"molester" poems
Being molested as a child
Is something so digusting,
Knowing my mother knew
And told me never to say anything and kept herself quiet,
Makes me grow more anger against her
Makes me want to wish her the worst
Like i do for that molester,
Hate the fact that now that i had the courage of speaking up,
No one in my family had my back,
I feel so sad and alone,
Because i notice that the family i had
Was not a family at all,
I wish they were all in my shoes
And feel the way i do
See things through my eyes
And see the scars he left behind,
Wish they felt the way i do at times.
Where i feel my body disgusted
And cant be touched,
Wish they would go through what i go through
Where i cant let my partner love me
The way i wish i could be love,
When my partner touches me
I feel used
I get this ***** feeling
And start feeling blue.
It hurts me to know that once i told who i thought was my sister,
What her husband had done to me
Her response was "it is what it is."
From that moment on,
that sister died
And was erase from my life,
I hate anything that has to do with them
I cant even stand hearing their names,
Honestly i hope you guys the worst
And dont judge me for i am who i am thanks to this monsters that i had to be raised by
Im just glad i have part myself away,
Because i dont want my kids
to go through what i did.
I will always speak for them
For i dont want to be that monster
That never did anything.
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 7:55 PM UTC
You were like a natural disaster to our lives.
While we played in a field.
No warning.
You appeared...
You struck and we lay scattered on that field...
In tears.
Confused.
In pain.
Broken inside out.
No longer just children.
Victims to young to understand that we were forever changed.
To young to understand why we felt ***** and guilty.
The threats and fear, made us silent...
Fear and interrogation made me lie.
You left us in that open space forever, no matter where we went.
And our lives were taken...
Our parents were broken, because parents break when thier children are hurt.
And my lie...
My lie forever changed my protectors life.
My fear made me hurt another.
We were so young...
Some not old enough for school.
Our fear allowed the disaster to strike others...
Now as adults we know a new guilt.
But we were so young.
This very unnatural disaster still walks the earth...
Somebody gives this pervert comfort...
But we are forever changed.
Stronger today, yes...
But never again as free as before he stole our innocence.
This disaster turned our world upside down, and revisited us for years taking more of us each time he put his disgusting hands on us.
I'm not to religious, but I believe in God.
I have yet to know the reason for this, except that we are great protective parents...
And as I believe there's a God...
I know there is also a hell.
And while God tells us to forgive...
I have yet to forgive even myself for being so full of fear, because it allowed him to walk free and hurt us again and again, and others through time.
There is no part of us sacred or untouched by that evil...
No matter who knows our story, there's no person not even eachother who understands the depth of our individual torment.
The unfair torture of feeling an isolated, unexplainable, personal taste of evil.
Like a natural disaster, he struck us down...
Children at play made victims of a child molester.
Survivor's!
Of a sick family member's distgusting taste for extremely young children.
We can't say we are ok.
We refuse to say you are anything more then a creature that has not yet met God's wrath.
And dare not say, you to know abuse...
Dare not say you found God...
God and abuse will find you when your six feet under.
I know I sin as I write this...
But to forgive...
As a mother myself...
Well that's it's not in me.
Do unto others...
Do unto others, that's how I live.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 6:21 PM UTC
Smokey the bear had fought lots of fires,
he was a good guy, didn't have any priors.
But after so many years committed to the job,
Smokey started to feel as if he would sob
every time he got a message calling him back to work,
to put out a fire started by some drunken ****
No matter how many fires Smokey put out,
it never seemed to gain him any social clout.
His so called “friends” never invited him to hang
though all Smokey wanted was to be one of the gang.
They would hold fancy dances and dress in their best,
but poor lonely Smokey was never a guest.
He rented a tux and showed it to one guy,
who immediately retorted with quite the rude reply!
“Are you kidding,” he said, “Smokey tuxes aren’t for bears,
besides, you’d have to return it all covered in hair!”
“No,” the guy said, “It’s best you stay home,”
“Besides, I know you don’t mind hanging out alone!”
But Smokey did mind, he minded a lot,
and later that night, he had a brilliant thought.
“I’ll go to that party and show them, they’ll see,
you can’t just leave out a fun bear like me.”
However, Smokey's idea did not go as planned,
his first mistake being that he arrived in a van.
A van that looked like something a molester would use
while trolling the streets for a child to choose.
Smokey’s second mistake was his puke yellow tux,
the one he had bought for only two bucks.
When he finally entered people gasped in surprise,
unable to believe the strange thing before their eyes.
There Smokey stood, all covered in yellow,
holding a cane and top hat he thought made him quite the “fancy fellow.”
After a moment of silence there was a loud roar,
as laughing people asked, “What look were you going for?”
Embarrassed, Smokey tried to claim the whole thing was a joke,
Stuttering, “C’mon you guys know I’m quite the funny bloke!”
Eyes brimming with tears Smokey decided to leave,
but this embarrassed bear had something up his sleeve.
“I hate them,” he thought, standing outside,
and decided to make sure none of them would have a ride.
So he slashed all their tires while giggling with glee,
Thinking, "Now they’ll feel bad for laughing at me!”
But this was not enough, Smokey wanted to do more,
so he grabbed a gas can and started to pour.
He saturated the grass, the trees and the flowers,
and then sparked a fire that would burn on for hours.
This was one fire Smokey would not put out,
he simply stood, and then laughed as he heard the first shout.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 10:31 PM UTC
The sad part is that most of us, writers,
are almost ashamed to say it out loud.
We do it like a bad habit we can't escape.
****** junkies with the leash around our necks.
Treat it like a disfigurement; our
malignant entries spread like cancer from
under our pathetic, hypocritical hands.
We're sad.
Depressed.
"Heart broken".
Angst ridden.
Jaded.
Coping.
Coping.
Learning to cope,
but often failing.
Stepping on each other;
a sea of cadavers with
no bottom, surface, or center.
Full of brilliance/ brighter than the sun.
Collectively, we are a diamond made from ****
A uselessly expensive commercial good,
nonetheless.
The next Bukowski will be a child molester,
or a sociopathic spree killer. Too bad
no one wants to be the great writer of course.
What greater shame could there be?
What bigger embarrassment could exist?
What insult and tragedy is more than being
a writer?
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 3:47 AM UTC
Screams of laughter
Fill my ghetto block
That's our nick name anyways
Because every door and window we lock
When the night comes
We secure the our house
For fear of people just walking in
Or someone getting out
We keep safe
Because on the street
There are quite some odd
People you will meet
A man with grey hairs
Asked me for my digits
He wanted me to ********** for him
I told him where he could stick it
The house three doors down
Has barred windows and large doors
A women's shelter it is
To stop the domestic wars
The neighbor kid hides in fear
In his closet deep
For fear his daddy with his gun
Might return to collect his keep
A flock of foster kids
Lives right behind us too
One is confused and misses his mom
Jail time for what she didn't do
A child molester lives two roads down
And he is a level three
We avoid him and have caution
All the kids leave him be
Police sirens wail often
Every once in a while a startling shot
I hear dogs bark and cats hiss
A woman ran over in a parking lot
Gang wars and turf wars
A crack house four blocks down
But for people who just drive by
It might not seem too bad a place to be around
We make the best with what we've got
We have a few neighbors who look after us
We try to be as normal as we can
But normal is something we cannot trust
Of our three cities
Our area is called The Ghetto
We don't earn our name for no reason
It's because of the creepy pedos
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 6:46 AM UTC
I need rent, but how am I supposed to get it paid
with a grand total of eight people in town?
I need space to celebrate my first taste of a private place,
but even as I dance for quarters - dollar bills at best -
I hear Mr. Delaney's footsteps, feel his molester's breath
dancing like a hot hand with its fingers to piano keys
from my shoulders to where my skull sits
on my neck!
His hands on my neck -
I hate this hole, this holler, Cacophony
I'm seeing dreams smash, firsthand,
seeing me swinging hammer
His hands on my neck -
I hate this hole, this holler, Cacophony,
but not like the life I left behind!
what I left behind, what I left behind
grows colds, grows overhead,
grows on me, grows close,
so close to the light that I lose the light
and grow cold, no friends,
no room for remorse, just
four walls, hole of black creeping mold,
a fine home to settle in, to
hate what I left behind,
love I left behind, whole worlds away.
I'm home in this cacophony.
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 6:09 PM UTC
Sweltering insurgencies of electric power chords
Tribal reverberations of skin-stretched drum boards
Rolling and filling; syncopating the noise
Of the tit-less toys
The dick-less boys
Enraptured in the music
The anthem
Of invidious phantoms
My eyes hurt inside and
I want to pull them out and
Scrape out the gunk and rust
that’s behind my self-indulgent perseverance
so I can cry
for the first time in years…
Wrapping my hands around his slender torso
Licking away the paint, the dripping ooze; more so
Than hastening my ****** and mordant urges
To bite what emerges
And my mouth purges
The obelisk from underneath
The iron-pierced jester
The voracious molester
My hand tightens as I grip
his throat tighter and
I want to squeeze until his eyes pop
from his sockets and
laugh until I puke against the walls,
watching the ****** fluids mix
like an execrable marinara sauce…
I turned thirty while still being sixteen
The vivid beauty of the world was only in dreams
But none of mine, none that I can recall
Many years have passed since I took the oral fall
Where no one saw
Intransigent need to live
For the snake in my veins hungered for more
So many had their way
until I was limp and sore.
Defamatory fingers of mire and strife
Probing and stretching
My insides
And devilishly comforting
With limpid ambrosia
That’s infected by bilious worms and maggots covered in icing
And fruit
Amatory gauntlets fastened and secured over
Handless limbs that retract under matriculated frictions
That fracture, crack, morph, distort
Emphasize, marginalize
Rationalize, desensitize
Acts of *********** evasion, moral drainage;
Pieces, bits, chunks, sections, portions, servings;
Arms, legs, eyes, tongues, fingers, toes,
Love, lust, infatuation
Adoration
Boys, girls, women, men,
Angels, demons, monsters, humans
Creators, gods, titans, divas
All extended and limited from the minds that worship
Sanctify, mesmerize, glorify, rectify
While humans eat more, love more, **** more
Than the angels, demons, monsters, and titans
We ponder and cherish
Nevermore, for me
Ever lore, for all
Crows surround
And chaos found.
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 11:11 PM UTC
The doorknob to the closet
full of my skeletons is made of
funny-bone
But there are days
when honesty tugs a little too roughly and
I realize this isn't all that funny now
Is it?
As a writer
You learn presentation is key
In the bend of language
I create this man
I want you to believe me to be
And so I tell you these stories
like they are jokes
Like they are no big deal
Like the first time I got drunk
was with my friend's mom
who was a known child molester
She tried to order us ****
But couldn't work the cable
Or my friends and I used to travel our city
via the water drainage system
Near the mall
We got lost once
and while standing
in ankle high water
we saw at least 20 homeless people
sleeping on pallets
We called that place *** City
We had to get directions back out
There's a possibilty I have been an accessory to ******
Around the time in my life when I learned
How not to dwell
My body was a wishbone
My father meant to break
But every beating
left me the better half
I find so much of it funny
My brother's most recent suicide attempt
My mother's
My father's Alzheimer's
He once chased after our mailman
naked
Asking him about some letter
from some woman
I have never met before
I find laughter
and beauty
in the bend of language
When this chest becomes a broken radiator
and my heart grows cold
The metaphor mutates Campfire
Come here
I am lonely
and I have a story to tell you
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 5:24 AM UTC
Dear abuser,
Because of you I shake at night
I see so many deadly frights
My arms quiver with needles bleeding
I can't beleive I didn't think you affected me
Every night I come home
I shower and cry about my life
Every person I talk to I distrust
I know suffering is a must
There is no silence
I only hear my weeping
And your yelling echoing through
I have new triggers I don't understand
Was this always your plan?
I yell and scream at things I love
I can't beleive in any God above
My heart panics if anyone's upset
My breath is stolen like I'm in a corset
I can't stand to be alone
But I can't stand to be too close
I'm afraid of anyone's touch
Every problem is just too much
I can't have a good day
Anything good changes and rots
Into the memory and fear
I hate myself if that wasn't clear
No matter how much I build myself up
How strong I may become
I feel so weak and alone
I feel like I'll never find my home
I stay up and ponder if I ever could
Tell everyone about the hell you gave me
Maybe that would help me
Or maybe they'd just laugh at me
I rip my flesh open
I bruise and hurt my own heart
I give so much of myself to everyone else
Because of the guilt I feel
Cause it was all my fault
I black out and forget things
My stomach twist and turns and stings
I have no energy to enjoy anything
Nothing in life is a blessing
I've emptied my body of any emotion
Because whenever I have any
It's endless crying and falling apart
Noone can break this ******* shattered heart
I'm afriad someone's behind my back
I'm afriad they're ready to attack
I'm afraid all I ever do is lack
I'm afraid of every ******* thing even a tack
I can feel you
I can hear you
Needling through my skin
Piercing my head with sin
Burning my body
Every night I relive it
All the pain I'm feeling I can't quite explain
Because at this point I consider it normal
Everything is quite plain
I'm tired of the pain I sustain
I'll never have kids because of you
I don't deserve love becuase of you
I can't see anything but pain
I can't enjoy anyone's touch
I know it'll never be love
Just let them all **** me
And I'll call it enough
Except I'm not enough
I'm disgusting and damaged
My skin is peeled and broken
Scarred and red
Too many tears I've shed
I'm labeled a freak and crazy
Life is kinda hazy
Am I real?
Can I ever heal?
I don't think so
I just want you to please go
All three of you
I see all of you In everyone I meet
The yeller the ********* and the molester
You're in the eyes of every person
I can't find comfort
Because you'll always find me first
Aug 12, 2019
Aug 12, 2019 at 3:52 AM UTC
There's a tale that's spoken
When dawn has broken
By gateman and watchmen and guards
And it's echoed by thieves
As the night time leaves
As they shuffle their crooked cards
Of a demon disguised
And a doctor despised
So be weary of coaches at night
There's a roaming physician
Of the devils tuition
A curse and a bringer of plight
Oh, Doctor Sinestre
The butcher of Leicester
A man with a hunger for pain
With top hat and tails
And talon-like nails
There are many he's happily slain
He travels by night
And is fast out of sight
And away by the first light of day
He takes eyes and ears
As grim souvenirs
And your body is left on display
It's said he was born
With a singular horn
Which he uses to gouge his prey
And my grandmother swears
He was brought up by bears
Which he killed in a grizzly display
He's a magical voice
A remover of choice
To beguile the strongest of wills
He can tear you apart
And pull out your heart
So quickly the blood never spills
Oh, Doctor Sinestre
The gory molester
An animal dressed as a man
If you hear him approach
In his ebony coach
Then away just as fast as you can
He feeds on the weak
On souls of the bleak
And seekers of fortune and strife
He removes your afflictions
Diseases, addictions
As swiftly he cures you of life
He has eyes in his ears
So he sees what he hears
His teeth once belonged to a snake
The soles of his feet
Don't meet with the street
Not a print or a sound does he make
There are maps of strange lands
On the palms of his hands
And thick purple hair on the back
There's a bat in his hat
All sluggish and fat
For if ever he fancies a snack
Oh, Doctor Sinestre
The mayor of Chester
And prince of the circles of hell
He giggles and gloats
As he fiddles with goats
He dabbles in chickens as well
A spaceship he flies
Through Lancashire skies
He can turn you to gold with a kiss
He's a ghost driven mad
By his alien dad
And.... Are you TOTALLY sure about this?
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 10:09 AM UTC
The Cop
I'm a cop walking the beat,
about to retire with hurt feet.
followed a man who looked suspicious,
from the size of his gun, I knew he was vicious.
He went inside a hotel lobby,
acting all bossy and snobby.
He took hostages, except for me,
I shot him dead and set them free.
That's the old fashioned American way,
plus I'm a cop, who wants his pay.
Next night I heard a woman scream,
getting ***** as he tried to spill his cream.
I also shot him dead,
for saving her, she gave me head.
All because I'm a good cop,
I offered to use the mop.
I shoot people who sell drugs,
their just useless stupid thugs.
I shoot first, question are for later,
my gun would **** the largest alligator.
Next night followed a woman, inside a store,
she was shoplifting, I thought maybe she was poor.
Followed he into her fancy car,
I shot that stealing rock star.
Got in some trouble on that one,
a cops job is never done.
Next night followed a molester,
following a young boy,
offering candy and a shinny new toy.
Saw him stalking in the park,
but I'm a cop, who's not afraid of the dark.
Took my shot, while he was watching,
it was the boys dad, I saw falling.
Retired early without a pension,
should have taken that course in safety prevention.
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 2:14 AM UTC
*Sea of money, green wave it crashes...
...take it peon, take all your lashes!
Homeowners, taxpayers, nation, investor,
my hands on it all, everything; for I am molester!*
*Ideology, philosophy and ego,
entering your hearts, your minds; the Sea Goat!
All of it for my class, the world is our pile...
...now I choke off the spigot and wither you Gen-tile!*
Money subjugation, adorn it with laurels...
*Banker am I!
The man of no morals!*
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 8:24 PM UTC
You wanna make it better,
You're more like a molester.
Not psychical don't get me wrong.
But we don't even get along.
Writing everything down.
With your imaginary crown.
Nothing but a clown.
You just stare and judge,
Asking crazy questions and such.
Why do you act like this?
Hey, I don't know ****
How should I know why I act like I do,
And why the hell should I tell you?
Once trusted you just tell everyone,
About what a monster I've become.
Hard to handle, special school,
telling my parents what to do.
Hell fool, ***** you.
Test after test.
It's getting me upset.
Full of regret.
Why am I working along.
I should be ******* gone.
Trying to be strong.
Staring at the clock.
Hoping that it will stop.
Another fake smile.
I'm not worth the while.
Is what you're thinking.
Your hope is shrinking.
Mine was never there.
So why should we care.
You guys never did anything.
Wasting my time if anything.
So this one is for all the suckers.
Who ran out of luckers.
Meeting me, made you ****** up.
So don't ******* hate, just **** up.
That I'm a better person then I was.
So here is my sarcastic applause.
Cuz in the end I made it.
And you are still ****
Being 50 and talking to kids.
So I say **** the system.
Peace out, Chanice
A.K.A. another victim.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 12:42 PM UTC
I see fire
burning in the eyes
of a gunman.
I see fire
burning in the smile
of a terrorist.
I see fire
burning in the fingertips
of a child molester.
I see fire
burning in the hearts
of the people who want to make a difference.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 6:59 PM UTC
Talking about your assault
As if you are removed from it.
When someone apologizes for his unforgivable actions
Even though he was always unapologetic
I calmly reply
"It's okay"
And sometimes even with a smile on my face.
But it's not okay
Or rather
What he did to me will never be okay
And I always feel foolish after that response leaves my lips
You lie to people a say you hate him
But really
If I'm being honest
I never did
Although, my situation is different than most
Because this wasn't some vicious act of ******
But rather, a game my teenage cousin with Aspbergers
Told me to play.
Looking back,
I was fourteen once too
And I wasn't even close to perfect
I can't incriminate him based on one dire mistake.
I never wish to minimize anyone's experience with abuse
Except, of course, my own
Because making it smaller
Makes me feel more in control
Just as blaming myself used to do.
Granted, I have dealt with it
But now I remove myself from the situation when I discuss it
As if I am talking about someone else.
That way, I do not have to vividly see it in my mind.
That way, I don't have to explain
How I have to fall asleep to music
That way, I don't have to explain
How I can't have *** with the lights on
Or else I see his face.
When I say I am perfectly comfortable talking about it
I don't know if 'perfectly comfortable' reflects it as well as
I am just used to it
And I feel as though it is necessary to discuss.
I am not one to shy away from challenging topics.
While he made me stronger
Some days being strong is just too hard
And I give in to old habits
Or at least to the temptation of them.
I haven't bled from the result
Of a self-inflicted razor blade or kitchen knife
In nearly two years.
And my bulimia is better
Though I have only rid myself of that vice
Three months ago.
And yet,
Talking about my molestation seems
So routine, so standard
Which is scary
Because something that heinous should shock me more
But it doesn't.
Maybe it's because
He started an avalanche
When it came to boys using me for ***
Maybe it's because
I share the same blood
As a child-molester.
It seems as though **** culture has permeated me for so long
That it's in my DNA
Woven strand by strand
So it doesn't scare me anymore.
It all comes down to perspective
And talking about my assault from a third person perspective
Keeps my battle scars under wraps
And my mind well guarded.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC
All good is lost,
And we pay the cost,
As we watch our country burn;
A shadow up ahead,
In the path we now tread,
A molester at every turn.
A haven for girls,
Kept decked up in pearls,
Now amused as they stand defamed;
What change came about?
How sick can a man turn out?
The law keeps the culprit unnamed!
Hurting another with such fallen grace;
Leaving her in pieces, feeling disgraced:
Soiling her form, her mind, her life;
It disgusts, hurts and saddens the soul,
A father, a brother, a friend played the role:
Shattering her dreams, her goals in a strife.
Tainted now in the darkest of shades:
*Her life is lost, a future fades;
Faith is a myth, humanity a tale.*
She's hardly alive, like the waking dead;
*And though she weeps on her poisioned bed,
She will live on bloodless and pale.*
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC
PART I – AN EXAMPLE
Mohamed Bouazizi –
A name we should never forget;
The name of a man whose loss
Is one of many we shall forever regret.
He did not want much;
All he wished for was an education,
A proper house, warm to one’s touch,
The right to make a decent living
A humble being, never taking too much yet always giving.
Mohamed Bouazizi
Was a man who never had it easy;
His story profoundly echoes among us all
A tragedy fuelled by greed and corruption.
Put yourself in his shoes –
Fatherless since he was three,
Working since he was ten,
The right for education stolen from him
By his own, cold nation.
It is difficult to understand
What it’s like
To be buried beneath the sand,
Just like that.
Mohamed had to quit school
And support an entire family
Essentially, reduced to a tool
An instrument
For financial gain;
Eventually, he was unable to take the pain
The humiliation
Of having his only means of remuneration
Confiscated and destroyed.
So, incredulous and angry,
All he had was one final attempt at diplomacy,
His penultimate demand to a governor with no soul:
“If you don’t see me, I will burn myself.”
His produce, his vending stall,
His scales – all taken from him, accelerating his fall
Into desperation,
Into deliberate, self-immolation.
Every authority that was supposed to be a protector
Instead acted as a horrifying molester –
Mohamed
Tried every route he could possibly take
A brave explorer confronting snake after snake.
Alas,
He reached his breaking point,
And true to his word,
He set himself on fire –
December 16th, 2010
Was the date when his ire
Could be contained no longer.
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 7:41 AM UTC
The fruit cake child molester
gets acclaim and promotion,
put on a pedestal, while the
righteous underdog gets
exiled or killed,
kicked out and abandoned
like a stray cat.
Apr 22, 2022
Apr 22, 2022 at 8:04 AM UTC
IMPURE!
*the disgust that runs in me
the scars he left within will never quell
they just get infected and starts to swell
he was never fully punished for his sins
so I am forced to punish myself within
for the impure blood of a molester
that flows through my veins
Impure…*
IMPURE!
*what he did I will never forgive
something so terrible that i don't want to live
for the blood of a molester poisons my heart
to cut myself and let blood leave my body
leave my soul.....so much disgust
Impure...*
IMPURE!
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 7:34 PM UTC
Have you wished someone dead?
Self doesn't count.
Terminally ill don't count,
In fact, that may be construed as kind.
No. Someone vibrant, strong,
Sure and vain, like:
The relentless bully,
The cop at your door,
The ridiculing teacher
Who made you the fool.
The betrayer and rumour monger,
Your prosecutors, some persecutors,
An ocassional critic.
The machine voice,
The government,
The ****** and child molester,
The boko haram (all terrorists)
Even some family members,
But never your children.
Some on your own list.
Close your eyes and pick one
With a pin.
You can't wait for the uncertainty
Of Karma or God,
Or them to go to the devil.
You can't depend on toilets falling from planes,
Tornados dropping houses.
It's not illegal: half of us do it.
Billions believe it possible.
I envision driving the final nail myself.
At certain times, it's true,
I regret the absence of hell
With its gnashing, its unquenchable fires,
That burn without consuming:
The smelly, curling, shrinking flesh,
The bubbling of fat through skin,
Because sudden death
Just doesn't cut it.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 1:03 PM UTC
Michigan state is under fire,
Larry Nassars life is whom people desire
Over 250 victims of ****** assault,
Students and faculty being shamed when it’s not their fault
We pray for the victims and give them tribute,
self esteem and innocence we can not redistribute
We sentence him to prison but his life we spare,
that sick child molester deserves the chair
Faculty that was involved come forward please,
until then innocents are treated like we carry a disease
In the end we all want the same thing,
Larry nassars body hanging by a string
For us who bleed green and white,
our future is still bright
Those affected victims, family and friends,
our love and support will never end
What he did was beyond wrong,
But forever we will stay spartan strong
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 10:27 PM UTC
Well...
I heard it from Pookie
Who's real tight with Sookie
You know 'cuz
They're twins 'n all
And they're both from the neighborhood
When it all went down, guess they seen it too
Eyewitnesses times four
You know 'cuz
They two got a pair of blinkers
You know --peepers! Oculus instruments
You know ... These! (Wink wink hint hint)
Brown eyed, blue bright
Or "whatever you say Iris!"
She was the one with the twirly hair
And the swirly speech
Rollin' up on all of her
You know ... Gelatinous gelatina ****
Rubberneckin'
Don't mess with this!
"Uh huh"
"Nah ah, oh no she didn't ..."
Throwing ghetto out her mouth
Talkin about. yo mama
So PHAT
(Pretty Hot & Tempting)
For a rotisserie or deep fried in Crisco...
And you know
If the chicken heads are plucky and loud
Clucking chis-miss rumors
About
How she did done killed her molester
"Down that poor dirt road"
"I can still hear the gospel sang,
the surrounding churches'
Southern love to be loud, wafting
With the breeze through the long grass
Walking, closer to home, a hush...
Back when we folk were shiny skinned
With sweat of Summers' Lovin
Or late night lullaby in' ...
Baby's lil babe
She said he couldn't fall to sleep
Until this Final one"
When it all went Smack!
Talking for no reason now
(Just wanna be heard)
Throwing shade in the hot shadows
Her hollering voice
Reciting not laws but what's right for sho'.
A weeping willow
A peacock
A desperate clarinet cry
Look here now ! Don't miss out !
And that was when Pookie & Sooky
Took home mama Mook,
Who's complaining like Chubacca
Furry as the Wookie
Drunk as the fish in Tequila Seas...
But whatever battle she took to words
In the shadow of
Bars brawls and loss of conscience,
Everyone here / neighbors hear
The hoods we're in
She said the clouds! in the sky
"They was the lot of them
throwing most heinous shade!"
And whatever
You took from that there blathering
Wagging tongues
Talking smack. (That's on you)...
*In the dim domain of drank and diggitty
They carry the haunch away*
Three shadow figures
one is itchin' at her arm...
Smack
Throwing Shade.
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 7:20 PM UTC
Welcome to the Land of Forgotten Thoughts,
I forget all the rest and I’m already lost,
Where there is no crossing the King and the Queen,
They don’t like who I am and they hate who I've been,
It’s more fun when nothing is as it seems,
I’d rather sleep all day and live in my dreams
Now don’t listen to violence,
Nothing speaks louder than silence,
I can’t run from the wolf when he’s already under my skin,
The cold King and the questioning Queen,
Don’t care what you say but demand answering
The wretched Jester,
Emotion molester,
Finds out what it’s takes to take a hit to the chest,
His laughs that have always been better than the rest,
His lines are always the best
Prince Charming is always self-harming,
Keeps embalming the lost skin on his palms,
People don’t care because they see you’ve got a charming face,
Internal sorry expression,
From the eternal royal rejection,
Don’t worry natural selection will put you back in your place
Open the door and kick your lover out of your bed,
And don’t trust any of the others willing to take her stead,
Pretty faces don’t stop them being ugly,
Prince Charming, charmingly free,
And I’m trying to take off the crown,
But the King and Queen keep pushing it down
I can’t sleep at night now I've got no head,
The medicine keeps me well fed,
Stomachs aching,
Pain killers are making,
A body glued together two minutes from breaking
There no quitting,
The Quetiapine scene,
The truth is upsetting,
Mistakes worth regretting,
Swallow their lies and I’m already forgetting
Welcome to the Land of Forgotten Thoughts,
I forget all the rest and I’m already lost,
You don’t need to know where we’re going,
We know there’s no point in knowing,
We know there’s no point in knowing,
You don’t need to know where we’re going,
I forget the rest and I’m already lost,
Welcome to Land of Forgotten Thoughts
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 3:33 PM UTC