"sass" poems
I like the way you laugh
I like the way you tell corny jokes
The way you sass people
The way you look as you sleep in class
Your cute voice
Your small build
The way you amaze me with your "wise" words
When I see you down
It makes me form a frown
When I hear your abrupt laughter
I smile after
I don't know about you
But all I know is
That I like you
A LOT ♡♡♡
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 2:30 PM UTC
She’s what you call bootylicious
body just luscious
yeah, she’s got junk
in her trunk
bumps in all the right places
beautifully curvaceous
oozes confidence
no pretence
so much more than a piece of ***
lovely, funny and full of sass
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 4:27 AM UTC
You're so nasty!
You can't have what you want, don't sass me!
Why harass me when you pass me?!
This is all just a part of your little plan if you ask me!
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 4:17 AM UTC
Girls will be girls
they’ll sing and dance
so boys can’t help but grab
girls right in their underpants
Girls will be girls
they’ll flirt and sass
but they never ****
‘cause they aren’t crass
Girls will be girls
they’ll study hard
to ****** the boys
who’ll mow the yard
Girls will be girls
they’ll say no and stop
but we won’t believe them:
the boys are cops!
Girls will be girls
they’ll cook and clean
and raise the kids
but must stay lean
Girls will be girls
they’ll work all day
and take home just part
of what boys are paid
Girls will be girls
they’ll talk and chat
but then get hysterical
when boys call them fat
Girls will be girls
they’ll wear nice dresses
and never soil them
wiping up boys’ messes
Girls will be girls
they’ll run and vote
while boys drink beer
and win and gloat
Girls will be girls
and we know what that means:
they must always smile
and never scream
Girls will be girls
so let’s hope and pray
that girls are girls enough to save
this ****** up world
we boys have made.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 7:05 PM UTC
tiny elves in my backyard on my stoop -
“PLEASE SIR, MAY WE HAVE SOME SOUP?”
running out from between blades of grass,
they shouted in unison with a burly crass:
“YOU MUST UNDERSTAND, IT'S A TUESDAY NIGHT,”
“AND TUESDAYS ARE SPECIAL IN ELVEN LIFE!”
“sorry sir, soup is not for elves; mommy said!”
“DON'T LISTEN TO THAT OLD BAT,
IT'S LATE AND SHE'S IN BED…
...WE COME TO YOU IN NEED OF NOURISHMENT!”
“but, I’m just a kid and mommy discourages it!”
i said in my biggest voice, for the 900th time
as they threw up their arms, like I’d committed a crime!
running around in a mass,
they ran back, with such sass,
through the leaves in a big hurry -
on a hunt for soup they scurried...
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 6:28 PM UTC
is it cute if i twirl my hair on my fingers
and talk at you with a sass in my lip
and tell you i think you're intimidating when you're the boss?
tell me how it's cute how i puff my cigarettes
and kick my feet in the rocks
and maybe
when you get tired of telling me
you can show me how cute i am
and how cute you can be
with eyes closed
and bums spanked
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 1:20 AM UTC
She is the sunflower in the field of grass,
She stands tall, full of all that sass.
She is the sunflower bright and tall,
She is a firm sunflower that won't fall.
She is the sunflower that will change the world,
She will scream and shout and she will be heard.
She is just a sunflower in a field of grass,
But she will take a stand and won't break like glass.
Sep 2, 2020
Sep 2, 2020 at 8:40 PM UTC
This poem is green
Would you buy this poem?
This poem is do-it-yourself
backyard garden green.
This poem is save the world
give peas a chance green;
this poem is azure sky
squeezing the golden sun
all over the world green.
Could you buy this poem?
This poem is apples and oranges
farmer’s artist market green.
This poem has
leaves as pillows
and blankets as grass;
this poem is a lil’ patch of green
earth purchase me plot;
this poem is
100%
recyclable
disposable,
sustainable
(after all it has gotten this far)
You should buy this poem.
This poem is green,
its’ tyro-technics
shooting out of asphalt cracks.
This poem is a snot-nosed brat
full of SASS
(short attention span sentences)
This poem is the hope of audacity.
This poem is fumbling with bra straps
and tongue-tied techniques,
this poem isn’t old enough
to know any better, it’s wet
behind the ears green
petting zoo pellets green
willing to SCREAM green
but not part of
a gang green
this poem is all alone
with its words
Buy this poem?
This poem is green
Its envious of
solar panel studios with eyes on the price
of a venti economy
This poem is the green-eyed monster
of product placement pick-o-the profit
This poem WANTS to make
consumer obedience the easy culprit.
But really…
This poem just wishes it could sing
Won’t you buy this poem?
This poem is green.
This poem has no half-life,
shelf life or
night life.
This poem exists solely in this moment
of your imagination.
This poem has milk carton desperation.
This poem is begging for change.
This poem was stolen from all of you.
This poem is not for sale.
Buy This Poem!
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 11:09 PM UTC
as the shimmering stars
in the scorpio skies
samba in syzygy,
here on scorched earth
the sparkling eyes of this silk rose
become stress’s antidote to soothe body and soul.
feeling sanguine,
even a tad sangfroid,
i smile,
scribbling sultry muses
sauced with sass and sibilance
© 2021
Nov 20, 2021
Nov 20, 2021 at 9:23 AM UTC
Cocky?
I beg to differ
There is someone out there
that is much better than me
So I don't believe, for one second
that i'm...
Conceded.
A word applied
To the beautiful people without
beautiful minds, embraced
by the ones less intellectually fecund
than they are...
Brazen.
Polished? I am.
Your feelings? Your worries?
******* I disregard not with brashness
But with angelic cause as my own problems
are significantly more...
Tectonic.
Shifting focus from
your meager existence
as my shear presence fills this page
Outraged? You created these proems
when daily topics I...
Eclipsed.
Full moon rising.
The lighthouse to your sinking vessel
I am not the best, but I am the best of
the better of you and your kind, lower-class
no offense, I speak...
Truth.
And the pain it brings
I don't worry about such things
I don't discount, but I do surpass
Their muggle mind with poise and sass
Dare I say I'm not cocky, just...
Confidently better than you.
Mar 24, 2011
Mar 24, 2011 at 12:29 PM UTC
I let my guard down
you kept yours up
slipping my questions
like Ali bob-n'-weaves through a flurry'
untouchable
Beautiful like a butterfly, but still stings like a bee
shes got a degree in kicking ***
and enough sass to harass me
painfully, playfully.
Shes a sweet pea,
who listens to indie
drinks peppermint greet tea
a spirit so free
its something to merit
you would never believe it
In the cage, shes a killer
shes no wannabe petite bourgeoisie
shell be on a killing spree
crush you like a flea, under her knee
that's a guarantee.
Shes the queen bee
ink to show it
i'm not a poet
'but a potent moment of expression
that's my confession
and so I question;
motionless, face buried in the canvas,
why did I let my guard down.
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 12:41 PM UTC
You’re much more rotten than you will ever claim,
you let bitterness lace every word you say;
and if the day is bright, you can force it to rain.
Bringing a storm with you, that’ll never change.
You want someone to cry, it’ll make you laugh,
you bask in their misery and welcome their sass;
you enjoy poking and provoking their wrath,
cause what they call a fight, to you is a dance.
It never makes a difference what song is played,
what do you care if they're unaware of your game;
since you enjoy making them all move the same,
you’re only happy when you can dance all day.
Jul 21, 2017
Jul 21, 2017 at 9:32 PM UTC
She's a champagne princess
She's a little 4:20 hunny
A splash of class and sass
All mixed up in a whiskey glass
She has a heart of gold
A life that's young &
A soul that's old.
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 9:59 AM UTC
[Fanfare, obviously]
This poem should begin with the call of a bugle,
as is fitting for an ode of Braveheart Macdougal.
Children of Parklands, take heed and be wary,
as I relate now, in verse, a tale cautionary.
Benigna Murdie was a most virtuous lass,
blesséd with promise and a penchant for sass.
To peer pressure she was admirably immune,
and ne'er did she bow to the temptation of goon.
Nary a drop of ***** has e'er passed her lips,
save for politeness and church-mandated sips.
Yet even the mightiest fall-- what a pity!
(harder than I did that night in the city).
So I hope you all glean a moral from this,
and your interpretation does not go too amiss.
But all is self-evident, to quote Descartes,
so allow me to recount this tale from the start.
She hails from a country renown for their piety,
for their pacifist ways and universal sobriety.
The Scottish are known throughout the land
for their temperance of character and lightness of hand.
And our poor Bennigles was no rule-exception,
she subscribed quite wholly to this perception.
A more reserved and reclusive girl you've not seen,
virtually a saint at only nineteen.
Passed out on the couch, liquor was never the root,
only strain from the studying and academic pursuit.
A paradigm of virtue, a pillar of purity,
no “that's-what-she-said's” to compromise maturity.
But that all changed one day touched by fate,
when Rachel realized that hedonism's great.
She took to the streets to revel in her glee,
and legit nothing bad happened cause this isn't tv.
Alas, now I'm drunk and the screen is a-shaking,
perhaps of wine I should halt my partaking.
I cannot continue with this facetious ode,
as we all well know that this is a total load.
But I'll miss you, my Brit, and our shitshow nights,
our Australian exploits and your culinary delights.
Sorry I couldn't finish to detail your demise,
but perhaps I'll conclude after an Australia-reprise.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 6:20 AM UTC
Filling in the blanks.
Throw away worn out pages from the journal of my past.
Forgetting names, relationships that didn't last.
No class, sensible sass on the *** of my jeans.
Playing with words when I want to be mean.
Don't want to be needy.
Forgotten peace treaty with the demons eating my psyche.
I'm ugly, you're boring, we're all like vampires feeding on each other.
Undeniable hate, but I still always say "We should love one another."
Denial undercover, smother the problems I'm not yet equipped to recover from with a sly wit.
Another temporary fix to cover up the shiit that somehow replaced the mud and the blood in my veins.
I'm lonely and strange and beginning to prefer it this way.
Not well behaved, I don't feel like pretending to be today.
That's okay, I'll try again tomorrow.
Indian giver, time's always borrowed.
Mostly hollow but I'm trying harder every day to gain the patience it takes to fill in the blanks.
Aug 22, 2020
Aug 22, 2020 at 10:47 PM UTC
an octagon tent
wide enough that chucking rollies
to the sand made impossible
sprawled layers
you turned to quote Dali
told me how pale blue washed with lucy
shimmered skyline into dimension
acryllic-smeared sass drips canvas
into murmurs circling dilation
dimethyltryptamine stains
painting dreams on my eyelids
with flowerbrushes and silk,
mushroom dust gathers in discarded hues
on your pallet, where the colors of your irises
dry into a nebula of night-blooming jasmine
the scent of how you move when you sleep
and sleeping is never so sweet
as dancing through lucidity
with you as my sheets.
and i've traced your thumbprint so often
i'm sure if it were stretched around a marble
like buffalo skin on spirit-caller drums,
a globe would be seen
in which Greenland is finally proportionate--
the map on my wall always bothers you,
but I do too, and everyone does,
urging me under the geography
etched into the sea of your surface
by the crucible of your purpose
and working me into
empty behind your right
below the 22
between i'ching
and the forty two names of god
clasping your fore in silver
copper wound around my finger
hamstrings woven like wire
kambaba jasper, two to share
you hang Tibetan tektites
to elevate space
meteorite fragments
lodged in your helix,
stardust blood,
mandala sand from your mother,
and our tendons wrappe
by dexterous carpals
make such a pretty pendant
of my heart,
for synesthesia mistakes not
and my addiction to the pen has eased
for you breathe murals
and syllables never could
match brushtrokes of carbon dioxide.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
As a footnote, I’ve always held a certain regard for those plentiful fruits. Raspberries. Small and juicy and sweet. Quick and easy.
Now, it’s apples on the other hand I heavily despise.
To eat an apple is to make a commitment. Society generally frowns upon those who eat half an apple, just to toss out the rest. And most people are not exactly bargaining for your leftovers once they’re brown and teeth marked. Apple eating is a long and rigorous ordeal. Halfway through, the raw parts begin to stain or dry and when you’re finally finished, you’ve still got to deal with that core and the skin that’s stuck in your teeth. Herein, apples and commitments become synonymous. Convenience, the antonym.
Raspberries, however, are miniature, and zesty, and only last for a matter of seconds.
Not unlike ideal high school relationships.
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 9:07 PM UTC
i love Satins *****
she means a lot to a bard
i hope shes a switch
but life can be hard
a satanist has class
and has a lot a will
and i love your sweet ***
and i work in Satan's mill
I know about archetypes
there my best friends
ive seen all there lights
and ive lived in their dens
thank god for the devil
hes been a hella good friend
i love you to hurt me
on that you may depend
a blade up my ***
ill shimmy and shake
and give you no sass
hope you want what you take
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC
Dear magazine and tv fashion
hast thou ever heard of natural passion
you Photoshop you cut and crop
you edit this and that ... Please stop
the real beauties are those that know
you don't have to be a size zero
Sixteen eighteen or all above
can still find joy can still know love
nipped and tucked Kozmo get ******
only chicken skin gets plucked
wax n shave and now vajazzil it
Draba for gods sake don't talk ****
lift em up and shrink that bottom
yet there's something that you've forgotten
men prefer a sense of humour
to all this artificial hoo haw
so girls for reason and for sanity
tear up this propaganda vanity
be yourselves and break the habit
be a bunny girl not a freakin rabbit
ditch the salad bin the chart
Declare today a brand new start
ugly is as ugly does as spoken by the media buzz
today take back your sass and bounce
cause your all woman each gorgeous ounce
men admit it for gods sake
there's nothing **** bout a rake
women should live for more than style
so come on sweetheart chin up... and smile
now let your heart and soul start humming
and as for boys.....
Keep em' comming
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 10:01 AM UTC
How to hide your blackness it the hardest test of them all so now take your pen of "oh no she didn't" And replace it with a blank white paper, not a smudge to see
Don't clap your hands or they will the shackled don't throw your drink cause this is last if you cry well that's your *** show a little class and get rid of all that sass
We will be fine don't "Drank Some good" you will drink wine but not a lot be a lady
And tell your men that they won't be shot if they off that slang and be a grown man if put it in you have to take care of it and you will be a Byron your name will be Bill
This is called cultural appropriation and it will be taken over my nation my name in on the line and your neck will be in a nouse.
You will hang like an ornament on a tree and you work for me I'll whip your back till it bleeds. And you will be begging on your knees but there's no need to plead.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 8:31 AM UTC
"Hello there," said I to the stranger beside,
"I'm Cari, and this is my boyfriend."
The stranger looked past, with some side-eye and sass,
And said, "You must be overjoyed, then."
I tilted my head to the side then and said,
"I am, we've decided to marry!"
The stranger just frowned and then said, his voice down,
"I was being sarcastic, he's scary."
I frowned then, in turn, and my boyfriend, face stern,
Said, "C'mon, babe," in dirtied apparel.
With his crossbow in hand he led me through the land,
Snuffing zombies and bandits-- oh, Daryl.
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
The thing is:
You **** me off.
I am literally so done with your sass.
Your stares that cut through me.
The annoying way you ignore me to get me to "chase after" you.
What the hell do you think you're doing?
Im not a toy, **** it.
Either love me or don't.
Fact of the matter is, I will ALWAYS love you.
I have tried not to. I can't win.
So either leave me alone,
Or hold me while I cry.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
so much mystery surrounding me
so much inner journey I am bound to be
taking on in the future, so insecure about my future
but truck along fiending for gas, I take it day by day with a little sass
still don’t drink coffee and you can hold the flask
so trying to outrun the trauma from my Dad
it's a tough pill to swallow and that’s usually no issue for me
thank god I traded all that for **** I always was attracted to green
aquamarine baby, no march aries
pisces like the koi fish coasting on the crystal blue water
evolving, healing stuck in the past no longer
moment by moment, touch by touch, hands entwined
friendship showed me love
Mar 20, 2022
Mar 20, 2022 at 10:40 AM UTC
I bought you a crown,
nothing special, it's cardboard,
decorated with construction paper and smeary markers;
it looks like an elementary art project, but you look like a King with it placed crookedly upon your head.
You told them to step aside,
the corners of your lips curled up,
slightly gaped teeth shone beneath your top lip,
you say "the Queen is coming through," and our hands brush as I walk by.
You are powerful, strong, confident —
the King of Sass,
the King of Humor,
the King of Charm,
the King of my heart.
I am frail, self-conscious, jealous —
the Queen of Uncertainty,
the Queen of Rosy Cheeks,
the Queen of Midnight Tears,
the Queen of Imagination...
After all, you only see me as a commoner.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 6:59 PM UTC
He caught me by surprise
I never expected to blush
when an abrasive, goth dude
said my *** was cute
His clothes are all black,
as black as his hair,
and his heels are as high
as the moon in the sky
He is a criminal
and I am terrified
but more so of how hot
he looks when he talks
He has a beautiful face
so perfect in all proportions
and I am sure that I may
be turning very gay
He looks hot as a woman too
and my cheeks flush when he
dances with that sass
I have a ***** thanks to his ***
He is so funny
not in the usual way
but it's funny how things got
when I feel in love with the guy from the donut shop.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 12:37 PM UTC