"preist" poems
Girls married off
To a dogma they can't stop
Decided at birth
I would tell you it hurts
That it truly is terrible
But it gave me an outlet
Made rebellion bearable
I abhor to see they way
They block us make us stay
They're pretty little vessels
But now it's too fun, I have to wrestle
The rules and regulations
The trials and tribulations
They really aren't that terrible
Mess with the horns, you get the teeth
Because she's determined to become a female preist
Tell her that it's wrong
That she disobeys God
But she'll just tap the Old Testament
Won't let her resentment
Control her when she smites you
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 9:05 PM UTC
the title is meant to be ironic
enough to draw the attention
of the easily offended and
dramatic internet users
who happen to cross this
poem.
it's ironic because 'Gay' & 'Bible'
usually come in contention;
words unfit to modify the other
a neon g-string preist is odd
but *it ain't necessarily
so*.
I explained this.
A sign of the times,
It's my crisis
I'll exist if I want to.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 9:12 PM UTC
Finally I have reached my goal
I have trapped my poor old soul.
Down we go, storming the hot gates,
Of smoldering hell.
Like a beasts jaws, clinching your throat.
Into a land where God himself , looks away.
We feel the heat
And yet we charge until our hide tears.
Just to watch kin die.
To **** the coveted
Heretics all, we rot in the ground.
While our soul lives in hell.
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 8:42 AM UTC
Low lifes ******* on a paper bag just to watch the colors blast away reality
I looked down on those poor hopeless ******** like a preist at the lost
The buzzing and shaking was better than the cold sharp truth of a sober life
I can't say I know what a sober life is because i'm drunk on hope
I stumbled through life waiting for better times to be handed to me
Now I face the edges of reality and sink in my chair as I drop my head
I find myself craving the warm color filled curves of any drug at all
And you humble paint huffer
I judged too hard
I couldn't see the truth with my face buried in my own paper bag
I found myself craving paint
But at least I found myself
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 6:26 AM UTC
the preist
that we meet
stand to
their feet
to greet
the Sunday
church goers
there to
seek the
spiritual guidance
from the men of
the cloth
where the preist
draws the line
between good and evil mines
in the confession box
in their holy sanctuary
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC
pin ****** of
holy light
spiral down
from the
dome of heaven
upon the
altar of
holy communion and
shoulder to shouder
preist pray
towards the holy light
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
aspen tress
that believes
wear their
white priest
robes
that
make us
blend
in the
snow
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 11:31 AM UTC
be ye priest of men
who hide their sins
behind their robes
still made of cloth or
be ye men of faith
yet be the silent moth
caught in their
wicked flames of
the world again but
still be ye priest of men
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 5:19 PM UTC