"reprehensible" poems
i see the words floating on
message boards or perched
upon the lips of jocular hypocrites
double-standards that demand
sensual chastity and virginal sexuality
in endless iterations of irony
the concussive
monosyllabic words
slung like stones
cast like arrows
****
*****
*****
all labels for
women possessed of
the courage to pursue
their own passion
once upon a time a
Nazarene insisted a ********** had
more integrity than a rich
statesman throwing self-serving parties
so tell me why so
many Christian politicians
propagate patriarchal notions of depravity
in blanket attempts to regulate
the bodies of women
if being anti-choice was really
about preventing abortions
why do rich right-wing conservative
Republicans spend all their time
and money picketing free clinics
when the solution lies in comprehensive
****** education universal healthcare
complimentary birth control
and comprehensive child support
don't dare use the reprehensible
rhetoric of pro-life unless you're
at once anti-war
and anti-death penalty
riddle me this
what pray tell is the
difference between a jealous
religious misogynist
and a secular sexist
it's rather simple actually
while the former bases his
slut-shaming on the edicts of
a two thousand year old letter to
the Corinthians inconspicuously
sandwiched between a celebration of
love and a section on speaking in tongues
the latter’s learned behavior is
birthed by a hyper-masculine culture
grounded in dominance
either way we await the day
when wild women raze
these ideologies
with torches before
rising like phoenixes
from the ashes of
decimated passages
dismissed by intellectuals
as archaic and outmoded
deaf blind and dumb to
the vestiges of modernity
that sap unscientific
philosophies of their potency
and render them utterly obsolete
in their wake
these proud women
erase the hate
from words like
****
*****
*****
and reclaim equality
with a far more
comprehensive term
feminist
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
Allah was his ears
As sounds unlawful, unethical it never heard.
Secrets, gossips and rumours were also barred.
It buzzed with words of Quran day and night
Always Open to sounds just and upright.
Allah was his eyes
As it looked parents, orphans and needy with love
Brimmed with tears thinking of Almighty above
It never despised his brother and from lust it was freed.
Gold and silver had no worth and had no signs of greed.
Allah was his hands
As it stopped things reprehensible with force
In Allah's cause spent abundantly his resource
It caressed the head of an orphan in affection.
Time and again meekly raised it in supplication.
Allah was his feet
As it never moved towards things which Allah hate
Avoided walking arrogantly with a strutting gait
It always ran to help downtrodden, oppressed.
For knowledge for light it was on constant quest.
He had mountains of obligatory good deeds
He had mountains of non-obligatory good deeds
His protector was Allah The Almighty
His enemy was enemy of Allah The Almighty
He was beloved of Allah
He was friend of Allah
He was Wali of Allah
He was Waliullah.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 5:33 PM UTC
Despicability is the foundation to their life
For them it is intrinsic
Genetically encoded
Simplistic
Poetically eroded
Reprehensible at best
**Unscrupulously callous
Secrets and facts, they conveniently
ingest
Distorted byproducts, they release to the
masses
To aid their campaign; a forked tongue
fest**
Pathetic and unapologetic
A beast armed to the teeth
Imported bypasses to increase the flow of police
A weakness and an act,
They so vehemently attest
**Harvesting greens off the branches of
the people
Pockets engorged with wads and folds
Crushing blue collars at the lower levels
As they sit atop their pyramids of gold**
Today they sip champagne
To celebrate their reign
Tonight we'll skip being humane
To feed them excruciating pain
**You've incited this coup with ill-thought
deterrents
Now herald the arrival of the scourge
Down with lopsided governments
Tonight... All we would topple! Tonight we purge!**
Justin G
ryn**
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC
It rhymed, it seemed sensible
Although maybe reprehensible
Because it didn’t quite make sense,
Questions with no answers
Intensifying with the questioning
But never mentioning any answers
Just mysteries but no attempts
To justify
What was being said,
The page being fed
with more words
read felt and heard before
But never quite sure what it was trying to say
It carried on anyway,
It rhymed because it seemed sensible
But it was questionable whether it
Had any meaning,
A room with no floor but walls and a ceiling
What?
Are you sure you’re not looking at it
Upside down?
Surely it’s more appealing
The other way round,
Less falling into nothingness
The ceiling as a floor would be best
Or spinning really fast so you can’t quite fall
Because it catches you,
Hopefully no nails from pictures
In the walls
Because it scratches you
Spinning round
In a room
With no windows watching you.
Butterscotch table for two…
What?
It doesn’t make sense,
But for recompense it rhymes
I said that already I know
But I need certain lines
In there because,
Well…
You know why.
Ladders wrapping like snakes around the branches of
Trees
That could be climbed unappeased
Were it not for nonsense
The cycle repeating over time
Not pleasing but feasible
reasoning untangible
But more manageable
Like conditioned hair
More easy to bare
The sense that the
Dense trees of time
As they climb entangled with ladders like snakes
Or vines
in their hair
Mangled
They don’t make much sense
They just rhyme.
That’s just life.
And that’s fine.
What?
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 9:03 AM UTC
I cancelled my bank overdraft
Cut my cards up in a small pile
Actually, it was quite large you know
And this act made me smile
Just deal with cash from here on out
Never buy more than I need
It released a weight off of my shoulders
And deep down I felt freed
fiscally conservative
financially responsible
My nation cannot do it
Without me as an example
No more fees for paying late
If I need it I pay cash
Budgets I will follow
And spending...that I'll slash
Can you imagine if a nation
Took this simple thought to mind
Just pay with what we make from tax
And leave what we can't afford behind
No missiles, and no foreign debt
We're just beholding to ourselves
It's politically reprehensible
But, we owe it to ourselves
fiscally conservative
financially responsible
My nation cannot do it
Without me as an example
No more fees for paying late
If I need it I pay cash
Budgets I will follow
And spending...that I'll slash
No government agendas
To trade for that we can't afford
It would ***** the nations bankers
And make the economists quite bored
To be responsible for our actions
We are taught right from the start
don't spend the money you don't have
Well, to me...that's really smart
fiscally conservative
financially responsible
My nation cannot do it
Without me as an example
No more fees for paying late
Spending I will slash
My budget I will follow
And from now on pay just cash
Sep 1, 2012
Sep 1, 2012 at 7:57 PM UTC
Once I looked to the Bard for words profound;
ageless, his wisdom ran unabated.
Yet Hamlet is now ideologically unsound,
“the slings and arrows” historically Iocated.
I wept for the creature of Frankenstein,
spurned by his master, forced to roam the Earth.
But I’d been subjectively positioned in a paradigm
by Mary’s anxiety about childbirth.
I read Balzac, Hardy and Henry James
describing “worlds” which seemed quite sensible.
Now Eagleton’s exposed their bourgeois games
I find them morally reprehensible.
I dreamt of being Robinson Crusoe
or proud, fierce Hawkeye in his buckskins dressed,
but Fenimore and Defoe have to go,
they’re culturally encoded and empirically obsessed.
Inspired by Guinness, did James Joyce sit down
to see what magic flowed when he was ******
The stream of Ulysses floats Bloom-about-town
dreamthinkingnever : “I’mamodernist”.
I’d gladly give Woolf a Room of Her Own
and be one of the boys with Hemingway,
but sensitive guys leave their bulls alone
say de Beauvoir and Luce Irigaray.
No more fun with Wordsworth being daffodilly,
no simple pleasure reading Mickey Mouse;
Steamboat Willie can’t help but look silly
dissected by Foucault and Levi-Strauss.
The Bible shows intertextuality
says the two Jacques, Lacan and Derrida.
Judas, a construct of bisexuality?
The **** fixations of Herod are?
It’s got so bad I deconstruct a holiday brochure.
I can’t even **** without Roland Barthes and Ferdinand de Saussure.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 12:06 AM UTC
These streets they
light into us like
waffle cone whipped suns
reeking permanent
reprehensible dawn of
afternoon trade -
carnivore carton carts
brimming blue rolling red
their way down the
coarse grain streets.
Their wheels brown wood
sandpaper rubbed
brown smoke
elbows smooth prattling
bells bellowing for
ice cream dark cookies
ice cream and cream
ice cream quite rocky,
we are
a road rising mellow and marsh
dreaming mallow yellow lazy
Sunday evenings.
Street lamps dinning bright white
cloth white ringing
church bells gold
smooth bells pure
sugar,
not cloying nor uneven
pouring down
levelled pavement catching
its taste but forgetting its
waffle cone
crumbling -
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 11:40 PM UTC
My reprehensible mind
Slipped you into my dreams last night
You were there for me
Cared for me
Said you were mine
I cannot say
I did not enjoy this dream
While it was happening
It's been a long time
Since I've even thought about you
But when I realized your words seemed true
My dream took a turn
Something morbidly new
I said the things I wanted to say
Instead of just saying sorry
And... "It's okay"
I cursed and I screamed
I put you down the way you always did me
I broke your fragile, pathetic heart
Tore your soul apart
I was so cruel,
Yet, I still never reached your level
With what you did to me
You'd have made friends with the devil
I was an angel in comparison
Enjoying my first little taste of sin
God, how I loved watching you crumble
And fall
Made me feel larger than life
To make you feel useless and small
All the times you pushed me down
Watched me laying,
Crying on the ground
I finally had my turn
How do you like me now?
This may make me seem
Like a terrible person
But... I Don't Care
My dream made me smile
You weren't there
You didn't see
All the terrible, painful things he did to me
When I woke up,
I was finally able to laugh at the past
Like I never was before
Truly Enlightening
A new beginning
I'm not in pain because of him anymore
And I never will be again
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 12:56 PM UTC
When in the pasture
They don't offend;
We avert disaster,
When they're penned.
But that crusted crap
Is everywhere;
If not aware,
We step right in.
We'll scrape the pooh
To no avail,
The smell's
Stuck to our shoes.
We can't quell
The **** we're in.
There's one steaming
On my walk,
Leading to my door.
Leave your keys
When you leave,
That patty leads
To court.
The Internet's beset
With bullish threats;
Hard to miss
The patties here;
Our lives and much
That we hold dear,
Is shared and smeared
For all to read,
Milking us of privacy;
An abattoir,
It's piracy.
It's utterly insane.
They entice us,
Then enlist us,
Like leading
Cash cows
Down the lane;
Then tap
For one drop more.
Friends may offer
Cow pies
With an aromaticfluence;
They pressure you to choose:
Step right or left,
Then smear you with
Their cocksure ********
What enemy
Could do less?
Shopped pixelled patties
Are reprehensible,
Making one
So susceptible:
You *****
Then starve,
Then lose your hair
Until one day
You disappear.
We get caught up
In the flash,
Of all the stars
And fast cash,
But they have patties
Underfoot,
They slip and slide,
Get clean,
Then smirk.
We can smell'em
On those jerks.
There's a patty
At your boyfriend's place;
You're deep in it
If you're late.
There's a patty
At your girlfriend's place,
And you're deep in it
If she's late.
Some patties
Are so well disguised
In the colours
Of lover's eyes.
Intoned in lover's lures.
But step in it,
They call you *****
Some patties
Are good
At getting you high,
But one mis-step,
And you may die.
There's hidden patties
Lying within,
Crusted beneath
Veneered skin:
They waft with doubt,
Fear and longing;
Side-step that mass
At all costs.
Don't crack the surface.
You're better than
You think.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
Broken for some time now,
As the abhor is no good to me,
Proved me a counterfeit personality how?
Feeling bilked, she said to me.
I wanted to regret to her,
But she won the argument with the same technique,
Asking questions, made me felt reprehensible,
But her expressions were so unique.
She left me in the dark holes of the universe,
When I needed her the most,
Kept waiting for her to absolute me,
But the time had already gone.
Took time to plaudit myself,
But ended up making things knotty,
She was my lovely talisman,
Who made me realise how hypocrite I'm.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 2:10 AM UTC
Lost in the club on the way to the bathroom
American dreamless, existed in a vacuum
Every day, another way for us to consume
Raids on the senses, a general consensus
of the senseless, reprehensible amendments
The armaments by the tenements, diffused
Confused, never used, lonely in the fugue
And you
You who assume, presume, eschew the ruin
of the brewing times, rising tides, the lies
and of ties that bind - us to the times
and to meaningless rhymes
By illuminated rooms when the eye blinks
Think, blink, the pink rink - closed
By the hours that be, powers that see
Subversive naturalism
in a state of debate, compensate the reckless
Feckless and dick-less, compost of the senses
The sexes have wrecked us, ****** of the spectrum
By your septum reset them, mind wiped
Iconic lights gone
The new light's on
Right on
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
ripping out my follicles, locks of reprehensible
dead skin cells all arranged in a melodramatic pattern
we vacuously decided to name ‘hair’
that is what poetry is
plucking apart your DNA
the sting you feel which quickly resides
into your subconscious
and in your palms sits a golden shimmer
a small part of your whole
But within that microscopic faction
lays a traumatic story
of where you have been
and why you ripped your hair out
in the first ******* place
and sometimes, when the day is too hot
and eggs are cooking on sidewalks
melted popsicle residue on your fingers
a small melodic voice behind your ear
will whisper
“tear it all out”
and sometimes we listen
I think once we begin to obey the commands
from a disembodied voice
we begin to self destruct
with all our precious curls writhing on the ground
but that’s what you need to sacrifice
if you want to write your god ****
heart out
your sanity for your poetry
your hair for relief from the heat
an eye for an eye,
if you will
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 2:55 AM UTC
I remember the exact moment we met,
You told me my blue eyes matched my dress
And with blood taking hostage of my cheeks,
I made fun of your German name.
Yes, I can remember
the first time I snuck home to our bed, guiltily
lifting the feather comforter we spent hours picking out
in Bed Bath and Beyond.
A blanket that now weighed as much as a semi truck
crushed around your sleeping body.
Lying beside you, no dreams came
to relieve me from my reprehensible thoughts.
But it became easier. So easy, that one night
I didn’t feel a thing when I slid under those weightless covers,
Kissing you goodnight, mumbling something
about ******** coming in late.
I remember the exact moment we met.
His black rimmed glasses and off balance smile
As he handed me a cup of jungle juice in a dim, packed house.
His compliments felt all wrong,
Like they should have been coming out of your mouth
But I drank them in
faster than the jungle juice in my ***** plastic cup.
Your face
the day you walked into our room,
that’s what I remember, and wish I could forget, most of all.
I’d coached myself for this moment a so many times
I guess I never thought it would actually come.
I don’t know what was worse, the lies
falling from my mouth, or you believing them
because you believed so much in me.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 1:56 PM UTC
trust in the shape of a key,
good god how corny is that?
satisfactorily nonsensical, a Pharisee phrase,
so offal illogical,
it borders on the poetically reprehensible
who has time to state this stuff,
pretend it is worthy of something respectful,
work it into a Nobel Prize awarded script,
nominated for "really bad ****
an ordinary hardware key, brass gleamy,
and the squealing grinding noise
heard while a blank progenitor is reimagined,
so so annoyingly ludicrous in this century
of plastic replicators but the noise,
comfortably familiar as a sound of
things being made
run thumb test over the cuts,
as if your thumb should know
what order the points and bevels,
the toothy gap spaces should be,
the correct disorderly order of the teeth
there are very few locks on a farm;
indeed the front door key
has not
been seen
in many a year
what's that you ask?
ok ok - I get it - in harvest time
it is early to bed and earlier to rise,
conclude this mystery key,
red winter wheat needs laying down,
stop your word seeds germinating
there may be few locks on a farm,
everything rusts so quickly anyway,
but stop to comprehend just how many locks
the human body employs -
at least 613,
maybe many more,
and only one master
for them all
a shiny gleamy thing,
strangely,
its cuts and grooves seem to
spell a word
trust
go figure
1:05am in the city
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 1:18 AM UTC
Untitled for none is deserved.
http://www.nytimes.com/2013/01/02/world/asia/pakistani-militants-gun-down-7-aid-workers.html?hp
Bended knees self-sanctify bloodied ground,
sneering, silent thunder slaps my face,
Those Who Dare Call Themselves Gods,
chuckling at all they have wrought,
murderous, heinous, hateful.
Who is the reprehensible abomination,
us or them,
and their devoted servants
who **** "freely" in their name?
Ennobling man with faculty infinite,
then tempting/torturing, obstacling him
from its fullest usage, lest we recognize,
the imperfection of their sloppy design.
If free will is a gift,
I freely regift it back to them.
Some venerate Mother,
after killing their wives and daughters and
mothers,
laughing about it in
the whorehouses of their souls
What a piece of work are these Gods!
If man is the quintessence of the Gods,
their last, best creation before resting,
are they themselves not corrupted?
So called Gods,
pillory the New York City morn dawn,
a pallor hard-grey nothingness.
a bitter kiss, from things only they control,
a greeting card from on high,
happy new year wishes from
Newtown, Delhi, Peshawar,
and Jerusalem.
At last, I comprehend,
why we minioned millions
celebrate this day with drunken reverie.
---
Jan. 1, 2013
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
Dear Diary,
Why does life seem to wrap you up in a cup of madness
then tip you out and watch you spill
the contents of yourself
onto a cold and muted tile floor?
Why, dear Diary,
does everyone expect you
to react perfectly in every situation
and robotically fix and tweak and mutate?
Diary,
I am not a machine.
I can't bend this way and that
at the same time
without breaking.
I can't smile a smile
that I don't believe.
I can't,
and I won't.
Diary,
You have so forlornly sit in the back of my mind
gathering dust and termites and grime
I can hardly speak to you at all
for my problems you cannot solve.
Just a lended ear do you offer
A lonely penance for my coffer
To spare a word a thought, some grace
to be able to pick up my forlorn face.
I look into the ***** night
so hateful and full of spite
Reprehensible rejection cease
as it knocks me to my knees.
Dear Diary,
I do plead,
Save my soul
or else I'll bleed.
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 7:38 PM UTC
I accost daylight, reviling in the promiscuity of the waken world
Come, be absent with me, enjoy the splendor of the famine
The only pleasure we’ll allow ourselves is that of a despondent heart
As we weaken the bonds that chain us, we’ll destroy ourselves
How can I rationalize my desires, their innocence shames me
To be reprehensible, oh such a glorious way to be
We ran through the streets encased in neon luminance
You, with your hope and rebellion
Me, in awe of you
This truancy, this desolate homage to backroads and swindled affairs
It leaves a longing to wear her fur coat, my makeup soiled beautifully
Those nights of dreams, and dreams, and dreams, resurrect disenchanted
As I lay aching, biting the the cold steel for the knowledge of ones price
The nullity welcomes a confusion, searching for a fragment of familiarity
Wanting and wishing back the stale taste of the endless mornings
I’ll bring with me the calm, the reassurance of futile worth
The length is calculated, the smirking clock relishing in his dismal pace
We trade the dampened moss as the stars scoff at our ignorance
They whisper, piercing the darkness with their reminder
three moons, alas three moons
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 5:46 PM UTC
the management
at Hello Poetry
need to be mindful
of grand larceny
those who involve themselves
with this impropriety
would be scooted off
other writing sites
very promptly
theft is theft
and stealing
is a federal crime
they the perpetrators
bear a shingle
of low down slime
taking other's
copyrighted pieces
always their appalling
paradigm
yet these persons
aren't bought to book
they have a free rein
in employing the purloining hook
plagiarists so bereft
of a writing capacity
nicking your works and mine
with reprehensible audacity
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 9:05 PM UTC
I’ll believe anything as long as it’s a lie
if I see a flash of falsehood
if you stumble over words that are freshly made up
if you wring your hands, play with your cuffs
impossibly arch those deep woven brows
I’ll be ****** in
compliant
desperately gullible
I’ll skulk around after you
forgive reprehensible actions
and just say “awww”
I’ll treat you like a god,
even better,
I need that **********
control from a higher being
I’ll worship you
make sacrifice
virginity, purity
body and soul
and then suddenly I’m at your door with a dead cat
and you’re wondering if it’s worth it.
Dec 18, 2010
Dec 18, 2010 at 2:37 AM UTC
It seems the greatest love of my life is indecision and strife
Cloaked in illusion and aspiring through dismay
Going through the motions feeling like I'm treading in the deepest oceans
With no chance for a rest
But if you ask me I'll insist that I am committed to resist
The mediocrity and lies shoved down my throat
I know there is a boat out there to save me from despair
No longer in this ocean of reprehensible emotions
I am now free to exist
One look into your eyes has caught me by surprise
Got me feeling this eternal bliss
I will forever remember the day the clouds began to stray
And the sun shone through, leading me to you
I am forever grateful,
Sequoia
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 6:21 AM UTC
Lori Armstrong
August 1998
Standing tall and silent, like the Sentinel guards of the Forest,
They appear to be listening to Words of Wisdom from an
Unseen, wise, and wonderful Mentor.
They respond in a shy, childlike, gleeful laughter,
Which is Felt, more than heard, by the passerby.
Happy with the whispered answer,
They slowly start to move in a Graceful rhythm,
A sweet and enchanting Dance.
Their outstretched arms surround each other,
Presenting the massive creation of a joy-filled group hug,
A bond of Camaraderie is their own as they sway back and forth in Unison.
Like children playing the game, “I’ve got a secret”,
They seem to simultaneously hide the Mysteries throughout history,
Yet, unwittingly revealing every Moment in Time
They have ever witnessed just by their Presence.
If they could speak, what would they Speak of?
Would we Understand?
Would we Listen?
If they could cry, how deep would their Tears flow?
Do they cry and we are just not ready to Hear?
Would we wipe their tears? … Or cry with them?
Could we truly feel their Sadness? …Their joy?
Could we share in their Trials and their Triumphs?
Do we dare try, for could we endure what they have Endured?
Would we sing along to their Songs of Yore?
Would we understand the Passion in their Words?
Could we carry the Harmony, …
Feeling the Peaks and Valleys of the expressions in their Music?
Their wisdom in age is Unfathomable.
Their vulnerability to man is Reprehensible.
Yet, unfortunately, Comprehensible.
Their story is one of Peace, Love, War, and Chaos, …
But still so Silent to so many.
Their grandeur is taken for Granted, …
And yes, even Exploited.
Their majestic silence is Comforting, appreciated Individually for their gift,
Solitary in the meaning to the receiver.
Breathtaking is their Beauty.
Admirable is their Resiliency.
Gloriously enthralling is their History.
The Creator’s History.
The History of a Gift.
Jan 27, 2011
Jan 27, 2011 at 11:21 PM UTC
Without really thinking
My swinging tears in a sun-drenched sky
Beneath my awkward grace
There is a fire burning
Without really thinking
As red rose petals fall down
Your kiss emancipates me
Carving the envy of thrilling betrayals
Without really thinking
I ask you darling
Is it the soft man in the corner?
Who maybe the first one
With Reprehensible sins
Without really thinking
The moments of humble opulence
The Threads shaping our story
Slender silhouettes of my love for you
Without really thinking
I will always love you
Oct 15, 2010
Oct 15, 2010 at 6:03 PM UTC
Well, let me begin my announcing to the HP community that I just pulled my ex-best friend's child's mother's hair out of my mouth without realizing how it got there since I haven't seen her since Saturday. Yeah, good luck pondering that breech of physics. Also, I realized that I've been breaking the magic rules of drinking at work as laid down by Cracked.com with impunity since before that majestic article was written, which kind of makes me feel like a badass and also like a terrible alcoholic whom the gods will eventually strike down. Or perhaps, everybody at work with me is also drunk and/or high all the time, a suspicion I've had for about a year now, but have not been able to prove, despite careful observation. Sure, the typically WOW playing awkward dude gets a box of not one, not two, but three bottles of beautifully crafted wine delivered DIRECTLY TO THE OFFICE every month notwithstanding. And does our supervisor say anything even remarkably reprehensible....no, not while she's on the clock. But she did steal my Don Corleone hat, and by thunder she still owes me for that thing, since I'll bet all the money I made this year that she got some fantastic head because of that hat. There are minor arguments in the breakroom over how ****** the coffee actually is, whether it's police station or AA meeting detestable, and on slow days people are chucking gigantic medicine ***** across the room while laughing at the destruction they cause. Then, Monday through Friday, woe unto you if you call the 24/7 line between 10 and 12 at night, since you will be picked up by me, the 3-midnight guy. If you're an idiot, or loud, or from New Jersey, or can't seem to be able to wipe that bleached ******* of yours without assistance, DO NOT CALL. I will be drunk, and while drunk I will take whatever ****** excuse you have for being a worthless and pointless human being and very tenderly, very politely, shove it up your *** on the end of a very thick nine iron. This is real life, and this....this is where I work.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 1:24 AM UTC
Are we to blame for what we do?
Can we help what we do? Can we?
Maybe, maybe not, we would suffer,
Oh yes, you think you miss me now?
You never know love, not really,
Until it is removed, forbidden,
Taken away far beyond reach,
Only then do you see, finally see,
Once you have lost that which you had,
Or even imagine you have lost it,
Only then do you understand,
How much you cared, cherished,
Adored, depended upon, needed,
That illicit love, that yearned for love,
The kind of love that is so rare,
It comes only once in a lifetime,
If one is lucky, very lucky,
So, even though, we do what we do,
Have changed who we are, irrevocably,
I doubt we will ever stop, not ever,
And there is no blame to apportion,
No disgust, no reprehensible behaviour,
There is just us, us, and how we feel,
Are we to blame for what we do?
©Paul M Chafer 2016
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 1:24 PM UTC
Nature has deemed fit to bless the female form with monthly...troubles
Once taboo to speak of
Many grew up ignorant of their own blood
Only that it's purpose signified
Their readiness to be sacrificed
Lower than cattle, owned, bartered
A son meant continuation of line, of name
A woman was an acquisition
Nothing more
Many a young maid, trembling on her wedding night
Forced to open her heart, her ****** body
To a man, hopefully gentle
That she had only just met
Let alone speak to
A groom preferred his bride
Meek and mild
Untouched by even her own hands
To know pleasure was to be a wanton
Nothing pure could be so passionate
When our very nature dictates us to be so!
Society views our struggle as
"Having come a long way."
How reprehensible to say such a thing
When we are still victimized
Underpaid
Objectified
Abused
The media flaunts only those
That are deemed "beautiful" by a panel of judges
When in fact all of us radiate
For we are governed by the moon
*Our very *** harnessed by her silvery pull*
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 10:29 AM UTC