This is one of the racier "Memories" poems by the great Barry Hodges, my alter ego.
It might well make you come involuntarily in your ******.

How happy was I once with the wind in my hair
Wandering o'er the dales with joyousness unmeasur'd,
In the sweet long passed innocent days of platonic love
When stolen gropes and kiss were to be treasured.

But all good and true things come to a sad close
And my poor first love lies in her grave so sorrowfully
Having been crushed to death by a runaway steamroller
Before I managed to go all the way quite thoroughly.

What a waste of delightful teenage flesh was that
Yet perhaps I had a narrow escape from the derangement
Which might have been mine had our trysting
Led to a semi-permanent matrimonial arrangement.

For I recall one afternoon in the old ABC cinema
In the delighful Yorkshire spa town of Harrogate,
Sitting next to my gorgeous love in the back row,
Exploring her not so very private parts on a hot date.

How I cursed the management's niggardly folly
In not showing a film with hot romantic blood
But saving pathetic pennies by putting on
Daffy ******* Duck and Elmer ******* Fudd.

But yet I perserved with my digital explorations
Unaware that the throbs my fingers felt were no dream
But darling Elsie laughing like a proverbial drain
At Daffy's hilarious anatine adventures on-screen.

'Twas then I began to wonder about the viscous liquid
I had hitherto imagined was Elsie's lovejuice flowing
(dear, dear reader, cease your perusal of my tale forthwith
if you are of a nervous disposition or prone to food up-throwing)*.

It was only a careful examination of my sopping knuckles
In the dimly lit gents after old Daffy's film was done and dusted
Which revealed that my dearly beloved had leaked
Big time out of both ends, leaving my fingers well encrusted.

O to think that, but for Daffy, I might have been lumbered
With a different kind of bird for whom double incontinence
Was a way of life (thus, the fatal steamroller she encountered
The very next day was a blessing from kindly Providence).

We are surrounded by shadows of all those in pain,
whose bodies have withered,
till they decay.
Fear, depression, and hate,
these are our demons of fate.
I wish their was a solution,
but it may be too late.
We've become animals of fear,
caged and trapped,
challenged by the choices made by our peers.
Racism, hate, seperation....pain.
Must we always take the bait?
All around us we are divided,
because of skin or how we love,
why cant we just be united?
The boy hated because of being gay, the girl being judged on her anatomy,
this is the price we pay?
For the freedom to choose our lives,
we just sit here and lie,
while others DIE?
We've cheated ourself out of our innocence,
chosen to hate and push away,
is there a end to this wickedness?
We have hope,
we can change this world,
we don't have to just mope.
We are creatures of love and beauty,
divinly given to us all,
can we use these gifts to find unity?
The gay boy saved by a straight,
the sexified girl rescued by a gentleman,
it's NOT too late!
We've perserved through tyranny,
we've rescued those in need,
we can stop the villany!
We are the heros of our earth,
we'll stand united,
because we have been since birth.
Race by race, man by woman, gay by straight, we are brothers and sisters all,
and if we don't come together,
who will stop our fall?

I feel like I'm going insane
My mind is derranged,
Im lost and on-edge
Cant relax, no not even in bed,
Im miserable and depressed
I get so emotional i could be mistaken as possessed,      
By the devil
A kamikaze-driven rebel,
Im uptight and reserved
My mind is the opposite of perserved,
Overrun and overdriven        
Exhausted and be-riddled,
Im ruining relationships
Self ******* sabotaging ****,
Close to losing it all
Hit rock bottom... but still, i have room to fall,
Further down the rabbit hole
Into the abyss
Of complete nothingness.

Dear Self,
The steps I take towards finding out who you are,
Are a little shakey.
I cannot figure out what it is that is dragging me to the depths of hell that I call,
My thoughts.
Sometimes in the middle of the night, I question when your soul would evacuate its home and soar through the sky.
Self, you're so fragile, it tears me apart looking at you.
Self, how can I save you?
How is it that you're so numb to almost everything?
How am I supposed to feel when you're so caught up in your own world to notice the one beneath your feet?
Self, I am losing you and I can't figure out how to bring you back.
Maybe this is how I become my real self;
The unforgiving,
Doesn't give a flying ****,
Resting ***** face,
Self.
I think I'd like that,
But then again,
I think I'd rather stay true to who I really am,
Than become a stereotypical woman that basis her life on the hate she perserved.