
of defenseless, unborn children, right?
right?
either way, you don’t care about the child
once they’re born
all that you care about is making a woman
and other individuals who have a ******
carry this thing that is literally feeding off of them
and why should a child be brought into this world
if the circumstances through which it was
conceived are non-consensual?
because, if you really did care
if you really were “pro-life”
then you would care about the child
after it is born
or better yet
you could turn your attention and time and money
and anger to all the millions of orphans living
in the US
ya know, the living children?
with no homes?
with no parents?
packed like sardines in orphanages?
what about them?
do they not matter because they are not a group
of cells, and therefore not defenseless?
and therefore they do not matter?
because,
if you only care about that bundle of cells
and because some states actually make women
and those with uteruses
have funerals for the aborted “child”
then by default whenever a man
masturbates and then **********
shouldn’t he be made to have a separate
funeral for each of the thousands of children
that he just killed?
because one of them could have cured cancer, ******
and tell me
when I was still menstruating
should I have said “amen”
over all the potential children that bled out
of my body and into the pad
and the sides of my boxers?
should I have
said “grace” over all the
little pad mummies that I threw away?
should I have cried when I flushed
the ****** toilet paper?
because,
since I have a ******
how dare I want and feel as if I should
be owed control over my own body, right?
how dare I believe that
each and every woman
biological and otherwise
have a say in what they do with their body
how dare I be pro-choice, right?
well, let me knock you down
a few pegs with this closing statement:
if you only care about the “child” when it is
just a group of cells that doesn’t feel a **** thing
and couldn’t care less about it
once it is born
and homeless
or an orphan
or queer
then you are not “pro-life”
what you are
is an *******
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 10:12 PM UTC
Sunglasses stolen from Wingz in Duck, NC
a $15 thrift shop suit - just in case
the car is used
and the cashiers at the GoodWill down the street all know his face
bagged eyes
morning after hair
in need of a shower and a smile
He just bought a $200 laptop
now he masturbates in style
shoving Lenovo 2in1's and iPad's up their ***
please sir - may I have some more
status symbols symbolic of castes
and he hides among the untouchables
but this **** is loud
and I don't drink ***** unless P Diddy made it
Memento Mori
when we die -
we'll leave behind remnants of our false idol
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 12:28 AM UTC
brother masturbates with an almost invisible dedication.
mother
yells
from the river
that all rain
is highway
robbery.
while reciting
proverbs
for mitochondria
I pass the time
wearing
my father’s
shoes
for the footsteps
in his head.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 6:55 PM UTC
Claudia
masturbates.
That tall girl
in high school
over night
showed her ways.
She watches
the full moon
drift between
clouds and stars.
Her father,
in her youth,
crossed her palm
with silver
(don’t ask why
or for what),
he was cold,
she was hot.
That teacher
with the lisp
the blonde one
she of maths
and science,
kept her in
after school
talked of books
she had read
and music
she had heard,
then kissed her,
promising
higher grades,
extra help
in subjects
of her choice.
Claudia,
between French
and Russian,
sees Pedro
making out
with the short
ugly *****
in the gym
spying them
on tiptoes
peering through
high windows,
saliva
on her lips,
capturing
memories
to take home
for her nights,
the lone games,
pretending
Pedro’s lance
pierces her
and not that
ugly *****
in the gym.
Claudia
dreams of love,
embraces
her body,
puts kisses
on her arms
and her thighs,
waiting for
that true love,
she’s been told,
never dies.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 2:50 PM UTC
his untutored mind
struggles to grasp the issues
he masturbates the thought process
while events unfold around him
he wings through the darkly lens
showing images of all matter of
profane beast imaginary
while a real one gnaws slowly upon his chest
and he relishes displaying their crude natures in ink
while the real one bleeds the marrow of his soul
a figurehead
his ability to reason is fundamentally flawed
its cracked surface
displays the madness rampant below
the grinning madman
is yourself reflecting yourself reflecting yourself
the headaches are worse today
there's the sound of thundering hoofs
like a hundred strong horse bearing down out of
the darkness
a sickness grips him
repugnant man
the ***** within
puts his sour and rotting mouth upon
his thoughts
kissing each one
with a deep light giggle of unbounded power
rumor leeches sap his strength
their constant words whispered
in his aching ear
leave nothing but the entrails of troubled thoughts
stinking and rotting in the minds eye
between the devils within and the devilish around
how is he to find a safe way
and still there is that awful thundering of hoofs
like a thousand strong horse bearing down on
naked and defenseless him
his minds eye
stripped of its pretensions
peers around the dim place
finding neither familiar nor comfort
only the strange shape of feeding things
and the feel of dirt
and filth
he masters his fear
and tentative step upon
tentative step can only release him
from this
grasping his sword he blindly strikes
at the shadows fleeting and quick
the dashing little that bite and gnaw
but they are just the dancing leaves in the summer wind
time will tell
if the untutored mind shall escape this place intact
or forfeit his future
for penny's on the pound
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 6:10 AM UTC
I'm at the star room
Stargazing at the night sky
Look up at the sky and I ask myself why
I guess I let myself pass by
Now all that's left is a good bye
Left alone all delusional
Delusions in conclusions celebrate hallucinations
Hallucinations celebrate mass debates
Mass debates on masturbates
Now my delusional hallucinogens lead my conclusions
My dream is divine comedy
The only thing I'll need is the remedy
Lead me to the battlefield
Trojan horse battle shield
Behind enemy lines
Saving private's mind
Lighting crashes at the bottom
Leading men to bought 'em
I'm picking the moral cotton
And it's all rotten
I will not conform
I will not perform
For you
For you I've told you
I'm nothing but a madman
Without a blue box
No tricks
No gimmicks
I'm surrounded by cynics
I'm getting all the licks
In did I tell ya
I will just let ya
**** me
As long as you don't cremate me
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 11:39 AM UTC
The bitter liquor
Of addiction pours out
Of the inflictions that we cast.
The adrenaline
That comes from the thrill
Of gambling
Masturbates the soul.
They act like painkillers,
But in fact they are hunting
Down our chances of recovery.
We cannot let these demons thieve our
Attention away from our mental health,
They will only use us as their food.
We love them,
But they only lust us.
We must put the demons to sleep.
We must drain them of their wealth.
No longer may we let them binge on our suffering.
Nor let them purge out our humanities.
We do not need their
**Nicotine, ****** or coke.**
We must rise above the addiction,
And promise ourselves to never fall again.
n.c.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 11:10 PM UTC
You can't talk about love without talking about its absence, deceit, desire and perversions.
Despite Justines intention to live a virtuous and moral life
she repeatedly encounters debauched and depraved individuals who demean her in every sense of the word.
Justine is brutally and incessantly violated, yet always eager and docile with big blow job eyes like portals of magic.
Using lunar rituals and oneiric transmissions she masturbates incessantly in alley doorways while imagining being backdoored in a bathtub of oiled men - and time will not take that away.
A queen of pinups and a scape goat without a safe word
She is held hostage by desire interlocking her with a **** vampire
living in a stone-cold chamber who texted pitiful Instagram posts about beautiful scarification, the pleasures of narcissism and beauty that left her always feeling like her own undertaker.
How does it work to protect yourself from yourself in this bitter city of the mind where silver flies, pocked faces and little worthless pennies in knotted dreams hum into the cells of your mottled brain?
Feb 3, 2022
Feb 3, 2022 at 4:39 AM UTC
Odors build up from a session of
sleep-work-sleep-work-sleep
[suicide in slow motion]
that seems to cycle
without hesitation
and soon
naturally.
Well fed big cat, poking at the
starved hysteric hyenas with
a 3 foot cattle **** Laughing.
Avoid eyesight.
Contact.
The hand that feeds holds down your throat;
the invisible hand masturbates your false ego,
your sense of self is attained by
radioactive superpowers achieved
through the assault of arachnids,
or the bite of some exoskeletoned predator.
What gives you incurable illness provides you
with some naive interpretation of life as
"endless shining light of warmth and love."
Yeah, well tough **** for the dead,
and please, less noise from the dying.
I broke a lantern in a vivid hallucination
I had in my sleep. Inside was the scripture
of a fortune cookie from
"Golden Dragon" on lee road.
It read,
"Life is made worth living."
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC
now we're in an image of the eyeball shifting
sheltered under rainbow crow's feet
iridescent
what is different?
my roommate asks me under humming bulb & breezes
in my father's kitchen
we will wash the plastic rat
black & lathered as my brother
masturbates his whiskers
individually with shampoo
this is the lord's day
forms are found and then forgotten
on the axis of my navel
I feel very
isolated in slow end-game
pictures animated just for me
they shudder/blossom
in my bathtub
arabesques with eyes closed watching
ladies jesting self-lust
obsessing winking saying
they are only watching
aloud alone anon
outside there is a
frozen rabbit
twisted in the grass embroidered
w/ one million happy diamonds
blazing primordial frosted
like flagellum in a dreamscape
all aligning to the haunted
second where I'm seeing
movies of hypostyle halls
sound of cacti calling
diet soda sounds of
thorny carbonation
born from
liquid crystal wisdom
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 1:16 AM UTC
I felt a sickness
in his kiss.
He didn't know that I already knew.
I wore red to his funeral when I was eighteen.
We re-live the things that change us.
II.
Blink.
The living room is still
a dull shade of alabaster.
A beat up can of
PBR sits crumpled
in the corner like a
forgotten love letter to God.
The radio is still on. It hums good charlotte’s wondering
like a middle school yearbook hums omitted connections
and promises of eternal companionship.
People are passed out in couples.
III.
A dog barks somewhere. I wonder if he’s starving, too.
I touch cereal boxes, cheese plates, bread bowls and panic
between the sheets of an unkempt and unfed twenty one year old.
IV.
I am twelve years old and i’m
standing behind a podium having
an anxiety attack in a tweed jacket
and barbie light-up sneakers.
Nobody knows what i'm saying.
V.
I ask the mirror if it's joking.
The mirror laughs back at me.
The mirror grows hands and masturbates to
every other reflection its seen before mine.
VI.
It's noon and I'm accidentally
cutting my hand open on the seam
ripper he used to communicate.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC
aimless and limp,
it twitches under the veil.
it masturbates to glorified misery.
What? Nil.
like cotton sheep on a foggy moor.
Adhering to everything but the distant coughs of capitulation.
a cracked spectacle:
they watch and they chew,
dull as hands.
as it sits and it thinks
and it reluctantly accepts
the gravity and the concrete
and the measurements and the bones
and the blood and the skin and
the cupcakes and ****** of everyday furniture.
tell me it's okay and I'll step right in.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 7:32 AM UTC
Paradice girl
Seductive, dainty, too sweet, sweetie, your skin color is the color of the deepest and highest passion and endless *** endless ****** the color of lust, you are so attractively attractive, and they pull your sweet lips to kiss. Every move of your gestures looks it excites and seduces it like a striptease.
Your appearance so much in love and excite until the ****** and eternal marriage. I feel a powerful love affair and *** addiction for you, you are the one that I will love and want forever. You are like sweet, hot, exciting female moans during hot, hot, insatiable *** in the pose of a rider, you are the cause of the eternal hunger of my libido. You are my true eternal love, my debauchery, you are my muse of *** and romance. I feel your powerful ****** energy of passion.
You are beautiful in any form, in any outfit. The love for you grows lives and develops and it cannot be controlled and stopped. Love and passion for you is unstoppable. You are so divinely beautiful without clothes as the pristine beauty of nature, you are a heavenly beauty, your adoration is lost from your paradice girl, and only bright emotions and feelings looking at the highest goddess, I bow to your beauty, your beauty is the rarest among all universes, time measurement, paradise where you are.
You're the girl whose photo aggressively masturbates a huge number of men, because your figure is more perfect than any top model, your external and internal beauty surpasses any beauty in this universe, your ideal appearance is absolutely envy. You are a powerful attraction excitement. You are hot, passionate, hot, ****
You are romantic and **** like a jazz composition of a saxophone, sounding outside the window, the light of a neon sign illuminates yours through a hot, **** hot, through a hype, a stimulating body.
Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich
Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 10:06 AM UTC
from Eating the Animal Back to Life [ poems July 2015 ]
collection is available here: http://www.lulu.com/shop/barton-smock/eating-the-animal-back-to-life/paperback/product-22277755.html
currently, Lulu is offering a 20% discount on all print books with coupon code of SPENDLESS20
[in the beginning]
wear a cheap mask
to bed.
kid, your mama
she can’t
touch a baby
without touching
a baby
that’s hers.
small brain,
I have less
to wash.
[fishing hand]
a demon with three days to live is given to my father’s body. in this, father finds luck to be neutral. mother is a good explosion, brother is a bad. when the dust settles, sister can see the baby in her stomach. it is my belief and it is also god’s that our food is the food we forgot to poison. to pray, I am left with little more than an animal’s halo and two representations of what you were not seriously clawed by. in your sleep, you move me into mine. a finger shows itself to the back of my throat.
[themes for star]
in a small attic
a boy
on all fours
being weakened
by a spider’s
dream
is putting
an ear
to the roof
of his sister’s
dollhouse. for making
the wrong
sounds
for animals
poor sister
was lowered
into the baby
you were born
to lift
by two
scarecrows
you’d think
were separated
at death
for the way
they don’t
carry on.
[race]
says poverty
someone
at this table
has nothing to hide.
says father
touching
a UFO
cures frostbite.
says mother
open
the stomach
of the winning
monster.
[cope]
no one goes to the crazyhouse
for having a hand
that repeats
itself.
in a new place
my brother
does one
of two
things:
masturbates
or says
déjà vu.
if he didn’t tell me
I wouldn’t know
I’ve slapped myself
awake.
one of us
then one of us
will die.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
no one goes to the crazyhouse
for having a hand
that repeats
itself.
in a new place
my brother
does one
of two
things:
masturbates
or says
deja vu.
if he didn’t tell me
I wouldn’t know
I’ve slapped myself
awake.
one of us
then one of us
will die.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 10:18 PM UTC