"perverts" poems
Physicists are perverts. They keep
trying to peek under Mother
Nature's dressing gown- asking
Her questions like "why
do electrons behave as both
particles and waves?"
when what they really want
to know is
if Mother Nature's lingerie
is red or black, and which
she prefers to wear
on Fridays.
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 7:33 PM UTC
He said he caught himself thinking of my long legs when I was absent.
I froze...Silent and annoyed...
Perhaps he was over confidant when he leaned in and pressed his lips against mine.
I slapped him.
It made me feel cheap so I lit a cigarette. I inhaled deeply watching the smoke swirl... if I could just fade away with it.
Lights to bright and sounds that burst. My head hurts...I flick my ash.
Now he's frozen...just watching me.
Perverts and nicotine have the same stench. Both a bad habit I need to quit.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
Hungry filthy eyes
From every corner
It spies
Lustful desire ignition
Hardly any blinks
Sparks temptation
The growth of hunger
On youthful body
Deludes my anger
It hunts upon everyone
Especially the feminines
Carrying a gun
Streets pollute such eyes
Some cross, some straight
Most full with lies
Each day my eye meets
Such perverts
With viciously lustrous greets...
©sim
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 4:17 PM UTC
i lost my innocence at eight years old
and i wish someone would have told me that
i wish i hadn't figured it out by myself when my trust in anything that was supposed to be safe was already long gone
i wish i hadn't walked up to him
i wish i wasn't afraid to tell people that i did because i'm afraid to hear someone blame me for it
i wish i didn't blame me for it
i wish i never have to experience that awful feeling of simultaneous disgust, shame, dirtiness, and confusion again
every time i've taken my shirt off for ten years straight.
when i shower.
when anyone touches me even in the most innocent way.
that feeling like the only way i could ever feel completely clean would be to burn my skin off.
that feeling that consumes my mind out of the blue and suddenly i'm that little girl in the green and white striped skort again that didn't understand what happened to her
just that it was bad
the little girl that nobody taught to differentiate between what was okay along with the real, blunt reason why and what happened to her so any sort of physical contact with people felt wrong
i wish i could never feel that again
i wish it could be night all the time and no one would ever be around
they warn you about wandering too far from home when you're alone
about going out after dark and playing in places without people around
about the bad people, the sick malicious perverts, that you have to watch out for
they don't tell you about the good people that just don't know what they're doing
they don't tell you about the grandfather with dementia watching his grandson play at the park in broad day light surrounded by people
at least, they don't tell you to stay away from him
daylight has never made me feel more secure than darkness
and seeing people nearby has never brought me comfort
because nothing has ever made me feel more unsafe and vulnerable than that day in the park
in broad daylight
surrounded by people
Jan 6, 2017
Jan 6, 2017 at 9:01 PM UTC
I think I might be a pervert.
I mean, a mere bite of her lip,
stroke of the hair
or flick of
her hip
sends fire around my body
criminalises my mind
and throws me outside,
to look pressed
nose against
the glass,
breath blurring up
the window,
and my view of her ***
Yep,
I think I might be a pervert.
Aren't you?
I mean when it's hot,
don't you get thirsty
from
sitting beside
the fountain?
Course you do,
we're all perverts,
even those baldy
monks up on some
breast-like mountain.
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 10:15 PM UTC
Dream Catchers, egg hatchers, baby Snatchers, **** wackers, lip smackers, online hackers, ***** slappers, hand clappers, exotic flappers, lazy slackers, suitcase packers, & back stabbers.
Hate & defeated, cheat & feel the heat. Too weak & petite. Tales of hell, wishes on a well, thoughts are things you can't always sell. Sometimes words can be lies liars tell. One day to your death to you fell.
Pass it on. I don't belong. Some people are wrong. Die. I won't cry.
Pakrat hoarders, pro choice aborters, two faced home wreckers, voodoo curses, retired lazy old nurses.
Deaf & Blind, racist & unkind, poor & unemployed. Broke & exploited. Dumb, old, ugly, & fat. ***** stinking rat. Piles & piles of crap.
College professors, real estate investors, coaches, cockaroaches, poachers, perverts & ****** meat eatting caravores. Bums & addicts drunks & fanatics, obsessive compulsive, stalkers too possessive, insane aggressive.
Author Notes :
Partially true, could be your family.
© Harmony Sapphire . All rights reserved,
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 3:34 PM UTC
Old Pantaloons, a Chiasmus
by Michael R. Burch
Old pantaloons are soft and white,
prudent days, imprudent nights
when fingers slip through drawers to feel
that which they long most to steal.
Old ***** loons are soft and white,
prudent days, imprudent nights
when fingers slip through drawers to steal
that which they long most to feel.
Keywords/Tags: chiasmus, pantaloons, ***** loons, ******* pun, wordplay, underwear, fetish, lingerie, pervert, perverts, **********
May 20, 2020
May 20, 2020 at 10:58 PM UTC
Shocked and appalled to discover the truth -
an adult man who’s always looking at youth;
admiring pictures of girls who are too young,
I feel like this man should be shot at or hung.
We all have preferences and to each their own,
but the law states a person must be full-grown
before you start creeping pics on your phone
otherwise it’s in jail your *** will be thrown.
These girls seem to have zero self-respect
or don’t think about gross men getting *****
at images of their various juvenile parts,
either way, these young girls have no smarts.
I’m sad to say, I thought I knew this man well,
only to discover that he is sickening as Hell.
I’m glad to say, though, that at least I’m aware,
because I’ll do all I can to stop it; I swear.
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 3:11 PM UTC
i know you think im joking
but a pervert saved my life
she came to me one day
to **** me with a knife
i said oh no no no don't do it
ill do anything you say
then she said im a perv
and i want your love all day
but to love a perv is icky
your a creepy girl
she made me smell her feet
and dance a spinning twirl
wow she said you did that well
why don't you stand on your head
look up my dress and say im hot
or for sure you will be dead
i realized she was very odd
and asked her what was wrong
she said i was married forever
and couldn't have his ****
so i went off my rocker
not getting what i needed
but made believe for years
that i was never ever cheated
then one day i snapped
and cried for lust all day
so they called me purvy *****
and tried to keep me away
the more i went with out
the hornier i got
until one day in torment
i loved the smell of rot
i fell in love with filth
and to this very day
i have no scruples at all
ill do anything for a lay
now pull your pants off
and show me your little ****
dam its so cute
ill lick your lolly pop
she used her tongue like a twizzler
it was really fun
and then i realized i was like her
and my life as a perv begun
so if your starved for love
and craving ***** lust
you might as well join the ranks
of pervy folks r us
99% Switch
96% Degrader
94% Rope bunny
93% Dominant
90% Rigger
89% Degradee
88% Sadist
87% Brat tamer
83% Submissive
83% ******
81% *********
79% Master/Mistress
76% Primal (Prey)
74% Primal (Hunter)
74% Experimentalist
73% Brat
62% Non-monogamist
50% Owner
47% Vanilla
43% Slave
42% Daddy/Mommy
38% Exhibitionist
10% Ageplayer
100% Girl/Boy
7% Pet....meow
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 9:23 AM UTC
according to King Nothing,
father’s day phone calls
are restricted…
i live in a world where
foot-rest make better supports,
and broken beer bottles fight
the most perverts away.
i’ve been homeless
three times, and "abortion"
was crudely drawn
on my forehead.
my love for
Frankenstein’s monster
knows no bounds.
the whole apartment
was gutted of its copper
two years after that.
the ‘first woman on Mars’
dream he had was sold for scrap;
threw out half of my books,
called me the reject.
a childhood tomb, raided…
the Queen was pleased.
she doesn’t believe in aliens,
and most stars are dead
according to light-years anyway.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 10:18 PM UTC
maybe people are right
when they said
"i would look pretty
when i smile"
but for now
i am happy being ugly
till the day
these perverts die
Aug 15, 2019
Aug 15, 2019 at 9:55 PM UTC
Bodies are strewn, one by one, round the room.
All that remains of the casualties here.
All of the victims, perverts and vixens,
Which fell to their instincts, desires and beer.
Recently music had filled air with rhythm,
Masking the retching and ******* the same,
Though rising with sun was the silence, begun
As horizons were setting to flame.
Wading through bodies to go make a drink,
A 6am ***** to freshen the mind.
You scramble and struggle, ignoring the couple
You caught in the kitchen, enjoying a grind.
A smile and a wave, with such sweetness, they gave
And, kindly, they offered some cider.
Approaching the man, you take a warm can
Whilst hoping its not been inside her.
Back to the sofa, a girl has rolled over,
Aeons from sober, you try nudge below her,
Quickly, then slower, with hopes no one knows her,
The types to come over assuming you'll ***** her.
But everything's fine, the coast is all clear.
You soon commandeer, till she falls among beer.
***** turns to smears, but too ****** to hear
Or try interfere, the room sleeps, cohered.
The wait is now on. The coke in your nose
Beginning to burn as you drool on your clothes.
You smoke and you smoke while you cough and you choke,
But it seems with each minute, the time passing slows.
You wack out a notepad, scribble some words,
Draw a few ***** with wings like a bird,
But mostly you sit. Sitting in quiet.
The last one alive in the midst of the riot.
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 6:15 PM UTC
I tried
Chat rooms
To find friends
And all
I found
Were perverts
And *** addicts
All I was looking for
Was a gosh ****
Friendly talk.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
This is a psalm by my friend Mad Pastor Grovell
Praise the Lord with the sound of the trumpet!
Praise the Lord with the psaltry
(whatever on God's green earth that is!)
And with the harp while you are at it!
Praise the Lord with the tambourine
(another queer one!) and with dancing!
Praise the Lord with stringed instruments and electronic organs!
Praise the Lord on the loud cymbals and gongs
(and the high sounding cymbals too)!
Let every thing that breathes praise the Lord
(even midgets and the clinically obese and perverts)!
And that includes YOU - so get praising Him straight away!
Get down on your knees, blow your trumpet,
Rattle your silly tambourine like a mongo!
Clash your assorted cymbals and play with your *****
Sing songs and hymns and cries of adoration to the Heavens
And clap till your hands are bleeding with joy!
Be a one-man band of earhole-busting praise for the Lord!
Praise ye the Lord lest He smite thee totally ******* senseless!
Or else WATCH OUT FOR THE GOOD LORD
WILL BASH OUT YOUR ******* WORTHLESS BRAINS
FOR YOUR FILTHY SEX-SINS AND ALSO CONDEMN YOU
TO AN ETERNITY OF PASSIVE ****** IN HELL!
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 12:56 PM UTC
Indolence always gets the best of me
I feel like a jab
painting images without metaphors,
avoiding the intense visions of the lot
Indifferent, inebriated.
All demons slayed. Spread eagle.
Life seems to be a hassle,
in two ways on the same street
I am the attention *****
who wants to be left alone
Pushing them back only draws them closer
Today is no different,
a muse, a good laugh, a realization
my schedule is full again.
I just want to spend my time
anything else lacks luster
Goal: (noun)
1. aim, 2. end, 3. target, 4. purpose,
5. intention, 6. objective, 7. ambition,
I have none.
You can't force me, try as you may.
What does pique my interest is art
If I ever get over self indulgence,
which I will market emphatically,
I may consider starting a career
Controversies are fun, so is ******
to balance them both in one hand
and collect with the other
that is art.
Form, the world has never seen.
Abstract ambiguity rewriting itself.
Displeasing parents and loved ones around.
The one the perverts idolize
the critics would bow in awe to
Ah yes...
I feel so lazy.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 4:55 AM UTC
Any brighter and
streams in the ditches
would look like Cuyahoga River
across Cleveland during the 1960's
There is no fire, only flies
who make bright their bellies
and flash for show like the perverts
in metropolitan inner city parks
Enticed to the flies, like moths
to the ceiling globes,
we gather jars and lids
with air holes hammered hard
No walking as we streak
along gravel roads built after WWII
when rationing was lifted
and road speeds jumped
Flies caught one by one
are smashed on white tees,
luminous signals for drivers
alert to the folly of our play
Our madness endures
until Ball jars become
dim lanterns of joy for us and jail
for the bugs doomed
to die before daybreak
until swept from the garage
floor as we plot our assault
on airborne glimmers along
tonight's roadsides
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 8:37 AM UTC
this but a nightmare tale
for the adopted child
he'd not been treated with
a meekness so mild
raised by parents
who were sick of mind disposition
they abused him
without having any contrition
the boy utilized by deviant grown men
for ****** gratification
there was no human decency
in this fornication
their child's photos
shown to online perverts
who'd drool at the sight
of these lewd adverts
as a mere babe the lad
was groomed for paedophiles
of his parent's wickedness
they'd be placed on criminal files
no Christmas Dreams
only a lasting memory of buggery
the child was deprived
of innocence in his infancy
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 6:26 PM UTC
this is the dwelling where wind is a bell and a beacon for death.
where youthful pursuit is punctured by family names or famine of fortune.
boys in bands buoyed by Onos and shared women.
lawyer fathers and social ***** mothers whose children are forbidden to **** up.
one street reserved and smothered by talking townsmen
whose belligerent brides keep tabs on their fellow middle-aged malicious
minded low-lifes
engorged in gossip are the parading fat men who rise early to feed off ones business capital tragedies
****** shortcomings of the stuck and single prey off tweens tweeting of body glitter and b-cups.
clique chick coquettes play house with their shiny image seeking male counterparts
who sing songs of their leather faced lady friends with plastic claws they now admit they would never marry
antagonizing cute couples secretly copulating with former loves' lust
only to mingle with conspirators molding to dominant thought
once a waitress always a waitress
with overdrawn bragging rights and unemployment checks
serving snobs like themselves who sip savignon
self-righteous polo popping perverts accompanying their prized play things
who join the charles river emigrants and stale french pastries
scouting the waste colored palace of prejudice.
now blades of winter draw months of blue blood
bringing forth frozen thoughts slowly dripping onto thawing skin.
another warm summer sun forthcoming
foreshadowed by this wind-chafing forlornness.
though i will fall in love again
and bridge rats will always be kings.
Apr 21, 2011
Apr 21, 2011 at 3:33 PM UTC
Perverts
Perverts
Every single one of them
Their bright, lustful eyes
That needy, clingy smile
Desire reeks from every part of their body
Without them I cannot work
Without them I cannot sing for my supper
And yet I want to punch them all in the face
I want to disown them
I can't describe that awful feeling
That they don't want you for your voice, your musicality
They want you for that unnamed act
And although they've never tried
You are deathly afraid of giving them the opportunity
The polite consent
I wish I had the work ethic, the talent
To leave and find great work
Beautiful timbres and songs
New music all the time
Competence and prestige
I must endure their constant attempts to get closer
Even if just by a few steps
It makes my blood boil
My heart pound with utter rage
It's more than I can stand
And they flatter and flatter
Until their throats go dry
Until they can no longer hold their giant grin
I wish something would physically stop them
They know my insecurity
And they manipulate it
They invest
And they play the cruel game of time
Wait for their golden opportunity
When the time has come
I flee like a gazelle on the savannah
I'm tired of running
I'm tired of holding back the scream of rage
The shriek of frustration
Someday they won't be able to push me around
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 4:04 PM UTC
there is a word used for us,
a phrase for our situation.
******
was i your annabel, humbert?
your first,
in preparation of your very own lo,
your dolly, your lover?
did you care for me, really?
(of course not.
you were fourteen.
i was six.)
did you understand what you were doing?
(no, that's preposterous.
you were a young teen,
an adolescent,
with hormones.
i was the smiling,
unsuspecting
object of your clumsy,
confused affections.)
do you care about me now?
(nope, wrong again.
you have moved on, after so many years.
i no longer know you,
your face,
your name.)
did you ever spare a second thought
to the bright young child
you corrupted so early on
in both your lives as you grew?
did you dwell on thoughts of her
late into the night,
contemplating her fate?
do you know me?
would you recognize me,
if we passed on the street this very day?
would i be easily picked out
in a group of girls all my age and complexion,
plainly marked by the ever-darkening
stain you left on my soul,
my mind,
my body
so many years ago?
i have forgotten you,
your face,
your name,
yet you haunt me with re-emerging flickers,
flashes of memory
forgotten to have ever existed.
for so long,
you have stayed hidden,
shrouded in the fogs of distant,
intentionally buried images.
but now you're struggling, humbert,
fighting your way to the surface,
messing with my mind,
my entire sense of who i am,
altering my perception
of the accepted and the tolerated.
perverts beget perverts,
so they say.
and i, better than any other,
know that you are,
indeed,
a pervert.
so what, dear humbert,
will
that
make
me?
Jun 1, 2010
Jun 1, 2010 at 12:52 PM UTC
Give me the obscene
Not the clean
But the filthy ****
The pink ****
The thrusting ****
If that’s what you want
Then that’s what I got
Give me the obscene
Let me clear the scene
Of what we have seen
What you call unclean
Cause in the past
The obscene was the underclass
The undercurrent
Miscegeny, rock music
Civil liberties for minorities
Hippies and other counterculture
Freedom and treasonous language
Give me your obscene
Cause that’s where the future lies
Not were perverts spy
On ***** secrets
But where the freedom of language
Leads us closer to being
Better human beings
So I’ll take the obscene
Instead of the mind numbing
Thought controlling clean
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC
The world can see them
We’re all peeping toms
We get off on their P.D.A.
How he cups her in his palms
He kisses her nervous lips
And she wails with each touch
She loves how he touches her
She swoons to his firm clutch
They’re on full display
A real live *** tape
They put on a show for us perverts
He’s all over her curvy shape
Watch him grab her golden thigh
Listen to her soulful shouts
The quiver in her tone says she likes it
The people like it even more, no doubt
They’ve made themselves infamous
Cause we like to hear her moan
The man and his girl are devoted
A musician and his saxophone
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 9:56 PM UTC
You're clowns, as laughable as hell
Go read the passage on Cyber troll perps
unemployed ******* paid to sit online
writing ******* to flood and demoralize
the ninocoops brain deed perverts
think others are weak inconsequentials dweeps
like the spineless nervous victims you usually terrorize
Go re-appraise your anodyne tactics
30 years, I am still standing still laughing
Am at my best when alone ready for turds
I don't hide, I haven't fled anywhere
Or go all shaky and trembly
You don't frighten or terrorize me one bit
My mind is razor sharp, my nerves steely as ever
Coward wiggas are contemptibles
Can't stand and trade face to face
Only brave when they gang up against one man
behind screens inventing false identities
You are laughable, odious little perp rats.
Deluded slaves controlled fools.....
Hahaha....hahaha....Hahaha....western rubish
trailer trashes, you can't even spell your lingo
PERP CYBER TROLL, VIGILANTES OF THIEVES
LAUGHABLE MORONS, SIMPLETONS YOBBOS
SHAMELESS FOOLS, LOOK HOW LONG YOU'VE
BEEN AT IT, CAN'T BRING DOWN JUST ONE MAN
WHITE THIEVES SERVANTS....Hahaha...hahaha
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 3:34 PM UTC