"skank" poems
I'LL RIP YOUR HEAD OFF
AND I'LL **** STRAIGHT DOWN YOUR THROAT
YOU DUMB ******* *****
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 12:14 AM UTC
"The female body is a beautiful thing."
How dare you suggest such a thing?!
The female body is not designed for romantic beauty - no
It is designed for pleasure,
The pleasure of every man out there.
Even if the woman eyes out women rather than men,
Man will still take pleasure,
But as a fetish - as a kink.
*****
The bigger, the more painful.
But who cares?!
The bigger the better.
With ******* designed for flicking and ******* on in order to "turn her on"
Do you forget what their initial purpose is?
Do you forget the pain she went through to birth her children?
And the struggle of breast feeding?
Of course not.
You just don't care.
"The female body is a beautiful thing."
Yes it is beautiful - **** even.
Designed for the pleasure of men.
Shaved as smooth as the women men watch not so secretly.
*** is not supposed to be enjoyed by the woman - she is the enjoyment, the entertainer.
Womankind is not designed to be loved nor cherished.
Womankind is designed for *** and nothing more than that.
Let me tell you something: everything that you just read is not true - and yet this is what today's young people are being taught.
Girls believe that they cannot be popular without being sexualized; they wear revealing clothing, send nudes and will even go as far as having *** just to feel beautiful.
And even then she will be called a ***** a **** a *****
Girls are being taught that this is normal - that it's okay.
It is not okay.
Girls should not feel that they have to give their all to everyone and keep nothing for themselves.
Girls should be able to feel happy and positive on their own - without being told that they are **** by some ***** middle aged man.
So here is my message to every girl out there:
You are beautiful and don't let anyone tell you differently.
Don't let society pressure you into doing, saying or wearing certain things that you are uncomfortable with.
Don't let men use and manipulate you.
**Your body is your property and nobody else's** and it is not designed to be sexualized by men.
One day you will find the love of your life who will protect and cherish you and treat you the way you deserve.
But always remember:
Be true to yourself and be happy.
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 8:57 PM UTC
The whole concept
of adulthood
is one that seems to
trespass
from the ever-anticipated world
of the theoretical,
just to barge into your life
one night
like an uninvited drunken friend.
It will never really “hit you,”
but it’ll come **** close
the first time your aunt
offers you a glass of wine
as she and your mother
gossip frankly about
your father’s mistress—
you sip on cheap Chardonnay
and pretend to be used to the taste,
as they talk with
a middle-aged bitterness
of the man you were raised
to believe was too virtuous
to be in debt for some glitzy
engagement ring that he
bought to restart his life
with a woman he left your mother for
shortly after the pandemonium
of a guiltless affair.
The man
whose brutishness
you were told to overlook, cradling
the sparse memories
of when he’d tuck you
too tightly into bed, or
when he’d tell you that he loved you
even though half the time
you really didn’t believe him—
The man whose love confused you,
whose clumsy attempts
of fatherhood
kept the heart of a young girl
perpetually guarded
by a cautious skepticism—
The man who brought you into
a world he found absurd
as carelessly
as he raised you to face it,
torn apart
like every illusion that makes a child,
the ashes of which
that slip through your fingers
inevitably declare you
another bitter adult.
More wine will reveal
that your beloved father
is a controlling ******
and his relationship
with that *****
the whole family hates
only appears to be functioning
because she lets him have
all the control
he couldn’t exert on your mother,
even though you’ve had dinner
with the two of them a couple of times
and if you had met her
under any other circumstance (though
you’d feel like a traitor
if you said it aloud)
you wouldn’t think
she was all that bad.
In red, declarative letters
I want to write to any children I may ever bear
into this bittersweet game of ********
we play that we’ve since called ‘life,’
that when they first gaze with awe
at the unattainable grace
with which every grown-up seems to navigate
the world they created,
with all the pain of tax-paying and womanhood,
I want to scream
that we don’t know what the hell we’re doing either
and if at any point I try to convince you otherwise
you should tell your mother
that she’s full of ****
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 3:25 PM UTC
It's not the night before christmas and I'm unhappy.
Unhappy about parents who got married because
the *** the had made them believe they were in love.
Unhappy that my dad calls me a spoiled brat for
telling him the truth about ***** woman being a pain
in my *** *****
Unhappy because I over heard ***** woman laughing
telling her friend she got pregnant on purpose to trap
my stupid dad to get money.
You try telling an old man with graying hair and who
is getting fat his young ***** is a greedy ***** who
don't love him.
Unhappy because my dad never told me I was having a brother.
Unhappy because my mom got hurt but now she's
as bad as dad dating men she meets off the internet.
Unhappy because I'm 18 and had a kid after band camp.
Unhappy because I had to take a year off school.
Unhappy because christmas is coming and I don't care.
Unhappy because dad thinks he can buy me stuff thinking
buying me stuff takes the place of a dad.
I don't care about college anymore or what happens
after I graduate from high school.
There is no such thing as love.
There is no such thing as happy marriages.
There is no such thing as dads who give a **** about
kids they don't live with anymore.
There is this thing called me never getting married.
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 8:15 PM UTC
bow tie and collars
nice pair of suspenders
buzzcut and braid
wanna get laid?
sex-tuned world
labels all swirled
high level of confusion
doubt and frustration
all the stigma about
sexuality gender who you are
we tell you where you fit
labels aplenty
let me name many
**** *** thot, *****
these and much much more
***** ***** and traitor
see you all later
******* druggie, and ****
nerd, geek, emo, goth
**** ****** loner
crackhead and stoner
athletic and pretty
simple or ****
labels aplenty
go on, take your pick
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 9:14 AM UTC
I was seven years old the first time a teacher told me my tank top was inappropriate.
To cover my shoulders,
Cover up,
Close my mouth.
I was seven years old the first time my body was sexualized without my permission.
My body was sexualized without my permission
Before I even knew what that meant.
In the fifth grade I wore long sleeves,
To cover up a different kind of shame.
The kind of shame you give yourself when you’re tired of everyone else’s.
The kind of shame that bleeds before it heals into perfect pink lines,
Parallel with one another because something had to be perfect in my life even if I wasn’t.
But my teacher only noticed the sleeve that fell off my shoulder,
Told me to cover it,
Cover up,
Close my mouth.
I stood in the streets of Paris in eleventh grade, not feeling romantic at all
As I escaped an uncomfortable encounter,
Approached by a man on the subway.
My teacher tugged on the hem of my skirt,
“You dress like this because you want attention”, she said.
It was my fault, she said, because my clothes told him I wanted it.
Wanted him in my personal space, close enough to my face
To smell his breath.
Asking for it.
I should have been covered up.
What I heard in school were the words
****
*****
*****
What I heard my teachers say was applied to girls,
Not women.
Little girls being taught that when we are born female,
We are born with shame engraved into our skin,
Into our hearts.
The only anatomy I ever learned in school,
Was my shameful own,
And to cover it.
Cover up,
Close your mouth.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
she calls it
the BIG V
a ****** name
tasteless
but accurate
it is
BIG
very
B
I
G
stretched out
used
sold for such
a low price
*****
**********
*****
****
****** deviant
not exactly
a role
model
not some
saint
by any means.
I've seen it.
perhaps I will
never have
***
if other women
look like that
vaginas
like gaping holes
holes so large
it makes your
*****
seem superfluous
a thin branch
against a muggy
night sky
"did you bring
protection?"
she asks
I can only imagine
why she should
ask me that
am I in danger?
what monsters lurk
in that
bottomless cavern?
I want no part
in this expedition
I do not want to go
spelunking
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 8:51 PM UTC
The whole concept
of adulthood
is one that seems to
trespass
from the ever-anticipated world
of the theoretical,
just to barge into your life
one night
like an uninvited drunken friend.
It will never really “hit you,”
but it’ll come **** close
the first time your aunt
offers you a glass of wine
as she and your mother
gossip frankly about
your father’s mistress—
you sip on cheap Chardonnay
and pretend to be used to the taste,
as they talk
of the man you were raised
to believe
was too virtuous to be
in debt for some glitzy
engagement ring that he
bought to restart his life
with a woman he left your mother for
shortly after the pandemonium
of a guiltless affair.
The man
whose brutishness
you were told to overlook, cradling
the sparse memories
of when he’d tuck you
too tightly into bed, or
when he’d tell you that he loved you
even though half the time
you really didn’t believe him.
The man who brought you into
the world as carelessly
as he raised you to face it,
torn apart
like every illusion that makes a child,
the ashes of which
that slip through your fingers
inevitably declare you
another bitter adult.
More wine will reveal
that your beloved father
is a controlling ******
and his relationship
with that *****
the whole family hates
only appears to be functioning
because she lets him have
all the control
he couldn’t exert on your mother,
even though you’ve had dinner with them
a couple of times
and if you had met her
under any other circumstance (even though
you’d feel like a traitor if you said it aloud)
you wouldn’t think
she was all that bad.
In red, declarative letters
I want to write to any children
I may ever bring
into this ******** little game that
goes by the name of “life,”
that when they first gaze with awe
at the unattainable grace
with which every grown-up seems
to be navigating the world they created,
with all the pain of tax-paying and womanhood,
I want to scream
that we don’t know what the hell we’re doing either
and if at any point I try to convince you otherwise
you should tell your mother
that she’s full of ****
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 6:21 PM UTC
Even though you know some tea, you aren’t automatically pressed to spill ALL of it. Today’s tea features our roommate Sophie and two grody flavors of betrayal. BTW, I’m being magnanimous by changing the names and not doxxing the creeps.
To set our stage, a doe (we’ll call her Britney) high-school friend of Sophie’s is a Yale freshie this year. They were buddy-hollys back in the day and they’ve been clinging since their reunion.
On another track, Sophie’s been talking to a guy (we’ll call him Cory) in her English class recently and it was clear they were “in-like” but their clocked-up schedules were corking their algorithms.
Sophie and Cory finally got a shot last weekend when they attended a party together. However, it turns out later, at that party, Britney snuck off with Cory and smashed him (they were observed, and everyone carries a camera these days).
So, poor Sophie suffered two betrayals in one night. Cory went-hiking on her and Britney - who she'd told about Cory - did the other woman chisel.
Of course, Cory (just another dog-boy) is already forgotten but the broken friendship drama will live on forever. Why Britney chose to betray Sophie we’ll never know, because that ***** is dead to us.
Nov 14, 2022
Nov 14, 2022 at 12:06 PM UTC
the ****** on fifth street
don’t ask you to buy whiskey;
they take it from you.
there are too many
words—lascivious, lewd, *****
used to describe them.
and too many names—
**** ***** harlot ***** *****
used to deride them.
you want one tonight
someone who’ll snort ketamine
whose laugh sounds like bells.
someone to talk to
for thirty bucks an hour;
the best ones come cheap.
the best ones come drunk
(when they’re not doing molly)
and dance in the street.
the best ones wear rouge
that glows under streetlights and
rubs off on your lips.
the best ones **** quick
and leave quicker—out through the
back door, and lights out.
Jul 25, 2011
Jul 25, 2011 at 2:09 PM UTC
I am jiggling on that stage.
The egoless strut.
The humorous tap.
The spectacular trip.
Fall over,
over. and
Over
again.
Get up,
find a ballroom
Dancer.
Find a hand holding
Partner.
Play "Spice Up Your Life".
Spice Girls,
listen to the bridge.
tells you to Salsa.
Watch that scene.
Billy Elliot,
With the pianist.
Dancing Billy.
He loves it.
Just do it,
you love it too.
Cheesy pop,
You don't need to
embellish yourself.
No grace notes.
No flat 7th.
You don't need
to sugarcoat,
the truth.
Let loose to riddims.
live on the dancefloor.
Feel the *****
and the reggae.
Feel the triplets.
Rocksteady your way.
Dancehall to sounds.
Bounce and echo.
Side to side.
Left to right.
And we'll slow it
right
down.
The ballad starts.
Your beautiful structure on the left of your head,
the one called the ear.
The that ear controls aural empathy.
Let love be the choreographer to your moves,
Play the concept album, your heart.
Place it onto the record player and watch it spin
Start the track track with an International groove.
End. Replay.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 12:10 PM UTC
She sees blindly, selectively.
She sees the man whos arms are the only place she feels safe, not the violent brute who beats her if she breathes to loudly.
She sees her friends who care about her more than anything, not the people who complain to her constantly, as if they've forgotten they have working ears.
She sees a job she loves where she gets to help people, not the one where her boss feels her up & tells her if she says or does anything, she's fired.
She sees the man in the elevator who says "good morning ma'am" every morning & "good night" every night, not the man who stares down the revealing shirts her boss makes her wear to keep her job.
She sees the man who helps her wash her car, not the man who spits at her window & calls her a ******* ***** because she accidentily cut him off.
She sees freedom & a way out, not the gun.
She sees blindly, selectively.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 9:48 AM UTC
hitler's mush and britney's bush-
things that make you cringe.
paul bunyan and ***** hoes-
mouthful of wood.
beieber's twig and a dodo-
nobody has seen them for a long time.
rednecks and squirrels-
store nuts for the long winter.
and **** livestock.
this isnt a poem.this is a slur to all of you that take it up.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
This morning i watched Jeremy kyle!
Another father in a useless denile!
Another ***** with the width of a bar stool,
Chucks another father in with the disgusting gene pool.
Miserable forlorn Cattle going to slaughter,
Have more class than your abhorent daughter!
The pity i feel for that wretched child,
Thats bought up in a system that's been defiled.
The onlookers cheer as another ****** makes a jest.
About the poor man shes been using is clothed in some ill fitting vest.
Well done contestant three,
You have proved to us the ***** you can be!
Now please take your rapid leave,
Before we call your **** or boyfriend Steve.
That you've been sleeping with your cousin,
And no doubt have his bun in your oven!
Jan 27, 2011
Jan 27, 2011 at 5:34 PM UTC
I sometimes want to be dominated
To be choked
Bruised
Yanked.
I want to lose my hair to your fingertips.
For you to make me
Yours,
Make me cry
Make me sweat
Call me, *****
Make me beg.
Pull my hair
Call me *****
I need to physically be
As low as I feel.
To be nothing
Even in the eyes of the one I love.
So growl at me.
Spank me.
Hard.
Own me.
So that I can be the dirt
The ****
The dirtiest of them all
To match my mind.
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 12:56 PM UTC
Fat Loser ***
Deadbeat
Faggot Emo *****
Whore Bitch
Slut Cunt
Goth Lesbian Prissy
Anorexic
Words do hurt people and nobody seems to understand this, Just because it is what you think doesn't mean it should be said </3
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
Sirens and drunk laughter
outside my window
burnt ciggerete butts
Empty cases
outside my window
no flowers grow
outside my window
only people peeing
outside my window
***** ***** **** traffic
no white fence
outside my window
a group of lowlifes
junkies and ********
outside my window
wouldn't mind seeing a garden
or a hot girl tanning
outside my window
Walk outside
****** and drunk person
puking
outside my window
moving soon moving soon moving soon
where ill see a backyard outside my window
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 1:48 AM UTC
I wrote your sweet name in the glistening snow
I drank too much beer and just had to go
it's your weddin' reception
and I thought Fred should know
that I nailed you last week in my 86 Volvo
Good thing I drank that 12 pack of Schlitz
cause the beer ya'll servin'
gives me the sh-ts
I know it's a tad sloppy
but if I get on my knees
I may **** icicles
cause my doodads'l freeze!
Now the world knows that the ****** did lie
will ya cross the 'T' Billy Bob?
I done ****** myself dry
Happy Honeymoon Fred and your two timin' *****
Don't forget to tell him 'bout Bubba and Frank?
Burp! ....somebody catch me!!!
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 4:04 PM UTC
If I ever get the chance.
I will do to your relationships,
Exactly what you are doing to mine.
You skanky *** side bitch.
Not even able to breathe without anger.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 7:25 PM UTC
You lied, and cheated,Shattered my trust,I believed the fake feelings,Was fully blind to your phony lust.There isn't a point,Of shadowing betrayal,The pain and tears and heartbreak, Keep arriving without fail.So, thank-you for my fantasy,Of thinking we were one,The scars inscribed inside my chest,Can never be undone.Friends don't make you choose,Therefore I'm picking for you,Have fun with that ***** skank,Another flake for you to breeze through.So, in the end, i'm the fooled bitch,You're just a useless dick,As they say, we are what we eat,So go **** your two inch stick.
Feb 24, 2010
Feb 24, 2010 at 1:31 PM UTC
If I showed you my body bare
Through the shock, would you even care
That I stripped down layer by layer
Just to show you my innermost scares.
First is the very top layer
The girl with the messy dyed brown hair
The smiles and the laughter
Hiding all the pain that comes out after.
Second is the life of the party
Loud laughs, happy and hearty
Nothing to worry her pretty little mind
An empty, intoxicated mind.
Third is the loving pet-o-phile
That wants to travel from Paris to the Nile
Passionate shopper, day dreamer
But when she's angry, never meaner.
Fourth is the girl not many know
Called horrible things like a ***** and ***
She does not care about what they say
Waits all year for the two months after May.
Fifth is the bottle of open pills
And all she wants to do to herself is ****
The trust in life no longer there
The girl with the messy dyed brown hair.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 5:37 AM UTC
I am a peripheral *****
I brandish my notebook
Like a chef brandishes his dish-rag.
Where do wizards keep their wands?
I build worlds out of words
Universes out of silence;
Universes that can be destroyed
With a single eyebrow.
I am a calculator.
I am a thermometer.
I am a clashing painting on the wall.
I am a question.
I am as much as my pencil.
I am as much as my frame.
I am as much as my stains.
(I am as much as the buttons unbuttoned on my shirt collar.)
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 9:57 PM UTC
I want to stab you twenty times.
In the ******
I want to cut off your ***** ******* and throw them to the dogs.
I want to show you exactly who you messed with.
I will make sure your relationship ruining *** ends up like a human centipede.
I will make sure you are the middle!
I hope you realize how many times i cried myself to sleep because of you.
The amount of rage i have toward you is extreme.
If i ever meet you, the first thing that i will do is punch you across your ***** face.
**** you.
**** you.
**** you.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 3:46 AM UTC
Age 13 your heart called out for attention
Bed sheets stained with your innocence
Every tear flooding out the cotton fibers of your pillows
New Orleans had it bad with Katrina
Yet your tsunami desires for love
Hit harder than Haiti's tsunami
Quicker than the loss of life in Pompeii
I'm sorry age matters in this world
I'd take you in my arms
Hold you close and hope your wings develop
In the safety of my nesting heart
Age 15 and you're already being considered a *****
Tattooed, branded with the titles of **** *****
And the constant question of guys 4 years older
"Can you **** my ****
I'm sorry I was never given the chance to love you
Tell you how much you mean
To me and my world of death and pain
I understand
17 years old and I'm labeled a psychopath
Only because I love the sight of horror
I'm crazy because I dissected an already dead cat
Insane because I stabbed my brother with his own knife
We're outcast in today's society
Because we don't conform to the fashions
The styles of tomorrow
Instead we bask in the glory of our demise
Praying to every god in every book
To take the blade another 6 cm deeper
To have the alcohol in our liver
Erode the burning emotions
We were blessed to have yet cursed to never be reciprocated
I'm sorry I was never given the chance to love you
I would have loved you the way an angelic demon like yourself
Always dreamed of since the age of 6
Shame you're a thousand miles away
Dancing on the rose pedals that wilted on your grave
I should have sent a bouquet
You would have known you were loved
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 3:20 PM UTC