I am a man.
I am a man who does not love.
Who cannot love.
For, I am a man.

I am a man.
Hence, I am not allowed to love,
To show emotion,
To feel.
For then, I’d be a *****.

I am a man.
I must be masculine.
I must be a stunner.
I must be callous.
For if not, I’d be a loser.

I am a man.
I cannot be skinny.
I cannot be fat.
I cannot care about my appearance, but I must look good.
For if not, I’d be a loner.

I am a man.
I cannot respect my wife.
For then I’d be under her thumb.
I am a man who cannot love another.
For then I’d be a criminal.

Is it that wrong
to simply love
without boundaries, without expectations?

Are we that heartless
that gender can force us to behave in a certain manner?

Are we that naive, that
we really believe phrases like
‘all men are heartless’ and
‘men are animals’?

No.
Sexism isn’t about women being oppressed by men.
Just like feminism isn’t about women being greater than men.
Discrimination, gender policing, societal pressure
are good for neither ***.
But then why do we put up with it?
It’s time for a change.
Be that change.

Sincerely,
The man who dares to love.

To Nick, Love ******

Don’t grow old.
Don’t leave behind your
skinned knees,
chubby cheeks,
and toothless
chocolatey grin.
Don’t grow old.
Don’t forget that nothing is too big
to fit inside your pocket
and to forget about for awhile
(like your crayons.)
Don’t grow old.
Make time to pretend
the floor is covered in lava
and the only way to be saved
are the throw pillows from your couch.
Don’t grow old.
Remember playtime,
and naptime,
and snack time.
Retain your sense of wonder,
feel free to proudly display blankie,
and keep that childlike beauty you wear so well.
At least on the inside,
don’t grow old.

Stupid question (what AI would star out s t u p i d?)

on the scale of stumbling over a marked stumblingstone

painted competition orange.

See, C. G. saw it this way,
men don't have ideas, ideas have men.

When the man with the hubris to try and lie
dies, his lie dies and rots to be re
covered for discovery when all the secrets are

dis covered under the sun where's no new thing,
not one.

in a man, this journey from concept to precept,
some steps take longer than others,

maybe a thousand rounds,
generations and generations and generations with

peacemakers squeezed into servant role
one wish genii suffering it to be so,

until the time appointed, or the
anointed app,
higher res translations figure an augmentatious
re
ference occurrent in sapience sapience with pre-

Gausian blur edges on all their own shadows of turning

---
do remember, we did imagine
veri f- were we magi?
we were, we were magi, I brought the frankincense.
I was seven, maybe six

We could do anything we put our mind to

if we got past the man in black
at the crossroad and
keep goin' west

this is the rest.
After alladat, there was this emergent story,

never told, but heard, of a wise man,
who saved a city and no one knew that same
wiseman's name. This is that game, that vocation,

Peacemaker. Ever last front
tier, at orchestra level,

too close to see the madding crowd
reach for guns,

this is crazy... we have nuclear weapons

obsolete nuclear weapons and some
****** fool would rather **** us all than
skip an upgrade cycle?

what? What if we all said,
sump'n like: I, individual me, I have no enemies,
so lovin'em ain't *****. My side won.

Bio war, fair. Like leaven shaken from re
jected dust, the fishermen's feet

stamped and let their peace be held,
suffer, carry your load, but

smarter, not harder.
Grace, for goodness sake, sake means

good will result from the doing by virtue
of giving an old tale of attitudes to be
having a listen...


I am a peace maker. I do this for the living.
I may die, now, with no fear,

once, before,
with no doubt, by virtue of a helmet I was given.

Now, double-minded, patient-balanced, light-burdened,
I run, or fly, with augmentations,

bended knee or wounded, why does that matter?
Mito-mom is not some relationship to others that you
take, by faith.
Science.
Know the story to tell the story,
no novices allowed to lie for innocense sake.

No story of warring ever ended happy, for all involved.

Salve for the scritchin' itches whicha
cain't seem t' be able
t' ignor,

raw rubbed flesh

Balm o'Gilead, by reason, for reason of reasonable
comparable qualia of ex

per i ence, one death trip, PIF. (Paid in Full)

Good new, right, right, right,

chirality is such a cool tool for all sorts of random
shithavanish as soon as you notice it, like

was that real? Hineni. Okeh. I knew.
The genius of peace.
The idea never dies, but some people never get it.
Good wins for ever, or we all die at the hand of an evil

so powerful that only indigestible bone level ideas
make it through the turbulence

at the final analy system re

proof. An imaginary pile of mystery woo woo
Plahnk splash

food for thought. Quantum mechanical possiblities
bubble from nowhere that ever was.

So free will is the best we could do. Be safe.

Gratitude:
It pays to be kind
It pays to know
that something's not gonna
be there forever
I'm serious

When that lovely lady passed away
this monster ****** all
the life
out of her
I couldn't help but think
why hadn't i treasured you before
Why oh why

So here is my gratitude poem
I love you mummy
For all the things
From sacrificing your sleep and time
To make me a good breakfast
And ironing uniforms
Which you've always hated to do
But did that all for me
So that I would look decent in school
To Staying up with me
To do homework and revision
before terrifying monsters called EXAMS
For kissing me goodnight and
telling me good things about life
Doing so many lovely things
So that I would have a better life
I love you mummy

I love my dad
No matter how much I seem to argue with you
on math or science
I really love you too.
Deep down I really appreciate your help
but you've got to dig deeper to see that
I hope you talk to me more
About your life
It's always been about my life
my studies
my health
my friends
And our talks
never about you
I never known a genius like you.

*****
You are a *******
Really
I wish you were 5 all again
When you didn't have sarcastic comments
And the I-grew-up-already attitude
I love you all the same
You stay up to help your big sis
With her art work
( I **** at art)
Or type for me in tamil
You do great things, girl
And sooner or later
You are gonna be a great young lady
Just like me

I love all my friends
The ones that hurt me
The ones that love me
The ones that like me
All of you gave
me
experiences
words
advice
stories
that I've never known
What is a life without stories?

And lastly,
my grandpa
You were a great man.
You may have died
When I was one
But I'm telling you grandpa
I love you all the same
I remember your wise words
All the famous people who came to
Shower their blessings on me
And your lovely lap
Which I used to take as my personal bathroom
I'll never forget you
You have an indelible place in my heart
You have been my greatest inspiration
and strongest supporter
I love you all the same.

The things I am grateful for
It's an endless list
But I love each and
every single
one all
the same.
I will treasure you better from now on.


I love you.

When I was born I asked the doctor, how he thought he did?
He recalled,
"Exquisite, it was a perfect delivery."
I rebutted,
"Then why am I still attached to the umbilical chord?"
He snipped me away from the tangling sheathe preventing me from exploration.
I leapt off the crinkling hospital bed paper and onto the goose-bump extracting tile floor.
Playfully bobbing my head as I walked into the world whilst giving the blonde doe-eyed nurse a crumpled note arranging what time I would pick her up for
dinner that night.
--Nurses enjoy being taken care of too.

When I was in preschool my teacher asked me what I wanted to be when I grow up.
I told her, "I want to feel the love of a woman who makes me happy everyday and loves me for being me."
She under cut my desired fate, "That's not a something you can work for."
I whispered in her ear, "I know you have never felt love from another person."
She began to cry.
I told her, "That tears are just water for her soul to grow."
She got married later that spring after the rain had stopped,
--Her soul grew enough to show.

When I was seven years old a neighborhood bully stole my bicycle.
I cried for four minutes.
I was angry for about an hour.
Instead of telling him that my dad could beat up his dad
I began to wear my helmet everywhere I went.
I shouted to the other boys in my class,
"I had an invisible superb-deathly speedy-extraordinary-intergalactic- bike."
Two weeks later that same bully gave me my bike back.
As he relentlessly rubbed his knuckles into the top part of my scalp I thought nothing, but that this is the reason why my Grandpa went bald.
Then he muttered through his wheezing breaths of anger,
"My invisible bicycle was much faster than anything your ***** daddy could have bought you."
--Dad's, they love hypothetical fighting.

When I was eleven years old two airplanes hit two buildings in New York City.
I did not understand.
I asked my teacher, "Why would God make evil people?"
Through her tears she explained to me, "Some people are just born evil."
I shouted under my breath, "People are not born evil...
implementing ideas in the sponge of a youth's mind is what is morally corrupt and evil!"
--Corruption is the first cause of terrorism.

When I was fifteen years old I had my first real serious girlfriend.
I did not understand, again.
I exasperated to my father over drinking our first father-son beer,
"How do I know when I love a woman?"
He nostalgically took a drag of his menthol cigarette and as the smoke made it's way through his nose like fog in a canyon he said to me,
"Whenever you look into her eyes and know that there is nothing you wouldn't do for her, that is love."
Before he could reach down and crack another pilsner I told him,
"Dad I look a little lower than her eyes and that is where... everything I would do to her."
--Hormones are a *****.

When I was twenty-one years old my mom told me I couldn't come back home after I graduated college.
I begged her to give me time. I will make it, I promise.
I shouted in the driveway with all my belongings she had neatly placed for me to pack into my car, "How do I know when I am ready to be on my own?"
She didn't have to say anything for there was a brown envelope on top of my neatly folded clothes; that mysterious folding method all mom's know but I
could never seem to figure out,
"Son, you won't know. You won't know until you are poor, hungry, cold and exhausted everyday from trying to make something of your life. The character
you will build will help you later in life when you have a family of your own. I promise. I am not a tyrant, I care too much to see you widdle away here with me
in obscurity and waste all the dreams I know you have. I love you my baby."
--Mom's, even though they don't cut the umbilical chord...they cut the umbilical chord.

It's amazing how fast a year can go by.
I still remember that day like it was yesterday.
That sweet day in May.
I remember waking up to a text, "Your sister is in labor."
I think I smiled bigger than I ever have before.
I was so anxious all day.
I had a tournament that day too.
We had just finished our game and I checked my phone.
I saw the message, with a picture attached.
A picture of you.
And while everyone was happy and estatic that we had won,
I had joy in my heart because you were finally here,
After all those long months that never seemed to end, you were finally here.

I remember the day your mom told me she was pregnant with you.
I remember all the days I spent with her while she had never ending morning sickness.
Helping her take care of the house and your sisters.
The sickness never seemed to go away.
I remember that day in class when my ***** sent me a text.
It's a boy!
I was so happy I screamed with excitement.
Everyone turned to look at me but I didn't are.
All I cared about in that moment was you.

I remember the day they brought you home.
I got to hold you for the very first time that night.
I fell in love instantly.
You looked so peaceful wrapped up in that blanket.
Your eyelids flutterling.
Your chest falling and rising with every breath you took;
because you were finally here.
And you were beautiful.
The days and months started to pass and you grew with every passing day.
I watched in awe.
I loved seeing you learn to crawl,
then stand on your own,
then walk.
Now starting to form tiny words.
You are growing into such a handsome big boy.
But you will always be my little bug.

He was a West Virginia farm boy.
His name was Walton, Cpl. John.
I **** thee not; we called him John Boy.

Two bunks down from me
in a barracks at Fort sux Dix, NJ,
he would write poetry after lights out
by penlight. Drill Sergeants called him a *****
when one of the recruits hung a poem in the chow hall
that Boy had written about missing his little sister.

Boy could weave a line from Whitman
or Frost or Byron, even Emily
flawlessly into a conversation.
I would try hard as hell to keep a straight face.
Boy never cracked a smile. No one else ever caught on.
Funny as hell. And pretty **** cool.

Like during the class on E and E
when asked to summarize lessons learned.
"Resist much. Obey little, Drill Sergeant".
He earned a smoke break for that.

When asked where his home was during an inspection
by the company commander, Boy replied
"Perhaps it is everywhere-on water and land" or
"under the soles of your boots, Captain".  
That one got him two days KP.

Most famously, when asked how battles are lost he replied
"Battles are lost in the same spirit as which they are won, Drill Sergeant".
That one got a big Ooorah and earned him his corporal stripe.
Drill Sergeant wasn't sure what he meant, but liked the sound of it.

We were stationed together for almost two years, Boy and I.
We deployed together. He would scribble by penlight in the bunker,
then scramble across the sand and call in close-air, then back to the poem
while the ground was still shaking, constantly blowing sand off of his journal.

Boy was hit in the left femur by a ****** round one night
while calling artillery coordinates down range.
He always left his field book in his sleeping bag.
I looked through it before it was gathered up
with the rest of his gear for shipping over to Ramstein.

Eighty-three pages of ******* awesome poetry about his daddy's farm,
his grandfather's mountain home, the snowy woods during deer season,
the first girl he loved, dogwoods in bloom, his mother's death in an auto accident.
A beagle pup that he once had.

Boy went home to West Virginia with one less leg.
I called him one Christmas a few years ago
after finding his phone number through a mutual friend.
We shot the usual ****. We were both a little drunk.
I asked Boy if he still wrote poetry. He said no,
he didn't have time with all the ***** that needed drinking.
Not much left to write about, he said. Anyway, poetry's for sissies.

r ~ 5/17/14

For my "Big Brother".*
Love Always, *****.

You said it was adorable
The way my hair curled
around the hollows of my neck
Brushing across my skin
like a
n o o s e

You said my looks could shatter glass,
that my repugnant features
would SURELY guarantee a life of solitude
You loved to point out my flaws
And how my laugh was too late
breathing too loud
walking too fast

The shallow scars on my wrists
were alluring to you
you encouraged me to make more
and I loved the kiss of cold metal just a little too much
and
you
loved
that
I
loved
it.

You said you understood me
my thoughts were dark and scattered
I wasn't always able to share them with you
But I didn't need to
you already
"u n d e r s t o o d"

my dark companion
the only one I ever trusted
We fought our demons together
Dragging the other to hell as well

You wasted no time in telling me
what a waste I was
of skin
of space
and I wasted no time in  b e l i e v i n g  you

You would hold me in your arms
and whisper bittersweet nothings
compliments with a hard slap attached
convincing me I was far more flawed than I am.

We fought like rabid wolves
growling,
hissing,
howling,
circling,
nipping at my ankles,
you'd force me to f a l l.

tearing and ripping apart flesh
with words
and my feeble palms
left angry red marks on your chest and face
but my struggle only made you more eager

Every tear that fell from my face
gave you life
every sob that came from my throat
gave you a voice
you could not stand alone
you said
y o u  c o u l d   n o t   l i v e   w i t h o u t   m e

You said I didn't understand you
that I could never comprehend the torment YOU
were experiencing
I was FAR too dull to see.

It wasn't until I realized
I didn't need to play your childish games
I didn't need you
or your "passionate, intense" heart.

Once I stopped hitting back
your blows became harder

Not worthy of love.

Not worthy of life.

Not worthy of existence.

And I believed you.
I trusted you.

E n d   i t,
you said.
Peering down at the street far below us

You said to.

The height was dizzying

Y o u   s a i d
"Jump."

So..there's this girl....
that I cannot avoid,
inside and out,
she is destroyed.

So, this girl...
I see everyday-
it's too difficult,
to live this way.

Sometimes, this girl,
comes close to danger;
igniting my temper-
this close stranger.

Sometimes..this girl...
just needs a friend,
someone to care,
not pretend.

Except, this girl...
doesn't make it easy,
always giving excuses-
big, little *****.

So, this girl...
a test of my patience,
making it harder;
we have no relations.

A guy walks into a bar
In a posh high rise hotel.
He doesn't look the part,
He is not a swell.

He's in an off-rack suit
It's not tailored silk.
Orders up a drink,
A tall.glass of milk.

He's tall, dark and handsome,
But his tie is just absurd!
He's got heavy glasses,
And looks just like a nerd!

Along the bar he heard a snort,
And a drunkard gave a sneer,
"Well, hey there kid,
The school's next door,
You're not allowed in here!"

He laughed aloud at his own joke,
And began to walk and sway,
A gap appeared as nervous folk
All slowly back away...

The drunkard called out to the nerd,
"What's wrong, kid, beer too fizzy?
Or is the truth just what I heard,
You're a no-good, yellow *****!!!

The handsome man was cool,
He didn't break his stride.
He pushed his glasses up his nose
And took the drunk aside.

The enebriated idiot
Looked him up and down,
But followed him to the window
Said, "Watchoo wan' here clown?

The dark man smiled coolly.
Said, "I'd like to make a wager.
Just a couple thousand bucks.
You know. Nothing major.

I'll bet you, my drunken friend,
I can jump out - but then
After I'm out this window,
I'll come back in again!!

The drunkard looked
him up and down,
And grinned an evil grin,
"If you wanna JUMP,  go right ahead,
This bet, I'm gonna WIN!

The handsome man just
Gave a wink,
And jumped out on the ledge.
He took one look o'r the brink,
And leapt over the edge!

The drunkard gasped
In total shock!
"My god, he must have died!!"
When in a flash there came a knock
The man climbed back inside!

The handsome man
Straightend his tie
"It's time to pay your dues!
Unless, of course, you'd like to try,
Or are you scared you'll lose...

"Scared!?!!" The drunk was livid!
"Well! I'm no chicken, friend!
I accept! " And so he lept!!!

And promptly met his end.....

The tall, dark handsome person
Went back to his drink.
He finished his milk quietly,
And tipped the keep a wink.

The barkeep, looking sour,
Said, "Well. More cleanup work.
Superman, I like you,

But sometimes you're a ****.


(C) Tryst
(C) SoulSurvivor

I love lacy umbrellas; and pink parasols, a ***** in waiting; showing ******* and *****. I love fashion hats; all feathers and lace, hot party gurl outfits; poses of elegant grace. I love tea parties; and playing dress up, I love things dainty; and riding a crop. I love teddy bears; ******* on ****, men who wear *******; and pink frilly socks.

This poem is for anybody struggling to find love.


You know in life love is something we all want to reach
A man or a woman in our lives is what we wanna see
We all want to be hugged and we all want to be kissed
The last thing we ever want is to be incredibly dissed
For some love comes easy but others it’s can be difficult
‘Cause in my opinion it’s easy to say that love is beautiful
We all need love it makes life worth living
You don’t agree with me that’s your decision


But can you imagine yourself heading into your fifties
Never been with somebody makes you look like a *****
Never once have you held somebody’s hand besides your parents
You never ever had somebody to love you and you feel embarrassed
So you never kissed a girl or made out with her
But you want to have that feeling that’s for sure
You never talked to a girl and you feel even worse
Seeing guys with girls makes you feel more hurt
Wishing that there was a female by your side
You want someone there to make your life right
A girl to caress you when you’re feeling down
A girl to come and make your world go round
You want her to kiss you when you feel devastated
But unfortunately all your entire life you hesitated


You wanted to ask a female out but you just chickened out
You feel ashamed because you know what you’re missing out
You’ve been rejected so many times that you lost hope
Asked a girl to be your lover all they told you was no
Went to nightclubs many of times but couldn’t attract girls
You failed to find that somebody who would rock your world
Jealousy burns when you see a girl ******* a guy
People ask if you’re a ****** you go ahead and lie
You’re too ashamed to tell people the truth
When it comes to virgins they are very few
You do want to be inside a girl but you never really had a chance
Either you didn’t have time or you were the one girls couldn’t stand
Just to get her in your bed and kick it off there
But no woman appraoched they just didn’t care
Forced to turn to ******* to turn on your *** drive
Seeing the action hoping you get to do that in your life


A relationship dosen’t seem complete if you haven’t done it
If you haven’t gotten personal with a woman or sumthin’
For other guys it’s very easy to go and make love
You’re frustrated that you couldn’t find someone
It’s pretty clear that nobody wants to be a ******
You want to make sweet love that’s for certain
You hear most people lose it in their teenage years
Almost fifty and you still are one and that’s your fear
It’s either you hesitated all your life
Either you couldn’t find someone right
Or all this time you always have been rejected
And because of that your hopes have been affected
It’s safe to say *** seems to be a popular trend these days
If you haven’t lost it yet you have people thinking that you’re gay


Never been on a date
So you haven’t been great
49 years and you still haven’t found someone
You’re looking for love and you found no one
When you were a child your dream was to have a kid
Now it dosen’t seem possible as you never got did
Embarrassed because most people your age are already grandparents
No one wants you because the wrinkles on your body are apparent
Your younger days were wasted sitting infront of the T.V. all day
It’s a shame because at your age you’ll never get a girl at this rate
It’s embarrassing when you don’t know how *** works
It’s a big shame when you have never recieved flirts


Your elementary school days you were dissed
In middle school the girls thought you were sick
And in high school girls punched you in the lips
It seems as though you never got any luck
You weren’t even close to recieve any lust
Hell, you weren’t even touched by *****
Finding love seems to be a struggle for you
Seems like you need to see The Love Guru
You want to live that kind of life then that’s fine
But if you don’t then you gotta step on the line
Love is not an easy thing to catch
You gotta make like a dog and fetch
Do whatever you can to attract attention
And hope that you don’t fall into deception


If you never been flirted with verebally then you’re a mess
If you’re not even close to that then you’ll never have ***
Having your ***** become wrinkled up and dried up
Can’t let those things keep you down and pop right up
Don’t want live like this then just have to keep trying
Just keep going even though you got people denying
Yeah you’ll be made fun of for waiting too long
With courage so strong nothing can go wrong


Yahoo Phillipness seems to be help
Hearing about people who have dealt
With the harsh reality of not being loved
And to help you move for that special one
If you’re unfortunate they say try a ******
And yeah it’ll cost money just to book her
But that’s probably your only chance at ever getting laid
At your age it’s probably the only option that you can take

"Am I going to die *****?" You ask from your hospital bed, you look so pale with out your brilliant red hair, I smile sadly as a tear escapes my eye.

"No, go to sleep baby girl, I'll be here when you wake." My voice cracks at the end, but you don't hear.

Your heart monitor slows, and my small whimpers turn to sobs, doctors rush in- but your already gone.

Goodbye Baby Girl.
I love you.
~Kat Herondale

You pulled away my pinky toe

Rolled it like a cigar in your fingers

Daring me to love you



I almost lost my balance then

But I don’t suppose you noticed

I watched it sniff at the smoke in your hand

And I’m quite glad you didn’t give my balance one dog biscuit of your attention

For it quickly ran back to my widespread, flailing arms and licked my beaming face as I listened to your lack-of-depth discussion

I know butterfly band-aids sound *****

And stitches sound weak

So I don’t really blame you all that much for simply puffing up peppery, gray clouds that stung my open wound as you exhaled,

Speaking to no one, instead.



I had, I believe

A peppermint stick I had to use after that, to keep me all upright

[You told me once it smelled of feet

But I don’t think you knew what it was there for]

I never complained about it,

‘Cause I knew you were happy

Smoking my joint and talking to no one

But I knew how much you wanted that peppermint stick as well

So I wrapped it up in a hug one autumn morning,

And as we embraced

[again] there was a whispered dare to love you

By the time we broke away, it was December and our hands were growing cold, yours going numb around the peppermint stripes

And though I’d tried so long to prevent it

I fall anyway that winter

As soon as you walked away with more of my balance to steady you



I was very out of place



I suppose that is why winter is my favorite season

Nothing falls that is winter

Nothing moves that is frozen,

Including your fingers

That I can pretend were too rigid to close around my hand, since they were always wrapped around that peppermint stick so cold, their tips turned blue

But you knew that was my favorite color

And you only like dressing open wounds

So you never paid your bare hands that much attention



We made a snowman that season

There was no fire to be found except that tingling in the small of my back when our lips meet,

So I offered my two favorite bones in my spine as coal for the eyes

I winced as you pulled them out with your bare hands

But I didn’t complain, ‘cause I noticed that the pieces were so hot that your fingertips weren’t so blue anymore,

And that made me happy, though I had to walk much more carefully after that

I knew I’d long since lost my balance

There was no kindling to be found, neither

So you reached for the peppermint stick that we

Split

Down the middle

To serve as our snowman’s arms



We laughed when we realized his hands smelled like feet

But it subsided when you asked

If I loved you



I sat down quickly

Your question was too heavy and caught me off balance

And that is never a good place to be caught

When one has a pinky toe, a peppermint stick, and two spine bones missing

I remember you left suddenly after that

And as soon as you’d gone, I wanted to chase you

But I was finding it difficult to stand

So I looked up at our snowman’s beaming face

And pulled his right arm right out

But it was too thin and broke under my weight



And as I collapsed to the frozen ground for the last time

I wondered how he could be so upright and balanced with an appendage missing

And I wish I’d told you sooner

That as humans

We are constantly falling

But we use the joints of our toes and the muscles in our backs

To keep from doing so.



I had always loved you.

I know how old I am
I know how old I look
Don't be fooled by the beard on my face
Don't let my height fool you either
Just know, I am just a boy afterall

I love sports
I play with toys,
No, not the ones you have in mind
I play soccer once in a while
I might scream and shout at the TV knowing well Messi can't hear me
I still do it anyway
Because, I'm still just a boy

I have a drink with 'the boys' now and then
I act tough, I am tough
Also maybe a little soft inside
The side I never show
I hide my pain, I don't cry infront of people
Why? No, because I'm no *****
But, I am still a boy afterall

I like girls, only one I particular
She makes my heart skip a beat
I look at things I shouldn't sometimes
I make mistakes, nowhere near perfect
I lie sometimes, honest every other time
You know why,
because I'm just still a boy

And this very moment, this very place
I am just a boy, infront of a girl
Pouring his heart out
And asking her to love her...

Thomas came from the school of hard facts
No Gradgrind, yet, had slipped through its cracks
A Bounderby born saw light in this day
Believing flowers belong outside with the hay

In Louisa G,
Thoughts would flee
It was clear to see
Just not on bended knee

The girl would gaze towards a flame
Far too majestic to tame
And there hours would disappear
As “Fancy” hesitantly slipped near

A circus of thought
Nine oils bought
*****’s distraught
Isolation caught

Her father left home
A sad clown made to roam
Metaphor in a poem
Lost, no need to atone

A foster child of Logic
There’s no need to frolic
Study enveloped her life
While Louisa became a wife

Married and bound to an age differential
That made her hubby seem quite parental

Thomas had begun new work
Money earned, quite the perk
Then it vanished with great haste
Gambled away like simple waste

His sister, Loo, called to bail
Thomas, who had found life stale
Her few possessions drift away
On donations to her brother’s dismay

Time moves on with little give
Debts build like the weight of a fib
Soon Thomas pleads for far too much,
100 dollars, please rush

Louisa, was completely tapped out
Her brother had broken an ever-flowing spout
He used every penny of the girl’s love
Then drifted, like a fleeting dove.

Her husband, Josiah, sat none the wiser,
Cuddled by the facts of a rude little miser
Then came a parliamentary heart of house,
James snuck in quiet as a mouse.

Mr. Harthouse was a man of great esteem
He came to Coketown on track-lines powered by steam
There he met the wife of a cold little man
And his pursuit of affection began

Lousia had no need for affection
Or for that matter unwanted attention
Yet, as Thomas fell
She thought the notion seemed quite swell

Conversations began with ease
Mr. Harthouse was certainly no ******
Operated amongst the ideas of her school
And even sat earnestly while listening to Stephen Blackpool

…

A servant to no deviant will
And master of a mere peasant’s skill
Stephan spoke in broken phrase
Sentences flowed like a tainted maze

A public speaker the man was not
Still, in front of many, he unraveled a plot
The man spoke with flagrant passion
But, it drifted off in latent fashion

The entirety a man stood casting doubt
Blockading the meager man’s route
Stephan carried on until all was lost
His employment in fact the first major cost.


...unfinished :(

warning: mentioning of suicide

This apology
is long overdue,
but I’ve been meaning to say
I’m sorry.

I’ll never forget
when you were sitting next to me.
Mom was in the room too
and you were browsing on your phone

with a smile on your face
until
your
world

shatters.
Panic.
You panic,
and I don’t understand.

Mom’s attention is still on the television
as you begin to cry.
“What’s wrong?” I ask,
but my harsh tone seemed more like a demand.

“Evan!”
You scream,
and it finally catches mom’s attention.
“Evan’s in the hospital!”

“*****,” I begin,
feeling powerless
at the sight of
your bright red face.

I can’t stand
seeing you cry.
I am curious to know
why—

“He’ll be fine.”
Mom intervenes,
voice gentle
despite the sharp underlying tone

most single parents have
when addressing
their crying child.
“Do they know what happened?”

“No,” you respond,
and you’re now finding it
difficult
to breathe.

I look to mom for guidance
as I want her to know
that it’ll be okay.
“It can’t be that serious.”

Your phone pings.
I’ll never forget
how the color
drained from your face,

jaw slack in horror.
It takes your body a second
as the shock runs through the nerves in your body,
and you sob into your palms.

“What?!” Mom screams.
We both jump.
You reply,
voice hardly above a whisper,

“H-he tried to…”
Your voice falls lower.
“He tried to—“
Mom’s visage softens.

“Honey,” she says, holding her arms out
for a hug.
“Now, what happened
with your little friend?”

With your lips muffled against her shoulder,
you reply,
“He tried to **** himself.”
Your whole body quivers with sobs.

I remain
seated
in the same place,
ignoring the tears running down my cheeks.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine, *****.”
Mom joins in.
“Yes honey, he’s young.
He’ll come back.”

It takes a while to convince you,
but then you finally come to.
I remember smiling and thinking,
Yeah, he’ll get better later.

__
“You were wrong!”
You scream at me
nearly a week later
one morning.

I jump,
unaware of what happened.
I’m surprised,
seeing you so upset.

“What did I do?!”
I shout, confused
as I hold up my hands
to mask my face from you.

“You. Lied!”
You shout, sobbing into your palms
wearing your childhood nightgown
printed with purple stripes, now faded after so many washes.

“*****?”
I ask,
and I reach my arms
out for a hug.

You slap my wrists away,
glaring at me
through the tears
in your eyes.

Stunned, I pause,
and you respond,
“They took him off life support today!
You lied!"

I tried to apologize then,
and it took a few tries
until you said you accepted them.
However, apologies will never make it the same.

Pantywaist,
This shows no taste.
Light in the loafers,
Maybe for gofers.
Squats to ***,
Who? Not me!
Limp-wristed,
It it’s twisted, maybe.

***** and sissified,
Maybe somebody lied.
*** and ******,
You’re a bigot.
Bigass Fruit,
Zoot and all root.
Tuttifruity,
Call to gay duty.

Half a man,
Sometimes better than.
Tinkerbell,
Go to hell.
Airy-fairy,
You’re just scary.
******* bandit,
I can’t stand it.
*******,
Bigass *******.

Silly queen,
Quit being mean.
Flutter-by,
Can’t pronounce butterfly?
*****,
Don’t get handsy, mate!
Nancy boy.
Political ploy.

Just some of the words
We gays have all heard
With each imprecation
The implication
Is that we are sick,
Definitely twisted,
And the end result
Is that each insult
Pushes the speaker
Further away, and weakens
The hold on a reality
That homosexuality
Is just another normality.
In short, reality.

One day a boy went to the make a wish with his sister. they asked the too weir their parents were. The girl was 14 she told them they were dead. When they asked the little boy what he wanted he said he wanted to live. The boy had cancer. The girl got call from the hospital. They said the tests went threw the girls heart was the same as her brothers. She could save him. She went back to the boy and kneeled down next to him. "you know all those rocks we saw when mommy and daddy and big brother went away. The really pretty ones?....Well those are whir the angels go, when people get to old or they do something really good and help GOD calls them, they go up to heaven, but they need to keep the people safe so they put the people below those stones...and heaven just called im getting one im going to heaven and im becoming an angel. Your going to be ok because heaven said you could have my heart." The boy was so happy that his sister got to go to heaven and become an angel, he told her to tell mommy and daddy and big brother he said hi "One day well see you agene when you get to have your stone and come to be an angel." A week latter the girl gave her 10 year old brother her heart, she was layed to rest the next day. at the funeral the little boy said to their aunt to stop crying he said that ***** said heaven had called and that she was going to be an angel and that she would see him and tell mommy and them he said hi and she would come back some day to see them. When the boy was 14 he found out what really happened it was his birthday he got a lot of good presents but his aunt gave him a letter that his sister had wrote him the day before the operation.
'You are the only thing that I had left and I chose to die than to let you I hope you have a good birthday and that you understand I have no regrets for doing this, I told mom and them you said hi and they said hi to I hope you like the present  I got you ~*****'
the boy put his hand to his heart and wissperd to himself
'The best birthday present ever my sisters truly an angel'

I was the frightened little kid
Who got pushed against the wall.
I wasn’t terribly masculine
Had acne and was not very tall.
Or maybe it was my intelligence
Or artistic talent that drew the ire.
It was an ever-changing list
That drew my fellow student’s fire.

Maybe it was that my game
Was never quite there for sports.
Or maybe when I did not join
On jokes about **** and other sorts
Of woman demeaning quips
They had to have learned at home.
Parental misguidance one oh one
Not learned at school on the roam.

Whatever it was, I got beaten
And locked inside my own locker.
And I got called ***** and ***.
Now isn’t that a big fat shocker?
I got shoved around in hallways
And knocked out cold by a creep.
I didn’t even know the ****
But he decided to put me to sleep.

And when the faculty was called
I was suspended along with the guy.
The school’s policy it seemed
Was to punish both kids. Ask why.
I asked and I was told sternly
That the school really did not care
The attacker and the attacked
Had the same punishment to share.

Now, in this case, the attacker was
Known to be a ruffian and a miscreant.
And I was known to be a wimp.
So why give me unusual punishment
When I was already being punished
For not being some kind of snorting ****?
This was like the school system
Giving my jaw an extra and official sock!

It would be nice to say about this
That it was a totally isolated incident,
And that principals seldom pass out
This officially thoughtless kind of punishment.
But I heard that line so many times
I could have lip-synched right along with him
As the principal mouthed a policy line
From a time grown distant and dangerously dim.

School gym coaches called us girls
If we didn’t keep up with hand-picked brutes
Who enjoyed inherited musculature
And bigot approved physical attributes.
So those of us who were who we were
And could not manage mow down the men
At the line of scrimmages
Were called ‘lils’ and fairies once again.

your my everything baby girl i would die for you ,
i dont no what i would do with out you ,
your only 3 years old but your my everything ..
bigg ***** loves you just remember that !! :)

***** says, “I can't believe that I'm finally doing my brother!” And Joey says, “I'm not your brother.” And then ***** says, “I can't believe it.”

she left when i was four
no explanation or anything more
it cut me straight to the core
you may think i was too young
to understand but my heart tore
my baby sister she was two
she barely could walk without falling
down onto the floor
now I barely see her
she's growing up too fast
she doesn't remember much of that past
she remembers calling me "*****."
And that she loved saying "it's purple."
I remember so much more
The smell of my moms sweet perfume
how she always had these really good cookies
her hugs and her kisses
but that day when she left it hurt me so much
because a girl needs her mother
a mother cannot leave her children
but my mom she was different
she never said "Good bye."
She never taught me to fly
she didn't see Jillian become the beaut she is today
she won't be able to see my sixteenth birthday
or be there for graduation
or my wedding
but whatever at least I have my dad
and my little sister
and family and friends
at least i have you guys/girls
because i know if you were going to leave you would at least say
"Good bye."

Pompous:
"Oh God, no, not another shallow rhymer,
fitting each word to its neat little place.
Oh God, no, not another painterly composition
with planal directions going round and around or leading that way and this.
They did that in the past; get to the new.
Make sure the reader or viewer knows that the masterful
knows more than than the masterful lets t/h/r/o/u/g/h/  out.
Disdain extenuating weakenings caused by straining for clarity
or unnecessary exertions in expressions of cohesion.
Words, though plain, arouse astonished wonder by nonchalant impenetrable shufflings.
Be clued-in, be bold, be tough and show it when you sculpt the clay.
When shaped, use your trowel to scratch the surface, evoking even more obscurity.
Toss it off in broad strokes of masterful negligence.  
Be above the miniscule.
By these means show in shadowy hints the profundity that winks beyond merely ordinary restrictions.
Break the barriers, fly the constructive. Those old shackles lie about the world.
Show you ain't no conforming *****.  
Display in impatient referenceless strokes
Your forceful awareness of the world as known."


Facetia:
                "Oh?
A world which evidences no form and structure in living creatures;
no eons of effortful evolution;
Forests have no ecology, and laws of nature aren't for binding.
Mind never happened, spirit's a farce,
unions only expedient plottings.
Lessons of history describe the disruptive;
it's what you grab and who you club;
others are only take or be taken.
Show 'em who's boss,
stash it away,
it's dog eat dog until there's nothing.
Shake it all up and break it all up.
It's only entropy."

There was an elegant *****, from New York City
Or maybe Rome or New Orleans.
He was a spectacular ***, but didn't do drag at all;
Falling somewhere in between that category
Of glorious ladies and men of the day.
A queen with no throne nor entourage scene,
Camouflaging himself in skin-tight trousers,
Spectacular coats and jackets,
Packets of sachet in his pockets
To give him a scent of an unusual gent.
As if he had a choice in the matter.

He had a delicate way with his manner,
His hands and his eyes touching gracefully
As if not to disturb the dust on the mind,
Often very unkind, he used his tongue slicing
And dicing those who offended his senses
When such dared to step on his train
Invisibly dragging behind him, around him
Keeping his visitors at bay, a few feet away
Like proper subjects, courtiers to his grace
His face locked in a grin; hiding all within
The secrets protected by laden witticisms
Criticisms if you misbehave, saving smiles;
Handing out compliments like cookies.

There was always a waving of hands,
The arms caught in the wind like cornstalks.
For a moment. Then catching, ending like feathers
Settling together, resting as if cradling a baby
One hip thrown out, the head to one side
As if listening; hearing a devil's good joke,
Smoking a constant cigarette, the ends never wet
Laying the tip on the lip like a kiss
His face slightly lifted so the smoke will drift
Away from his half-lidded cynical eyes.

The talk could be varied, of Tom, **** or Harry
He would call women men and vice versa
Saying, Robert is a ***** woman is she.
He then waiting your laughter, hesitating
Seldom laughing himself, having said it all
Heard it all, done it all, had them all

No fertile male soil left unspoiled by his touch
Just entirely too much for one man to handle,
No woman to compare, he lived alone somewhere
Coming to the bars each night, a familiar sight
Drinking, but not seeming drunk,
Never sunk so low that he staggered,
Still swaggered after hours at the trough
Not so much as a slur or a cough.

He knew all the jokes that could be made
From a seemingly innocent mistake
Taking a word here and there and trading
Raising a regal eyebrow, somehow changing
Restating the meaning leaning it toward the crotch
Watching the listener's face, sensing the disgrace;
Granting himself the luxury of the infrequent howl
His majesty could keen like an un-oiled machine
Setting his victim's nerves and gooseflesh to snap
Giving his udderless chest a slap, he would go on
Make more of the jest, leave his victim no rest
And the mourners to offer their apologies.
Words such as that are not for ladies
Such as this infamous old queen.

The old spirit held on after the body was near gone
Propelling it nightly to appear on the scene.
Mean children would taunt him, just as he taught them
And waving their arms like cornstalks, cackle like hens
And tease him again, then resume cruising the men
Hurting the once regal spirit more with their disdain
Than beating him, or cheating him; ignoring him,
They dealt him a blow he never could abide
That fear he kept inside, all those years, the tears,
Still left un-cried, after he died, in his room somewhere.
He has left to be shared, the way he fluffed his hair,
The off-color joke, spoken in a strange lady's voice
Something like a boy's, not like a man's;
That flutter of the hands and the stance
Still copied today, by the splinter-group gays
That straight people think we all are
Is all that remains of a star once seen;
The seldom lamented, well-imitated, eternal queen.

TALLAHASSEE CONTAINS ALLAH to whom I'm truly true blue
as He is the Just, the King, the Watchful, the Father of me & of you
Like 9 dogs eatin' tuna fish I cried for your thigh to comfort me like
the jack breadfruit that comforted Bounty Lieutenant William Bligh
whilst he abstained from Tahitian maidens who were cunningly shy
My big, beautiful mouth that frets & sasses makes me intellectually
superior to everyone except the most idiotic of ******* dumb *****
whose apple cider vinegar becomes unsulfured blackstrap molasses
Remember again old cross firemen, Jesus burned for your arson sin
2,000 years before I wrapped your fat *** around your chinless chin
through hellish dew of frosty equanimity with Gail Fisher as Peggy,
Mannix shaved his dangling loose hairy stems above gay legs leggy
so that he might wiggle folklorical jigs like Haitians do with reggae
Gay-***-whackin' Hillary Clinton humps *** to a disco-***-humpin'
beat from her *** crooked-pants-suited *** to her lezzy-***-toed feet
stuck in turds as Bill sodomizes a mule, **** Hillary can be bought
stuck in pig **** as Billy rapes another, shaky Hillary can be bought
with Kleenex 'cause her honker has 5 pounds of unsought nose snot
that added nothin' to the virulent ****** that I ain't not never caught
On clean teen carpet she munched, slurped & lapped sink drain-like
forcing me to slap her shitless so that she could be a real, sane ****
whose despicable antics I am not morally outraged by, nor annoyed
as this repugnant behavior is directed medically by faux cushingoid
which accounts for her likeness to the puffy-faced star Alison Lloyd
who had something criminally criminal to do when she wasn't doin'
something grimy to fill her cravenously-craven-criminalistical void
that toys with emotions that are not immune to being toyed with on
the weekends that were made for Michelob on my blue hemorrhoid
that toys with emotions that aren't afraid of being toyed with on gay
weekends that were made for Michelob dumped on my hemorrhoid
only 'cause it is something to do when you are not doing something
that could have ended early the cowboyin'-guy-life of William Boyd
whose hoppin,' in the hoppin'-along biz, derived from a secosteroid
Vegetable-hating vegans love pagans & meat-eaters secrete beavers
& Yukio & Yoko Mishima beat to death with a bat old Tom Seavers
after he frittered away his ball-batting career as a raunchy, gay dude
to the tune of 4 original Beatles crooning the god-awful "Hey Jude"
while fat priests ****** nuns & nudists in nudist colonies pray ****
for chapel cameras of the ******* Channel's dude ranch, Play Dude
where the rudest nudists & naturalists, nudely & naturally stay rude
without caring to distinguish betwixt fake night & serious day food
that could throw a self-effacing exhibitionist into a filthy, gay mood
with prelude payload which equates to slaves getting their pay sued
by orthognathical charlatans who worship devil-lovin' Ben Franklin
in his guise as Frenchy Chucky de Gaulle who could send tank men
for forensical strikes targetin' ****** on rivers whereat men bank sin
with a plugged-up ******* called Peter Hamilton, feet or Nam again
in quokka flesh minus 22% over a pig sty or a bacon-oiled ham pen
Even though He maintained amazing Bible-understanding abilities,
Pittsburgh's wall-to-wall ******* gave Jesus the Hill District jiggers
Despite His God given Holy Christian Bible-understandin' abilities,
Pittsburgh's loo-to-loo ******* gave Jesus shaky, Hill District jitters
that ache way too late & shake for a sexily-religious girl who titters
over dead Zhanna Friske's Russian lickspittles & ******* pig-sitters
gettin' one passed normal lesbians with tattoos of sickly zoo critters
that clearly show pederasts of The New York Times ******* shitless
after chalking Marxistical New York Times sources ******* shitless
in Bethlehem stables stabling new stud muffin horses shoed witless
where hippy people with greasy long hair were quite apt to be livin'
clawing about what's issue based vs. character drivel, I mean driven
Ol' Walker McDonald was my very special friend until he ***** me
under a nice fig tree beyond the bitchiest beach of the Sargasso Sea
where he wouldn't quit ****** me despite my sexiest desperate plea
I hollered a lot in a ******-nutty masculine voice but he did not care
about rotten figs that matted my Ellen-degenerated, lezzy-short hair
I told everyone in North Vietnam & Laos that he couldn't he trusted
'cause the 21,798 times he ***** me made me thoroughly disgusted
like there were gigantical nests of bugs up my *** heavily encrusted
in cracks where ****-crop-dusting planes can't dive swoop in dusted
before flying into my inner-sanctum room like old Corrie ten Boom
whose bee-busy life, after her crapping-out death, has yet to resume
in order to beat senseless neo-brutalistical V.A. nursing home abuse
that kills the blood-coagulatin' screams of a cursing gnome papoose
draped across the *** of a ***-rail engineer takin' it up the caboose
to make his gay meaning known to stragglers too lucid to be obtuse
Don't ****** me I'm your amigo, oh yeah I forgot in your final spin
that a plucky slice'd paralyze you forever good on any hot spinal fin
****** ****** at ****** mall: Who's the baddest ****** of them all?
Is it Ringo, or dead George/John, or false/fake ******, Beatle Faul?
I cannot wear no slutty dress because I got a sass-*** dose of P.M.S.
I can't ***** in my slutty dress while I got a bad-*** dose of P.M.S.
My boyfriend's a ***** queer who has been ripped up his ***'s rear
In city pig files they record my criminal-*****-bone record in miles
Here amongst the thoroughly hypnotized, I spank your lard **** red
while you flee with free fleas that fly with flies that are too-well fed
while you flee with 3 free fleas that fly with flies that are overly fed
The traveling mermaid porked & beaned me in the moldy sea green
as P.B.S.'s Fred Rogers fits into a death list of ***, dead codgers we
ruefully mourn the murders of Jack the Ripper's ******-red lodgers
who overtly related homosexually to lesbian heterosex bed-dodgers
on mountain picnics in Pennsylvania where they are fed odd chores
There ain't nothing grim in threading tawny-titted Hawaiian women
before drug-induced comas or with food cramps got from swimmin' Demon Hillary, I Would ****** Everybody Just to Make You Smile
Is this wrong? No, murdering everybody is Scratch's most beautiful
way to say: "I loathe you Bill" in his hottest court of Luciferian trial
A raunchy **** bussed my *** with cerebral palsy quicker than Ajax
scrubbed the crapped-out Admiral William Halsey. I'd mount 1 trull
plain or crunchy too but not when she humps like a Harlem *******
We told everybody deaf 'bout "us" but everybody but "us" was deaf
to our mutant deafness save Harland Sanders & Burger Chef & Jeff
Swallow this sea-warped poker chip to see what can happen while I
moodily tap out Florida flame red maple trees to drain all the sap in
Anita O'Day never curled the nether tufts of Melvin Howard Tormé
because she was a limpless gimp who saw sike-a-***** as girly gay
in the throes of scissor lovin' between Blobert Rake & Huddy Bolly
whose fine, rug-burned legs queered their sapphical, sexoholic folly
that in 1966 farted greasy Earth's real cheeses to slickly **** breezes
as 99 rescue inhalers asphyxiated fatalistically-asthmatical wheezes
I love the ocean. Do you feel the aloof sea spray on your face? That
ain't sea spray. That's a gay *** peeing down on you from the roof.
I like my ******* on caffeine-free diets as they're better controlled I
think, than apes on caffeine-big diets who **** ******* cherry pink
for sea-lovers in iron linkage to twist apart a chewed-on master link
soaked in a tub 93% bigger than a beef washer's blood-washed sink
Let us forgive my unkind words but the dog turds I tracked in aren't
my dog's turds 'cause your ***'s really pretty like that of an angel's
dead cousin, so you must not cream on creamy donuts by the dozen
I will not talk of you in the old past as long as you are able to ****
really fast. The way to hell is lousy with sinners as each part of you
could provide several dinners. Our cherries are nicer than the sweet
cherries in pies. I wish that our 4 eye sockets had 4 cherry-red eyes.
You're so tiny that you stand 'neath my knee at a distance so nice to
bruise my better kidney. Shut up a lot, I told you before. I ain't got a
mistress who did not chronically snore. I could slather your body in
peanut butter from scalp to *** belly like would that jack-*** Kojak
Savalas brother called Telly. How many times have I warned you to
shut up? 3,345 trillion 9 hundred thousand 128? Enough is enough!
I scratched your back while you were reverently praying, just like a
Catholical priest, which is the chief role I'm now piously portraying
Part of me wants to **** you the other doesn't when I was me & you
were so wasn't, when your ****** were floral with dandelions, ever
more gay than those that were Paul Ryan's. After January we'll ****
bleached whales on the beach while I castigate old adulteresses in a
sermon I preach beneath the flickering grand dragon wizard's torch.
God has blessed us with elbows & knees & sharp teeth, only to bite
whoever's sporting deliciously-moist quims that we strive to please
Kicking the **** out of constipation is my preferred realization with prunes, olive oil & herbs from rich soil, for once I'm well you'll see
healthful regularity overtaking me. I'll make your cheery cherry pop
by threading your pretty Barbie bobbin so fast that I can hardly stop
from attaching psychedelical fixations to conundrums psycholytical
No one asleep had ever downed a pickle 'cause the racer who hit 45
wet spots was the women-pleasing racer large Richard **** Trickle
No one awake had ever drowned a pickle because the racer who hit
damp spots was the ****-racing racer, big-stick Richard **** Trickle
No one awake had ever got ******-cell sickle with the racer who hit
87 damp spots, the ***-****-racing racer, ***** Richard **** Trickle
who found that **** babes with keen intellects were tricky to tickle
as ****'ll be doin' Marianne Faithfull with big-ribbed-****** ******
in his British Marxian way with obligatory sledge hammer & sickle
to spread her ******* for shire horse hung Beatle Jimmy Nicol
as Albert Hofmann's 102-year-old L.S.D. schlort is a thrill pickle in
a Swiss lab bobbing dead in *****, unable to pork, **** & ***** all
while Bert Hofmann's 102-year-ol' L.S.D. ******* is a dill pickle in
a Swiss lab bobbin' in *****, unable to poke, sock, cram & stick all
because of contact with a toxical/allergical rose bushy thorn prickle
Some of me's puerile, the other section's a rash, over my nasty belly
is mama, below is a wacky, pinkish ******, while I pile onward real
love from 11 p.m. till the pole star's there, 8 degrees from starboard
several acres from where the **** wipes for my liquor bar are stored
You're brave & you're wise, with my camera I'll capture your thighs
I long for blonde hair of which you've plenty. I want to kiss all of it
before you turn 20. Our Russian passion will pass a fever pitch like
convicts on a chain gang diggin' a ditch. You whistle alluringly like
Lauren Bacall. I wonder, can you do it pulling from Bogart's straw?
Let's eat cookies while we sleep in my million-dollar Blue Bird bus
because I have expensive chocolate chip cookies just for the 2 of us
Tell me the truth, I am dyin' to know. Will you be able to stop when
we go go go? It's very important that you're careful so you don't get
knocked up by a drunken sailor or a window washer or a blind man
with a tin cup. Your pocked *** is really low slung like a green pine
ladder's 1st broken rung. I bang you in the murky morning too early
for lunch 'cause you ain't ½ as **** as Alice from The Brady Bunch
whose meat-hacking with butcher Sam included a knock-out punch
Turn up the gas, I want no damp cell, no moist damsel in **** hell
whose ill virginity is wiped clean by my hellishly-wild *** machine
I love you tall, I love you short in a barrel, beneath a port. You are a
broad. I know it's true. Live up to the crooked contract or I will sue.
Richard F. Burton, extinguish *** Taylor's fiery *** that lit abruptly
in the Golfo de México from B.P.'s unmothered-crack-head-****-gas
I took harmful advice to seize a 1-upped leg man ****-deep in knees