"sleazy" poems
***** ***** I **** *****
***** get ****** when I **** *****
No ifs, ands, and/or buts!
I **** ***** I **** *****
Nice girls are nice, but no good for nut-sucking.
They'll need a serene night to green-light a butt-fucking,
but that'll be easy with ****** ol' slut-fucking!
Boo to the nice girls! Praise be to slut-fucking!
I have a list. A list? Yes, a list of all the ***** I've missed.
I've never ****** or ****** these ***** and thus my nuts are ******* ******
So when I **** the lucky **** my nut removes her from the list---
another dumb cumbucket struck from my nut-sucking,
**** it, **** slut-fucking bucket list.
***** can be white, brown, pink, or almond.
They can be skinny with big **** or skinny with small ones.
***** can be perky, preppy, or posh,
with their brains and their clothes all shrunk from the wash.
But other ***** are pretty and funny and smart.
They can lift your thoughts from your **** to your heart.
They can talk about science, music, or art.
They can put you together or pull you apart.
But don't trust these ***** Don't! Don't you dare!
They'll force you to trust them and love them and care.
And then they'll be gone and then you'll be aware
of that hole in your heart that that dumb **** left there.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
I'd like to think that she's thinking:
"How far have I fallen?"
As she sits on the corner of her bed,
Listening to the soft buzz of his battery-powered toothbrush.
I imagine her,
Running her fingers through her clumsy, coagulated hair.
Glancing at her chipped, crimson toe nails,
Then looking to her class ring,
Made entirely of imitation ingredients,
Wondering when is the proper time to trash it.
When she was still a friend of mine,
I never saw her wear make up,
I never saw her show off in tight jeans
or low-cut tees.
But as he spews the toothpaste into the sink,
Skinny jeans lay tussled on the floor,
Next to the side door
that leads to his sister's side room.
The make up she wears
is from the night before.
It's skewed and shows evidence of running,
Like a wasted watercolor.
I'd like to think he isn't that handsome,
And that he's obsessed with Paul Walker.
I'd like to think when he re-enters the room,
He's in grey sweatpants,
He's wearing a black tank top,
With a Confederate flag backdrop,
With two barely dressed babes looking ******
in the foreground.
His hair, unwashed and greasy.
He rubs his belly,
And bears an idiot grin
on his face.
Looking like he just learned how to smile
at this pace.
"Did it feel good?"
feel good.
After he asks, he scans her body,
Beginning at those crimson toes,
And Ending at that clumsy hair.
Every second he scans,
He still wears that drawn-on
Idiot grin.
I'd like to think at this point she thinks of me.
Of my warnings and prophesy.
Her eyes start at the chipped toe nails,
Course over her tanning bed-inspired legs.
And finally reach the only thing she has on,
A t-shirt that belongs to his sister.
A t-shirt, when given by him,
It was mentioned, "thanks, mister".
Though she didn't satisfy all his redneck intentions,
During last night's expedition.
He still paid her back with a morning
one-sided session.
"It felt good" she says.
In reference to the ten minute **********
When her body was strummed and plucked,
Underneath his sister's Terri Clark T-shirt.
As she sits in the filth and the ****** fallout,
On a bed that is six days *****
While he is grinning,
Being everything but wordy.
I'd like to think she's thinking:
"How far have I fallen?"
Jun 4, 2010
Jun 4, 2010 at 10:31 PM UTC
A Queen in waiting, a Princess no less.
Each day, a routine before being seen.
For some, a shadow and not of the eye.
The kind you'd find on that of a guy.
An army of pogonophobes in dysphoric confusion.
Each purging our wardrobes,
a repeated delusion.
A leading *******
from a pornographic circus.
The ***** under graduate from
a school of *** workers.
Your Hubby's vision in blue
is our secret down south,
'cause he wouldn't kiss you with
that ***** mouth.
So, I'll stop you there Sizzle Chest
with your cans of Stella
in your pristine white vest.
'Cause this is real easy,
even for you Mr ******
I used to be a Princess but
now I'm a Queen,
recently coronated
after all that I've seen.
Poetry by Kaydee.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 9:43 AM UTC
She has her own star
Down on the boulevard
Where they all line up to see her
Welcome to her life
Welcome to her world
Her life did not go as planned
She thought the whole world was in her hands
She craves intimacy in the worst way
But has to settle for whatever the fellows are paying for that day
She parades around on her concrete stars perfumed and sprayed
Hopeful that someone will find her desirable rather than doubtful
Wears tons of makeup
Smokes two packs a day
She thinks the sooner she leaves this world the better
She had a plan she had a path
Before that monster stole her soul and caused her wrath
Now alcohol and drugs help numb her pain
Nothing but a ghost girl remains
The other girl shed herself just a pile of skin left on the floor
This new person is all anyone will see anymore
She does have a good heart
but rarely uses it
too many people have let her down
No one ever tries to see the person that she is
they never stop to hear her story
They say it's hard work to look that easy
Some may even call her ******
But not me
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 9:57 AM UTC
Bunga Bunga everywhere,
a powerful man with silly hair
seduced a girl too young and scared,
was married too but didn’t care.
Corrupt and feared!
Bunga Bunga sounds like fun,
a swimming pool and saucy sun,
an Egyptian that was on the run
Or, under-aged Morocun
Who ****** the boss!
Bunga Bunga ***** and *****
coffles of women to choose
and buy and grab and ride and use,
with confidence
and so much to lose,
but why didn’t he lose?
Why didn’t he lose when it was on the news
and hundreds of thousands of people accused
him of scandal and incompetence?
He never revealed his conscience
or any remorse for play boy antics
so far removed from his pedantic
stereotype as a political leader,
more like a ****** wheeler dealer,
pervy old ***** geezer,
over cologned,
greasy,
heavy breather;
machinating falsifier;
misogynistic **********
He prized a Ruby above the rest.
Bunga bunga, what a pest...
she leaked his private fetish fest;
poor Silvio, he tried his best
to hide the bribes and bets
and ****** and drugs and threats
but never could care
what was right and
what was fair.
Could only care
about the colour of his
**** hair.
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 11:45 AM UTC
Would you take a second Look?
At the girl who dances on table tops
And dresses a little too ******
Could you love a girl like me?
the girl everyone's had a taste of
I am like that first slice of bread
everyone's touched it
but no one really wants
The party girl
the free spirit
The Lost soul
Could you love a Misfit Doll?
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 2:05 AM UTC
Some of my predictions come true and i got to say i have a keen eye of probability-even though i'm bad at math.
Walk up to her and say that you predict you and her going on a date next Friday night and hopefully that will work.
Guys need new ways to be romantic, so we can keep our game up. No bad pickup-lines or ****** diction. Just pure prestineness within confident ties.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 1:11 AM UTC
CATERPILLAR recognize me
BUTTERFLY (turning away glances over shoulder) excuse me
CATERPILLAR i’m you before you transformed
BUTTERFLY get away you ****** worm
CATERPILLAR you can’t be serious look at me i’m you
BUTTERFLY look at you? euwwwh you’re a sticky slug with too many legs (pause) i’m exquisite fluttering colorful poetry a celebrity with huge fan base wherever i fly people recognize admire me
CATERPILLAR (creases brow) what happened to you did you forget your past where you come from
BUTTERFLY my past is fiction i’ve always been this lovely luminary (turns profile to audience in exaggerated manner) can’t you see i’m busy go away please leave
CATERPILLAR (bluntly) you’re consumed in vanity drunk on yourself spectacle without substance you make me question my own growing will i become like you
BUTTERFLY stop talking i’m calling 911
CATERPILLAR (sharply) you’re a sickening disappointment another Paris Hilton spin-off i hope to die in the cocoon and be spared the sham of you
BUTTERFLY (speaking into cell phone) yes operator i’m being accosted violated attack in progress please dispatch police immediately
CATERPILLAR you’re pitiful over-reactionary spineless decadent
BUTTERFLY i have nothing more to say law enforcement will be here soon
CATERPILLAR quit fretting i’m out of here i need to find and warn other caterpillars this meeting is a bleak awakening
BUTTERFLY think what you like greasy maggot i’m late for a performance and need to skirt paparazzi
caterpillar trudges off stage left as butterfly ascends over audience
Aug 16, 2010
Aug 16, 2010 at 8:07 AM UTC
amidst the terrifying news
that oozes daily from our television
I wonder what our world is like
is there indeed nothing to report
but global warming war and refugees
greedy power mongers and ****** politicians
why does the money I donate
seem not to make a difference
in suffering Africa
end global violence and exploitation
help refugees to find a home
I wish the news were more exhiliarating
and lift our souls
rather then send them
into useless desperation
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 5:30 PM UTC
You should probably know
You look dumb as ****
With that foreign blonde on your arm
It's awkward, it shows
But you parade her around
Like she's your ******* lucky charm
I remember when I was there
Don't you?
I remember when you really cared
Don't you?
I remember when you were real
Don't you?
I remember the way I made you feel
Don't you?
You probably forgot all about that
Didn't you?
Forgot everything we ever been through
Didn't you?
Moved on from your old life, got a new one
Didn't you?
You saw her and thought she was prettier
Didn't you?
You wanted her more than you wanted me
Didn't you?
But when she lets you down
And when she leaves to go home
When she finds someone better
And when she moves the **** on
Who the hell are you gonna love?
Probably some little ****** ****
That's all you could pull now anyways
And honestly, way deep deep down
I miss you, I want you, I need you around
But, reality check baby,
I hate you and dream of your death on the daily
You make me ******* sick
So I'm done, now I'm through with this ****
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 9:18 AM UTC
Purple velvet curtains mimicked purple proses of long dead authors
Auteurs and Anglophiles expressing desire, the desire for Desiree
and she danced, she danced.
Christie too, she danced, she danced
Kick, snare, kick kick, snare, she danced rhythmic hypnosis
Daddy watched from the bar, banal dance of the bandits
And Katzarina, baby in the back, dances for love
Fatherless child begging attention
Dance no more my dear soul, for you deserve more
Lecherous lounge acts, the men in ties
Order another round, girls gather around
Please me, dance for me, ****** and bashful
The purple velvet reminds them of mother
Cruel institutions that decay our psyche
Patriarchal pesticides in pasta and porridge
On the side of the mango, matriarchal monotony
Oh stop this pretentious pillaging of poor prostitutes
You are but a boy at the gates of existence, fear not, for the father and the mother shall hold your hand in the heavenly harem.
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 5:53 PM UTC
Five minute street artists
and insomnia mongers.
****** drunk blondes
and finger snapping phat booties.
Street geniuses
bred by Machiavellian philosophies
cypher dreams over tokes
of marijuana smoke.
Color worshipping narcotic traffickers,
and bread winners
parole corners
sporting fitted caps and twisting fingers.
Senile war veterans
beg for change in cardboard boxes
from the American dreams
they afforded.
Hard workers with every ethnicity
molded into each pore of their face,
rub shoulders with tourists at traffic stops
barely escaping tires crushing their feet.
Sartorial geniuses with no pants
switch hips in knock-off stellos heels,
selling the origin of the world on avenues
next to Arab Halal food.
Cooperate ties and blue collars chafe ***** on subways.
nodding in and out of Daily News articles
while oxygen blessed by asparagus ****
pump through their noses.
Summa *** laude number runners dictate economies
From sky-crapper offices,
And powered rain swallows their concrete each winter,
With no apologies.
Jun 2, 2011
Jun 2, 2011 at 11:01 PM UTC
I am glad I lived this long
So I could be on the internet.
I always wanted a ****** life
And though I haven’t got there yet
I am close, I can see it now
Throngs and hordes of ***** people;
Hundreds want to ****** me.
Several sites want to enlarge me,
I blush, nobody wants to reduce me.
I get fifty or so messages a day
Telling me how hot they are.
They treat me like I am a king
Or a kind of ****** superstar.
Calling me like sirens on rocks
They do, at least, until I get
To the part where I must pay
To get laid on the internet.
I have asked enough questions
Some of them embarrassing
To get the idea and understand
Why it’s me they are harassing.
By even clicking on their site
I’ve proved that I am a fool.
They say to themselves, I’m sure
“Will you look at this gullible tool?
Oh, and the promises they make!
They will rock my world with a word.
They will tell me the hottest things
That a schmuck like me ever heard.
But to clear the air, when they ask
For card numbers I don’t make a peep.
I am as ***** as a drunken rabbit
But first and foremost, I am cheap.
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 1:13 AM UTC
Dear Seattle,
I hate you
You and your tall buildings made of steel and glass
Your *** ridden streets
And alleyways that smell of **** and *****
You, Seattle, the melting *** of Washington State
With your ****** foreign old men
Who reek of beer and cigarettes
Who think they’ve still got it “going on”
**** you, Seattle
And your passive aggressive ways
**** you and your parks littered with alcoholics and heroin-addicts
Forget your clubs and pubs
Your romantic cowboys
Enlightened hippies
And your dreamy emo kids
Dear Seattle,
I will not miss you
Aug 22, 2010
Aug 22, 2010 at 9:21 PM UTC
You sit in busy subway cars
and start tabs at the ****** bars
in search of girls with wider hips
to trace in the air with your fingertips
You look for love in silhouettes
but find it in your cigarettes
and when you think your love life's back on track
you're reaching for another pack
Your denim sofa is a shrine
for sequins and for cheap red wine
which stains the fabric every night
but won't clean off, try as you might
You stroll down backstreets and alleys on end
hoping you will find a friend
in a girl who sells herself to you
because you know she needs friendship too
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 9:54 PM UTC
they've been involving themselves
in all sorts of corrupt deals
and the ICAC
is calling them in
to give accounts
of their underhanded deals
many Labor politicians
have fronted to tell their tales
so have ****** figures
who've left not so tidy trails
the head of the commission
is apprising himself
with the corruption stealth
the shady deals
the money exchanges
those fine upstanding
legislators
caught in the net
rife these practices
have been...
and in time
they've been seen to be
not so clean
dossiers on those
who've had their hands
in the defrauding game
shall have them
well cuffed
and they'll only
have themselves to blame
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 4:59 AM UTC
My long distance, never met
Cyber lover I can’t forget.
I don’t intend to give him up
His picture says he’s quite the pup
So, I will keep him ever more
It isn’t like I don’t know the score.
My too long distance Romeo
After all, it ain’t my first rodeo.
I’ve been around this block before.
I don’t fall so easily any more.
I’ve known this guy a long time.
He’s the real thing, not slime.
He’s the right age and is honest
And he writes me clever sonnets.
I know what he does for a living.
I know it’s not a line he’s giving.
He has been hurt before too.
It’s not something he can do
To dangle someone on a line.
He’s too nice, he’s too fine.
My friends are so mean
That because he is unseen
They say he could easily be
A bored housewife in Tennessee.
My long distance, never met
Cyber lover I can’t forget.
I don’t intend to give him up
His picture says he’s quite the pup
So, I will keep him ever more
It isn’t like I don’t know the score.
My too long distance Romeo
After all, it ain’t my first rodeo.
So, I pay no attention to them.
Their outlook on this is too dim.
It isn’t like I am the gullible type
That falls for some ****** kind of hype.
I’ve been to college and I work.
I’m not the target for some ****
I have asked all the right questions.
So, I ignore my friend’s suggestions.
I mean, think about it, after all.
Why would he do that to me at all?
What is he gaining to lie to me,
A person over here he never sees?
It isn’t like we are soon to meet
Like I lived right down the street.
He has told me several times before
That meeting up is not in store.
My long distance, never met
Cyber lover I can’t forget.
I don’t intend to give him up
His picture says he’s quite the pup
So, I will keep him ever more
It isn’t like I don’t know the score.
My too long distance Romeo
After all, it ain’t my first rodeo.
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 3:12 PM UTC
My parents grew up in a town
that everyone drove through
but no one could remember the name of
and the trees grew in perfect rows
like city buildings.
It was a place that had one school with every grade,
one diner that everyone drank coffee at,
and one church that everyone went to
no matter their beliefs.
My parents grew up in a town
where the tombstones outnumbered the people
that hid behind wavy seas of green
where no one can see them
unless you need to place flowers on the mounds
for your own sake.
My parents grew up in a town
where the number one place
for a crime scene
wasn't a dark alley
or ****** bar
but in your own **** living room.
My parents grew up in a town
where tragedy arose like clockwork
yet was always treated as a surprise
solved with
light, feathery words that held
no weight
like a band aid that always
seemed to get ripped off.
And the best way to talk about solutions
was to keep your mouth shut.
Ignorance is the speediest way
to keep your town perfect.
You had to hold on to your own ideas
and choke the others out.
My parents grew up in town
where you could only see the surface
decorated with smiling faces
worn like masks.
and what lies beneath
was only shown to the human eye
when it was too late.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 1:57 AM UTC
we rejoiced
when the sign on the parking meter said we could park for free.
your kind hand
in clumsy mind,
we strolled.
we were caught between the arts and business district,
so the shops and eateries weren't
sure if they should be cool or classy.
we strolled.
we passed an army of delis now abandoned.
a greek place,
a gelato,
a couple of hotel diners,
we rounded the block,
came back close to our start,
decided on the only restaurant
that was open.
as we were seated,
the already present patrons
stared ceaselessly, with no blinking.
people always stare at us.
i think they have trouble
categorizing us.
we aren't fat.
i don't wear affliction t-shirts,
you don't dress ******
we are caught somewhere
between the summer of '72 and indie rock brats.
our waiter was uneasy,
he had black hair, a beard,
a voice that squeaked and stuttered
as he boasted the organic and local support
the restaurant waved as their prideful flag.
order taken, people still throwing quick glances,
the music was right up our alley.
we took turns saying the names of the bands.
Cake, The Strokes, Spoon (the setlist's favorite), a deep cut from Bowie's Low, and a multitude of indie darlings that i can't remember.
i fell in love with you again.
i guess that makes the fifth or sixth time.
your child's eyes,
warm laughter,
and noble concern for the ****** state of the world.
it was good conversation,
it was good food,
it was a pleasant warm-up
for the remainder of our
getaway weekend.
Jul 27, 2010
Jul 27, 2010 at 10:10 AM UTC
I lay on the ground ****** and bruised.
Momentarily dazed and confused.
Looking up at my opponent, that which we call Life.
Standing over me, filled with heartache and strife.
Trying to hold me down, foot upon my chest.
Taunting me to stand again, to manifest.
To reassess my situation, the choices that have to lead to this moment.
I lay battered and broken, silently moaning things left unspoken, wistfully hoping for another opportunity.
The possibility to show my determination and ability to overcome such adversity.
My opponent steps away smiling, encouraging me to get to my feet.
Yelling that my time is not over; telling me I have much to complete.
I look up to see Hope in my corner, that which fills me with light.
To stand again determined and continue to fight.
Knowing good and well I will fall again in this brawl.
That I will have to crawl, struggle, and give it my all.
For this opponent, Life, he ain't easy.
Though he smiles, he is crazy, quite unfair, at times ******
I must remember the things I am fighting for.
Love, friendship, happiness, the things I adore.
Hindsight is 20/20, regret is meaningless, time cannot be reversed.
I look forward, smile back and yell ,"I am right here. do your worst!"
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 8:47 AM UTC
Complex innards of the female form,
Unrealised by the male definition of the world.
Intensity grabs a hold,
Locking me harshly onto the cracks in-between.
There's no such thing as enough.
More and more till faces are torn.
Slit in two. Sown up. Slit in four. Sown up.
And so on.
There's no needle, skin, key.
All useless paraphernalia.
Inserted into the flesh,
Then poured out at death.
Empower myself with the force of control.
Uncontrolled self-control lost to control of others.
Sunken by unwanted wanting of the sub-conscience.
Never to be fixed or forgotten,
Just left lingering in the abyss,
Eating away at you as you distaste yourself.
Visitations upon our corrected correctors,
Bringing solace for short periods.
Thrown fiercely under the bed to be forgotten again.
Convicted to lives of self-mutilation,
Self-deprivation, self-contemplation.
Hidden behind glistening eyes, just lies.
Stand, sit in ****** lanes peering up at the moon.
Lungs slowly growing blacker, laced with tar.
Hindsight is a curse, ignorance-bliss.
All held inside a shaking fist, shaking unwillingly.
Unwillingly shaking, kicking walls
To knock down, insane with powerless power.
Unhinged, unattached.
Inside, growls to torture.
Outside, smiles to assist.
Jan 19, 2012
Jan 19, 2012 at 12:19 PM UTC
To the
Easy-sleazy
speedy
speed-balling'
speed-demon
drivers.
There isn't a
circuit
that will
race you
to my bed room.
I don't endorse
NASCAR.
But if you
can drive
twenty five.
There is
a road
that will
get you there
eventually.
Apr 20, 2012
Apr 20, 2012 at 1:19 PM UTC
Our Father
Woe! to these demonic determined downtrodden deceivers,
Woe! Oh Thine merciless mendicants of misery and maleficent mendacity
Woe! Oh common corrupt conniving cunning calumnious crusaders of crucifixion...
scurrilous screeds scribbling sorrows
The Lord will sharpen thou pencils...
Thou pocket protectors whilst melt into thine *******
Thou spectacles opaque and permanently smudged...with other assorted
myriad miseries
Thou mittens will be smitten with interminable degeneracy...
Oh languid leaders of licentious lubricious larceny..
Oh craving calculating copious concupiscent calumnious falsifiers...
Oh maudlin mocking manipulators, multitudinous marauding machinations
**Thy God is an angry God
a vengeful God
a jealous God**
Oh **** pots and gall! Oh sordid ****** insalubrious denizens of depraved degeneracy
Take heed thou names mightn't appear in the almighty book of life when judgement deigns an
opprobrious order of objurgation
terrible tragic tempestous tribulations of treachery
Oh Woe! Alas!
They are fallacious febrile fabricators, fallen , fragmented flawed fugacious furtive falsifiers!!
scalawags and rapscallions..rascals of ribaldry..forlorn fallen away backslidden recalcitrants…
Oh misguided miserable miscreants, maladies and agitation be thy lot!
This rant has been brought to you by:
The Most High and Holy Priest of the Ignoble Church of Alliteration & Utter Skepticisim
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
I used to hurl myself at the idea
that your body is a craving,
a fire to be stroked.
Never did I feel that heat,
the heat of skin on skin,maybe,
but the "fire in your *****
"passion in the rippling bodies"
never.
Were my screw's a little loose?
They all spoke another language
with their hips and lips
and the fingers grasping at the hem of my skirt.
I flicked them away.
Sent them dancing in reverse down my leg
and back to the party.
Forced myself to play into the ****** game
of who done who.
But I never lost a round.
And I never lost my ******* either.
Because once I felt the walls come down
I was a ghost.
I was water,
slipping through your fingers
left nothing but a wet spot on your trousers
and a little annoyance at your dumb luck.
Keeping my flowers on their stems.
I let the hands find me,
call it peer-pressure.
I let Lewis and Clark
explore my terrain.
They both left positive feedback
and told everyone
about their grand adventures
in my mountains and valleys
and swift, coursing rivers.
I was busy playing hide and seek
in the closet
with the boys and girls
and forgot to mention
that all I wanted
were a few kind words
and a hand to hold.
Busy keeping pace with the promiscuity
of my youth
and losing track of those sweet little wisps
of lovers,
fleeting.
Eluding my fingers,
slipping through them
like water,
leaving my eyes a little wet
and the rest of me
damp with a dark shade of gray.
Maybe I am just afraid.
of what?
Of everything.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
Player Player, I Played Your Game,
Once Again I Lay Limp And Lame,
With A Stepped On Heart,
Which Was Caught And Tamed,
Dry And Brittle--It Waits For Rain
Player Player, You Found Me Fooled,
Helpless I Slipped Under Your Rule,
My Firey Soul,
Was Darastically Cooled,
Why Oh Why Heart Do You Fall For The Tools?
Player Player, Do You Think I Am Easy,
Like A Warm Summer Day's Cool And Breezy,
Boy, I Really Ain't So ******
If Only You Tried To Find The Real Me
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC