"oversexed" poems
An oversexed foreigner; you
play and dom me for fun.
Prefers a physical touch: you.
Inexhaustible you claim to be,
my energetic friend,
then fall asleep on top of me.
Yet I wouldn't change a thing,
my hypocritical fiend;
you're still such a sweet thing.
~ A.M, F.H.
Mar 16, 2022
Mar 16, 2022 at 2:41 PM UTC
the breast
the mother
is able
to keep.
the healthcare.
the train
lazily
unassigned
to freight or passenger.
the repressed memory
I think I have
of my oversexed
split
personality. that I verbally assault
with my better
puppet
hand.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
I searched for you across wild oceans,
Never daring to dream that I would find
Such a ***** dangerous, delicious passion
Which, after more than four hundred summers, still burns hot.
But you are colder now.
When I discovered your riches,
I knew I had to possess you entirely.
The blood lost and the blood lust
Was worth it to make you mine.
But you are bolder now.
I never wanted to set you free.
Your Declaration of Independence nearly destroyed me.
I had to accept your right to Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness,
To lose you completely would be unbearable.
You are the scolder now.
Like a white knight, your white light saved me,
As it seared through flesh, turning skin inside out and the whole world upside down.
You were Oversexed and Overpaid,
But I needed you Over Here beside me.
You are the shoulder now.
Through time and space, our destructive power has bound us together,
I have fallen; my heart is given; my soul is sold.
I'd lie for you, I'd die for you;
Take tooth for tooth and eye for eye for you.
It's all in a sexed up folder now.
Of late, others say you have grown so ugly;
Distorted and deranged with and beyond belief;
Frenzied and overcome with hate, but I still love you,
Still long for our special relationship.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder now.
anna jones ©2017
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 4:34 PM UTC
She loves me! I read it! Right here in this text!
And it wasn't all sensual and way oversexed!
She said as if it were general knowledge
This thing that I'd never have learned from a college
She said it right now, right before she slept
I'm gonna make sure that this message is kept!
If only I'd courage like she's got to say
"I love you, my darling. Now let's run away!"
But alas, twas not I that courage lay in
I alone am least able to stifle this grin
That appears on my face when I see her at school
I'm stupid and nerdy, and she's so **** cool
She plays in a band and she rocks on the bass
Her sunglasses are never to have left her face
I know that she loves me, and I love her too
But I still feel I'm wary and it makes me blue
To know that she's awesome and I don't add much
Don't bring out the music or talent and such
I'm just like, this guy who some people might know
Because being outspoken makes a comedy show
But she loves me, she said it! And though I may doubt
That one's on me and you can't help me out
I've got to get through to myself and just say
"Hey kid, you're so young! Take these worries away!"
But I can't so I won't and so they shall stay
To lie in my brain and come out someday
But the point is she loves me! And I love her too!
And no one should doubt it; not I and not you
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 3:47 AM UTC
I saw you on the stage today
covering your *******
You looked like me in some sad way,
bruised white thighs and bony chest.
I saw you on the stage today;
my belly filled with dread:
You looked like me, but gimmicky
and grimly oversexed.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 11:07 PM UTC
silently spend your time oversexed and can't find a day to unwind.
your energy's gone into your biggest fantasy instead of the man you used to be.
struck with a moral dilemma, two peas in a pod blown away through stormy weather.
never to return, always on the run, seasick with eyes bloodshot lacking sun.
what is this face that looks into my mirror, sullen with a taste of pain
always hesitant on what to do, but would you really call him insane?
alone again, he wakes up silent waiting for the day to begin
within a hollow body, his heart beats softly to the rhythm of the wind
the attitude of a broken man
quietly aging in the dark
his eyelids with worn black bags
hoping to find a spark
contempt found in his ever changing moods
splitting one day at a time
so confused, desolate and alone,
if he could only find a sign
what's the point of waking up if you have nothing to look forward to?
he speaks each morning beneath his breath
wisecracks of the summertime inching into a dribbling bore
the longer he stays awake, the more he becomes a pest.
eaten up alive by the world that he loved so much
dreaming away a life of happiness
if only he could smoke the residue of the day
perhaps the light will bring well needed rest.
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 6:42 PM UTC
smashbook wasn't nearly as offensive
with its objectifying koan-click--
on and on, smash after smash
you sit here, and here, and here
angry soldier, oversexed boxer,
underpaid, overworked mexican
what will my face look like once i am born?
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 2:52 AM UTC
A beast is me
At least I'm me.
Beauty petrifies
me,
saddens me greatly
except for beautiful women
and imagining them wanting me.
Hence beauty and a beast.
There's no feast
in store
for me
I bet
as I get set
to eat the meat
off my bones
just to hook that beautiful woman
I'm such a beast.
We shall see
what we shall see
about
"the beast"
as some black guys
who've been
in prison
say I'm called here.
I heard why I am the beast.
I'm oversexed
domineering,
licentious,
in people's scope.
I even break the heavy
and I'm ultra
unpopular
near as I can tell!
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 3:05 PM UTC
you leave me tasting so metallic
i'd always pictured such softer hands
when you smoothed me over
in daylight dreams.
but i am wedged in comfort's drawer,
corners dig into my hips
as I wheeze a stale warm release;
clouds that lift me in between
bated breaths and rumination
of time poorly spent.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
haunted
I am an unanswerable mystery to myself
pain
griefs food
belief in uncertainty
is like a medicine that makes me ill
loving the danger of things
like a tender ******
or the superstitious atheist
or the oversexed who convert to Catholicism
in a tither of religiosity
I lift Mother Mary's dress for a taste
irreducibly splintered inside
I feel
religion is quiet like the dead
and im pulsing sin
passionate perverted and metaphysical
a lover of hard headed ******
and goo girls
whispering ***** things in my ear
oooow mercy of nakedness
she holds my **** like a gun
pulls the trigger
and i pop her
panting she bleeds out butter ****
got her good
that big hearted ******* *******
criminal
the Devil has his contemplatives
as does God
and Christians say **** that
Jul 6, 2019
Jul 6, 2019 at 11:20 AM UTC
Envision this!, and what would a vision be for me that a vision perhaps would be for 4 you? "A taste of the bubbly" said the doormat maestro speaking in his open gibberish of the day. Perplexed maybe oversexed with an umbrella spread wide assorted like plum infused birthday cake and darkened sparrows dipping down to gain their tid bit thirsts.
A beaten sheep calls out but hears nothing but echos ...
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
I'd drilled the holes
for the tubular poles,
and went along
to the office
to register
the work done.
Edna slid back
the glass shutter.
How long was you
on the job?
She asked
It could have
been quicker,
but she kept moving,
I said.
Edna smiled a bit;
I meant the work
you just done.
15 minutes,
I said.
Slower than last time,
she said.
You remember?
I thought after
that last gin
you'd not recall it,
I said.
15 mins, then?
She said,
going red,
you must keep
to the work in hand
she said.
That's what
the call-girl
said to the bishop,
I said.
Edna looked around
at the office behind her:
the manager was out
on the shop-floor
snooping round.
I am a happily
married woman,
she whispered.
I am a happy
single guy,
I replied,
taking in
her neat sweater
and red lips.
You need only
tell me
the work
you have done,
she said.
Ok, just the holes
bored through,
I said,
all in 15 mins.
She sighed,
and looked at me:
what was the job
before that?
She asked.
Putting the elastic
into the side holes,
I said.
And how long?
She said.
About 6 inches
I said.
She slammed
the shutter shut.
I walked back
to the work bench,
and Joyce handed me
some more 6 inch
elastic pipes to thread
through the holes.
Put it in
like I showed you,
Joyce said.
I said nothing
to that,
and threaded
the elastic through.
What else
was a young guy
oversexed
to do?
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 3:17 PM UTC
Just plain ***** are the boisterous birds;
All day and all night singing the blues,
The fly me to the moon serenades,
Like Verdi Romeos by the balcony
And Juliets with romantic eyes
O baybah baybah baybah,
My mistress mine, my coy sir,
Embrace me with thy soft feathers
And puteth claws on my shoulder.
O feel my smooth beak sing
Praises on your wings
As we copulate on a cloud,
And take what the rainbow brings.
Perverted pigeons, seductive doves,
All you oversexed dinosaurs,
Is there nothing but that nasty thing?
Could you ever learn to sing of love?
Ah, Love, love...do birds really love?
I dare not assume to know.
Yet I hear such longing in their songs
Like troubadours or rock and rollers
Chirping in the mating season.
Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 10:58 PM UTC