"sexier" poems
I wish I was badass
people took me seriously
I wore contacts, not glasses
I actually had that piercing
my tattoos were cooler
my scars were sexier
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 6:02 PM UTC
I get the word Rejection tossed, as if it scares me!
As if i've never been rejected, as if rejection is new like the new world Christopher discovered… huh oh wait.
As if I’ve never felt it, Seen it, Been a part of it.
Rejection is fear…
Rejection isn't fear if you don't allow it. Rejection can be try again.
Rejection can be that girl or that boy, how about rejection can be that person because it sees no face sees no color
It sees… it sees and it doesn't care
Rejection is all around.
Rejection by others is not as bad as my own rejection.
My own rejection to try, to sing, to dance, to be happy
you see my friend
your rejection is nothing, but motivation
You might whisper it behind my back, but I need you to understand I use to scream it to my face!
You can't!
Don't try!
I hate you!
I want you to die!
You’re so ******* pathetic!
Stop!
Stop!
Stop…
Rejection now to me, means try harder.
Unless you have been told by someone no, then it means chill the **** down and no
Because there is nothing sexier than consent.
Because love is blind…
Now before i get off topic
let me bring it back
But not back to Vegas
But back to me
Because I've been tossed and I've been pushed
And I have pushed and I have shoved
And you see i'm alive
And have survived
So don't use the word rejection and try to bring me fear… because this aint no fear factor
Life just has a funny way of telling you to get back up
So get back up
Now before you try and bring me down bring me down from the one step I took, but only one because you see I am scared…
But not of rejection, but of heights..
3/10/14
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 1:35 AM UTC
dear girl,
i would like to apologize on behalf
of those that will never.
the world lied to you
since you were old enough
to balance a book
to listen, retain,
consume without question
i would like to apologize on behalf
of those that informed you
your value is calculated
by the sum of your parts
that you are worth the contrast of fat deposits
over the angles of fragile bones
i would like to apologize on behalf
of those pining characters they wrote you,
every soul with a haunting disposition
who was given the noble ambition
to invoke longing within those
that remain on the outside
of the glass
because the songs that were sung on the radio
cast you as the the inspiration
but when they painted you lips for love
they denied you the language of narration
and you lived your life thinking
you could invoke magic
if you were only willing
to wait your entire life
for someone else to conjure it
i am sorry
that we filled your head
with empty adjectives
to whisper in your ear
that you were nothing
unless validated by the eyes of strangers
seeing you as nothing more
than a commodity
for which to window shop
and consume
and when they abandoned their casual browsing
their wants transcended your right
to exist
and it was you
they chose to invade
to tear open
because after all,
you were man made
a nail scratching a rib
a void to fill up
with whatever poison they thought you’d look sexier
choking on
dear girl,
i would like to apologize on behalf
of the fact that you remain unnamed,
an improper noun
a caricature,
a statistic,
a silhouette on the back window
mouth a perfect oh
that will never know words
i am sorry that the second
you entered the world with two X’s
they would reduce you
to an exquisite tragedy,
place them over your eyes
and declare that the death of a beautiful woman
is the most poetic thing in the world
i would like to apologize
because this world was never
quite big enough to hold you
and we knew
and we saw
and we opened our mouths,
took a breath,
and we closed them
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 3:28 AM UTC
There's a funny sort of emptiness
that passes over me
as I walk past the paperback erotica that tuck themselves away
in the shelves of the local grocery store in places that are
simultaneously completely out in the open yet completely ignored
looking, as I do, with mock casual interest
and unfeigned disdain.
Who are these intended for, really?
Are they for the snuggly-wuggly, ***** cozy-woozy, wishy-washy and warm family of four
comparing chicken nugget prices and
weighing the health benefits of
vegetable medley versus succotash?
Or are they for the uni flatmates
walking huddled together for warmth or protection or both,
seeing as they're wearing only sandals and denim shorts
and this is the first time
they've been grocery shopping without mum,
that giggle loudly together to mask how homesick they really are
while they compare the calories in
Campbell's versus Progresso.
They went with Progresso if you were wondering.
Or are they meant for those who are cooking for one?
For those who have no need to compare prices
or calories
out loud.
For those who are well acquainted
with the old, familiar tiled aisles
as they have no one to take out to dinner.
Is this where they are to find company?
Betwixt the pages of a badly penned,
lighter than marshmallows,
more shallow than the kiddie pool,
more transparent than Casper,
not-good-enough-to-be-bloody-compost
"literary" garbage?
Is this -assumed- female
supposed to curl up with one of these slabs of drivel
and feel **** and aroused
in her baggy sweats and ill-fitting hoodie
after she ate a microwaveable chicken *** pie all by her lonesome?
As a single girl who often cooks for one,
I am offended by this.
Personally,
I think Lestat is ten times sexier than Edward,
Salai is way cuter than Fabio,
and Christian Grey couldn't S Mr. Rochester's D.
What I'm saying is-
Grocery Stores.
YOU are the primary reason for this pathetic f-ckery.
Everything else in the store can be compared for quality.
So why not apply that same knowledge
to the book arena.
Signed,
A Concerned Shopper
p.s. Please extend the validity date on the chicken *** pie coupon. Thank you!
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC
I feel
mesmerized
by those
blonde whiskers on your chin.
They make you look older,
sexier.
I wonder if
you're just too lazy to shave
or haven't gotten chance to get around to it.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 10:09 AM UTC
I always swore
I'd never sell my soul
But then he told me
How hot I'd look
In sexier clothing
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 9:37 PM UTC
THE TROUBLE WITH TIGHTS
The trouble with tights, they dangle.
They’re very annoying at times.
When around your ankles they slip.
Snag them on the garden gate.
When on the way to work, they rip.
Just as you’re in a mega dash.
They really are such irksome things.
Tights are laddered, cash all gone.
Still need to carry on.
Of course, they have their other uses.
Will fix a broken fan-belt well.
Maybe a robber of the money institution, will find them a lovely disguise.
The only bank robber ever caught.
In possession of a pair of long nylon ears.
Stockings are much sexier.
Lovely soft and silky.
For whenever you are feeling *****
Who ever heard of wearing tights, beneath their wedding dress?
Wear them for a date.
When pretty woman goes out hunting.
Just to find her perfect mate.
Surely, stockings must merit the order of the garter
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 2:17 AM UTC
Beauty.
The standard goal.
Society kills me.
They tell you to “be yourself, you’re beautiful”
Judge you for it,
Then encourage you to do it again.
Who are they to decide?
In fact, who decided the status quo,
What determines true beauty?
They say everyone’s beautiful in their own way,
But that’s just the appetizer.
The main course is the “fact” that everyone’s different,.
And in order to achieve the standard level of “perfect”,
“Buy this item! It’ll make you more perfect, I swear!”
“Wear these clothes, it’ll complement the parts of your body we’ve defined as
‘Attractive’!”
“Do these workouts, it’ll give you a flatter stomach, tighter abs, a sexier beach body!”
The fact that they took our weak spot,
Perfection
And dangled the idea,
The possibility in front of us
To sell their products
To keep us coming back, to make money
Because, let’s be real, money’s everything.
They convince us that we can achieve something that doesn't exist,
But we want it to,
We hope for it,
Because….what?
Looks are everything?
No.
In 80 years, we’ll all look old and weird, so what’s the point?
Look good everyday,
Hope someone finds you attractive,
Potentially fall in “love” with somebody who only desires your looks?
If that’s your goal, *** you've got your priorities mixed up
Life’s not gonna care whether you’re
Attractive,
Ugly,
Skinny,
Thick,
Short,
Tall,
Smart,
Stupid,
Or the greatest person alive.
It’s gonna knock you down no matter what,
And in 120 years, we’ll all be dead anyway.
Why waste your time hoping to accomplish a false reality,
So you can live your years in luxury,
Rather than just being thankful and happy?
Don’t spend your time trying to get to what you don’t even want,
But have been programmed to accept.
Re-program yourself.
***** the system.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 2:06 AM UTC
No. You don't need to
Lose that weight.
The world has millions of men
That worship women just like you.
And besides, there's nothing sexier
Than the smile of a woman
Who knows she is.
To hell with a thin waist.
Buy yourself something nice
Instead of diet pills and unrevealing
Garments.
Relax. Stop avoiding mirrors
And asking friends if your **** looks
Big in those jeans.
Smile and be alive; laugh with your
Stomach, -no man can resist
A straight back and head held high
In self-acceptance.
It's not your body's fault that
You are alone. It is the fact
That you *think
It is.*
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 7:39 AM UTC
Colouring my lip
Describe my lip perfectly and beautifully
Makes my lip sexier
Seduces man to erase it with kisses
Less marks only has been leftovers.
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 3:08 AM UTC
There’s a clumsiness
to the way I unbutton my shirt,
hoist it over my head
and let it snuffle to the floor.
I stand there, *******
and unkempt armpit hair on display
but you’ve already almost
totally disrobed,
the light from outside
licking your spine,
dribbling down a leg
like melted sunflower petals.
We catch each other’s eyes,
except you don’t catch eyes,
you see the other person
looking at you
and you know what’s next,
the standing ****
dry skin and bellybuttons
viewed only by a fortunate few,
a bunch of names
like grapes squashed
into bed sheets
we won’t touch again.
I think this is supposed to be sexier,
my underwear flinging off,
boxer shorts champagne cork
towards the window,
your bra sunny side up
by the foot of the door.
Rather I watch you
peer at the skin I’m in
waiting for a shrill buzzer sound,
a number out of ten
and a spatter of applause
from a conjured-up crowd.
I think you look glorious.
I go to say this but my brain feels
as though it’s been whisked.
You walk over, slink your hands
towards my face,
put an icicle finger to my lips.
I’ve no idea what I’m doing
but you’ll show me the way.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 11:34 AM UTC
She should be sexier than my dreams,
Even more so should she be supportive,
Not selfish at all she should ideally be.
She should be kinder than even me,
Even more so should she be cooperative,
Unimaginably beautiful she would be.
She better be the inspiration I need,
Even for my poetry apart from my life,
Converting my blues to brighter hues.
She should have in beautiful pairs,
Even both of her eyes along with hands,
Untamable be her spirit in the night.
She should have her arms slender,
Even her waist should be such a ******
Above or under it will never matter.
She should learn awesome cooking,
Even singing will my mother be teaching,
Only that she has to be willing to learn.
She will have my company all the time,
Even dessert will be present in the bedroom,
Only I will love the two of her softies,
And she can grab my golf *****
As my pole goes in and out of her hole.
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 4:01 AM UTC
Please hold me tight, he says, as he awakens me from deep slumber,
This strong willed man has finally let me in to his true feelings, his vulnerability unencumbered.
For whatever reason, he opens up and lets me into his mind's thoughts.
Panic of upcoming events and uncertainty are playing havoc in his head.
Hold me tight, I'm scared, he breathes softly in my ear.
This strong man is even more sexier to me, within his own fear.
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 7:14 PM UTC
*Oh my....
What a ******* **** sight you are
About 5'11" in your ******* hot *** ***** pink dress along with your **** long, gorgeous black hair and your fashionably seductive hoop earrings, enticing, Spanish green eyes and smile
Well you did tell me you were Spanish/Italian like Selena Gomez Definitely lit my ******* soul up and I felt myself losing my breath
You asked me what my name is
I said "Xoaquin what's yours?"
"Just call me little wet **** you said with your **** wet breath as you whispered into my ear
So then I said "Ooooh ok little wet **** You're so naughty."
I said "Listen you see that girl up there? Well I was thinking about getting a dance from both of you."
You said "Oh ok well let's go."
You escorted me to the stage in the center of the V.I.P. to watch the other girl until her song was over. The three of us went into the V.I.P. and you both climbed on top of me. I started grabbing her ***** but I started grabbing yours too. I was actually more into you. You're way sexier. I believe I told you that as we were by the stage
You said "You're very ****
I said "Thank you."
I then said "Well I know you don't need me to tell you because you already know that you are ****
You said "Thank you baby."
Fast forward back to the moment. Kaylie started putting her **** ******* in my face while you grinded your soft **** Latin *** up and down my **** You have great rhythm. Loved the touch/feel of your skin. I loved how both of you rubbed your ******* and ***** all over. You both have very thick round juicy tender ***** and I loved every inch of them. Every inch of skin. Every inch of thickness within my grip
You both smelled very good. I loved your scent especially between your ***** Felt/smelled so nice.
Hope I see you again "little wet ****
Even moreso I hope that I get to taste you next time*
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 6:34 PM UTC
my eyelashes keep sticking together
this dress is too short
this dress doesn't go with my shoes
this dress isn't comfortable enough to dance in
my hair looks stupid down.
my hair looks stupid up.
i should have just straightened it.
i should have done laundry
i should just throw away all of my clothes.
or burn them.
this tank top makes me look fat
**** it, i am fat
i should have gone on a diet.
i shouldn't have eaten that cookie dough
i should buy one of those bras that will make my ***** look smaller
i should buy sexier *******
that will make me feel better.
should i put on more make up?
now i look like a *****
just **** it.
this is what i look like. face it.
Jul 12, 2012
Jul 12, 2012 at 8:03 PM UTC
you are the words that breathe through me. lift, move me. the item for a shopper's perusing; for use and abuse-ing. i'm your bend over barbie doll, your late night ***** call, the push over & the fall. i scrape myself off your boot; keep waiting for trees to bear fruit. it's funny how you can **** me til i'm lame & i still believe i deserve more pain.
how can i believe i'm worth your while when i know you don't care about proving it to me? it's so much sexier for you to see me beg, watch me grovel & worship your **** as if you are my only hope (for all intensive purposes, i mostly believe you are; you save me from facing myself at night. seminated distraction as masochistic salvation).
leave me mangled gasping hair tangled in your fingers grasping & you're lingering by the door, contemplating whether to leave me or take me on the floor. this is all i am to you: tested tried wrong used. bleed me until you stop seeing red, drag me willing or indifferent back to your bed.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
Dear Love,
How dare you? Keeping me in the dark for so long... Blinding me with expectations, toying with my Ego, leaving me to fend off Fear-- and all for what? So I could grow? So I could see beyond this world of illusion-- beyond the farce of fame, the unending stroke of Time, the loneliness of pain, the screeching void of darkness? How dare you?
How dare you break the comfort of the weak man I'd learned to be? Stripping off the habits from my body-- only to send them back in a tighter, sexier dress. Replacing the sweet nectar of oblivion with the sweeter taste of empty knowledge. Giving me false hope so I could see hope as false... How dare you give me life and just as swiftly take it back?
How dare you test my patience, bow my will and give me faith? Making me responsible for my body, mind & soul-- granting wishes long enough to see them turn to dust. And all for what? So I could learn? So I could fall? So I could stand, so I could fall?
As if your endless tide of giving and retrieving, over thousands of lives, could make me be like you. As if your never-ending understanding could ever make me bloom. As if by every test of strength you've sent, has been to know me true. As if by pain you'd see me gain a wisdom, such as you....
Love,
Damian
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
i never bought the whole dark academia thing.
sure, ****** and drugs and *** are torrid and dark when you're from a rich family,
when you've never woken up to the news of your childhood best friend being shot to death,
when you haven't seen your family and friends fall into the seductive cesspool of opioid addiction,
when half of your class was pregnant by the time senior year rolled around.
the academic upper class thinks what working class kids go through is sexier when the backdrop of the overdose is chandeliers and silk,
instead of a small town parking lot at 3am.
my aesthetic reality of academia is scholarships, it's leather jackets and nicotine addictions
it's having the only fifteen-year-old car in the campus parking lot and hoping to find a plug before the first week of classes.
it's not sleeping between work and class and partying. it's being the only one whose dad isn't buddies with the guy giving me an internship.
it's lonely. it's the crippling loneliness of not understanding upper class social cues,
it's reading crime and punishment in the slivers of time between work and work and class and more work
and emphasizing with raskalnikov so much it makes your teeth ache.
it's coughing up blood.
it's having health insurance for the first time in college and still not using it.
it's drowning, it's fighting, it's violent and heroic and painful and
never knowing
if you'll actually
make it.
Jul 30, 2020
Jul 30, 2020 at 8:33 PM UTC
I just want to put my lips on you.
I want you to feel what my kiss feels like against your skin.
You're beautiful on the out and you're
Beautiful on the in
Beautiful
Like a sun kissed beach in the dead of winter,
Like a leech
I will shed you of your skin and **** you down to the ocean and encourage you to swim
Dive in.
Like Trey Songz, but you're sexier.
The *** will be messier
-because I'm so attracted to you
Linguistically attached to you-
Borderline infatuated
Suspended in poetic serenity.
I just want to put my lips on you.
I want you to feel what my kiss feels like against your skin.
I want to worship you in places that God would surely tell me were unholy and forever-more my temple will be barricaded with sin
And I'll tell God,
Tonight, I am not Christian.
Tonight, I want to make devilishly passionate love to you
Tonight
You will feel my lips against your skin.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 7:36 PM UTC
Walking through a field of kale
Jane in front and you following behind
brushing on your hands over
the dew damp leaves
breathing in the morning air
she looking around
in case the farmer
or one of his farmhands
sees you wander
through the tall kale
you notice she has a slight wiggle
as she walks ahead
not intentional
not like some of the girls at school
you put on the wiggling hips
to attract the boy’s searching eyes
it’s just a natural movement
and you watch and take in
the decisive tread she makes
maybe in fear of mouse
or just cautious of doing damage
to the kale’s green stems
then she pauses and turns around
facing you and says
I come here sometimes
and sit amongst the kale
just to be alone and away
from the pressures
and eyes of others
you nod and say
it gets like that sometimes
and as you speak
your eyes move over her face
and at her eyes
and the way her hair
is neatly brushed
and her lips parted slightly
as if about to speak
mother warmed me of boys
she says looking over your shoulder
at the farm beyond
she says they’re not to be trusted
then she pauses
and looks you in the eyes
and oh you mutter inwardly
the way she looks
the way her eyes
move over me like an artist’s brush
and you sense
a kiss waiting to happen
lips paused to press
tongues ready to explore
each other’s orifice
warm and wet
but nothing happens
and you both walk on
through the dew damp kale
hoping for another time
another fresh dawn
another sexier now.
Mar 14, 2012
Mar 14, 2012 at 5:02 AM UTC
HEY!
Who wants to know a secret?
Like, a really good secret
Juicier than a ripe nectarine
Heavier than a one-thousand pound weight
Scarier than your stepdad on Easter Sunday
Funnier than Kevin Hart in Madison Square Garden
Who wants to know a secret?
Deeper than the ******* Pacific Ocean?
Softer than your nephew's skin
Lovelier than your lover's touch?
Wetter than your 3 am tears?
I have a secret.
It's better than the best chocolate you've ever tasted
Slower than the traffic in Manhattan
Sadder than summertime
Sexier than the girl of your dreams.
Let me tell you a secret.
-zaba
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 11:07 PM UTC
Yes,
Yes it sounds a hell load more sexier
To say I nearly jumped off a terrace
Or
I used to slit my wrists
Than tell you that
yesterday
The lights
Went green
And I
I don't know what come over me
But I walked to the middle of
One of the busiest crossings
And attempted
To peer into my future
In the headlights
Of a bus
I find it easier
To tell people
That I am a head-case
And they should stay away
Rather than tell them
That I sat up the whole night
Crying
On my birthday
Because I felt like a Giant Mistake
I find it easier
To tell people these lies
I still call myself honest
Wonder if that makes me a liar
I find it easier to describe
The pretty way the lights danced inside her eyes
When I brought her something entirely unexpected
But I won't talk about the dark, gaping hole
In my heart,
When I realised that I wasn't worth a **** to her
I don't talk about things that affect me
If my face goes pallid
And someone asks me why
I'll tell them it's cause I didn't sleep
What I won't tell them
Is that half the night was spent
Wondering how I came to be
And the other, thinking about how repulsed I am by myself
I won't talk about the way
I flinch
Whenever someone touches me
I won't mention the fact that I was molested
By my best friend
But I'll sound close to tears as I describe
My sorry friend's case who didn't know what to do about it
There are some things
Which aren't any of your ******* business
But it's **** difficult
To keep everything to yourself
When you've got anonymity protecting you
And no shoulder
To cry upon
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 3:11 PM UTC