"thrusted" poems
Can I drown in the sweet sorrow of your passion?
Bask in the drips of your essence and savor your liquid ecstasy.
Stare in awe at the contours of your body as it bends to my very will.
Making you feel as real as this fantasy world we have thrusted ourselves into.
Your soft whimpers caresses my ears as our spirits are driven by their own Heaven and Hell.
The rapid movements of your ribcage soothes my ravenous soul as our bodies intertwine with each other.
The aroma of our mixture captivates my subconscience as we're climbing towards your highest peak.
Your petite thighs clenching onto my physique build as the wave of nirvana overpowers your psyche.
She slowly drifts away from our fantasy world, leaving me here to dwell on her forsaken sorrow.
My body yearns to hear your voice in the endless darkness as it awaits for your return.
Can I cross the threshold into your garden of Eden one last time?
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 4:13 AM UTC
this is a tale
of two star-crossed lovers
with a love so powerful
they tainted the heavens
with bursts of colours
they were never meant to be;
mischievous little kids
finding love in sinful glee
in laughter, between dreams and reality
and though it was lawless,
they found solace
because in every prison,
they found a rhyme and a reason
but even for a love so great,
they could not escape
the fates’ wrath and envy
destiny pulled on their threads
cut them loose, thrusted them into misery;
for their memories were wiped clean,
but feelings remained as strong as they had ever been
the boy exiled in a far off land
across the pacific sea
the girl trapped in her need to break free
in a realm both boring and bland
ensnared in a labyrinth of woe
the lovers yearned for anything—
for something, for someone,
to obliterate this endless longing
the gods answered them
in the form of two loved ones
polished in every edge,
a perfect someone
but perfect felt too perfect
and not perfect enough
to fill up the hole
left by a perfectly imperfect
until one day the gods whispered
for the winds to push the two
and the birds to tug at their sleeves
over mountain and sea
even through the darkest valley
so their paths would finally meet
and so they did.
in the flurry of a moment
a pair of brown eyes met
and time was frozen
once more
the two stared intently
as if remembering a broken melody
a lost childhood song
branded as a wrong
the birds fluttered and flew
taking the cursed red fibre
snipped them in two
and the lovers felt all the lighter
it was the girl who spoke first:
**** the stars.
i don’t want perfect,
i want you.”*
eyes dazzling, the boy nodded:
*“we’ll invert the universe—
the night sky a blank white
the stars pitch black
the earth moving in reverse”*
the fates saw and surrendered
as the stars began to wither
for this love is love
in all its splendor
so the lovers walked away with a promise
under their breaths, they both swore:
*“i lost you once,
but nevermore.”*
****
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 10:46 PM UTC
And if you think I'm oppressed,
covering my hair with a silken headdress-
And if you think I'm forced,
beaten, to lengthen my sleeves and elongate my shorts-
And if you think I'm afraid,
cowering under the protection of black linen shade-
You 'most certainly take note of the society's improprieties,
that the abaya I wear is thrusted upon me,
that the niqab my sisters practice is only for he;
No. My hijab is my personality, my promise to honour my femininity,
to never allow anyone, any man, to use me;
I am a woman, a human, a feminist:
no man will control me.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 9:13 AM UTC
the amount of melanin in my skin often seems to conjure up some controversy so when I sit down to write and I see my hands, my light skinned not quite black but surely not white hands I think about the privileges thrusted upon me and when I begin to write I feel my hair against my back, my curly ***** but not quite ***** hair I wonder how what's on my head could make what's in it so frazzled
I often frustrate myself because I feel like my writing often centers around the fact that I am a woman and I am colored
and the fact that when I say I'm colored some look lost
in fact, in the film, for colored girls
Thandie Newton's character says "being alive and being a woman is all I got, but being colored is a metaphysical dilemma I haven't conquered yet."
and I found it frightening how relatable that was to me, being that I'm not quite almost a woman and not quite almost colored
but when I look at my poems they reflect that I indeed am
even though I'm lightskinned and I'm 16 and according to my white friends I'm, just like them because, as I've discovered our definitions of what a black girl sounds like and acts like and is like are extremely different
and I guess that reflects on who we've been introduced to
I have cousins and aunts and grandmothers and sisters
who represent what I believe emulate what a black woman is
and these white kids see what the media feeds about how black women walk and talk and act and lack
see when I picture a black woman I see beautiful smooth chocolate skin full lips round ******* wide hips and a smile as brilliant as her mind
when these kids picture a black woman they see ***** hair dark undesirable skin soup cooler lips and a mind filled with ignorance
and this is where my struggle begins
But in every ethnic group there is good and bad
and I am sick of black women only being associated with the bad
the fact that when most non blacks think of what a black woman is, they imagine an unintelligible mindless sassy loud mouth is over whelming to me
if you're skin isn't light enough or your behind isn't big enough you're only "pretty for a black girl"
I not only want to raise but destroy all expectations society gives black women
but I cannot do this alone
because we are smart and we are beautiful
we are troubled and we are strong
and we are one
once we stop tearing eachother down we can all be one
and I'm not sure why god blessed black women with so much beauty or why I'm so blessed to be one or why he put this determination in me but I think I will recognize it the day the world recognizes how beautiful are we.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 4:20 AM UTC
For some reason honey
I'm reminded of a song
A song I hummed
as with my mouth I slid down your thong
Something about the weather outside
guided my mouth in between your luscious thighs
and though the snow shovels and returns just as quick
That song won't leave my head
as I gently nibble and **** on your ****
We won't be able to go anywhere
nowhere at all
that was evident to me
as I thrusted as deep as my *****
But since we're trapped indoors
I'll kiss on your neck as we make love like ******
our burning flesh could melt the cruel snow and ice
let it snow let it snow... now that'll be in my head all night ;)
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
Before you get lost in the unfinished maps of her veins
the ones like yours, but not stitched up too many times to count on the ticks of a clock,
make sure that she trusts you enough to tell the truth.
Make sure that she loves you enough to know how you lie.
Remember that every single time you open your mouth, she's wishing
you're saying I love you.
Remember that on Fridays she doesn't want to cook.
And she sure doesn't want you to cook anything that was slaughtered.
Remember that she prefers cheap whiskey over champagne.
And when you're opening your ribcage to show her how fast your heart beats
when she grabs your wrists, make sure the butterflies are set free.
Make sure they find the window.
Make sure they find a home.
Remember that every living creature is just that, living.
Remember that they have a heartbeat.
And when you stop breathing when you see her with her hair down,
when you're thinking about starting a religion about girls with flowers for eyes,
tell her she's beautiful.
Tell her she's so full of the future.
Get her a telescope so you can show her the moon when it's bigger than both your thumbs.
Take her skiing while it's Summer in Australia even though you curse the snow as if it
were born out of wedlock.
Let her know she's not the first but she's definitely the only, and you're so scared of dying.
You never know what you have until it's locked firmly in your grasp as if to not let it run away.
You might lose a lot of blood but you'll never lose your way home.
I don't want to hear the dial tone.
I want to hear your voice, I want to hear you scream. Tell me to leave.
Tell me that I am the only road that leads you to a purpose.
That in a world of blindness I am so technicolour.
Even though I can't promise you that, I can give you my words, thrusted from my lungs
like wildfire.
Searching for the way out.
Talk to me about religion, please please convince me that there is something out there other than
rotting in the ground for all of eternity.
Bible scripture doesn't whisper of your lips like my pillows do.
I never really thought about pillow talk until they started speaking me to sleep.
I find myself found by the curvature of your spine, of the shadows that take up residence on your shoulders like they have lived there all along.
I want to kiss away every bit of pain that has ever stopped you from smiling at strangers
and let you know that I'm coming home and I will always find your hands.
Let your ribs shake when your heart has had enough.
Let them shake.
Let the rain come through your window while you're sitting there in your makeshift darkroom.
You are the only thing I know about consistency.
And before I get lost in the unfinished maps of your veins,
I will be making sure they lead to me.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
Amongst the weak.
The strong will rise.
Bringing our blades of justice.
Assassins,
All in disguise.
We rise together.
Along the line of the crowd.
Were at the corner of our fate.
Destiny will take us all.
Blades thrusted forward,
Arrows blacken the skies.
We charge into battle.
We fight for our lives.
For Freedom,
For honor.
JUSTICE.
But for whom?
I fear not what we face.
We will rise together.
Assassins for one.
AND all.
Together we fight,
Against the Templars.
We may be an Animus,
But our hearts are true.
Abstergo Destroyed a brother.
Or maybe hundreds.
Tonight,
They die by our swords.
Our blades of honor.
Will create a world of War.
Beware the Assassins,
We've Come to ****
You will die,
Drowning in the seven seas.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 12:27 PM UTC
Too many expert voices lay a claim on your shape,
You are either too full, or
You have gone too far,
Too many moulds get thrusted at your face,
To some you resemble a pear,
But they feel your should look more double cherry,
And whichever fruit you succeed in turning into,
You still, are a tad too hairy
But then does anyone ever tell you,
That sometimes ice cream will be the only answer
And that is just fine?
That a bedtime prayer can be enough night-time routine,
Which needn't include expensive lotions and creams,
That you need fats as well as you need protein,
As also each little gift that Nature crafted lovingly
For this marvel of a creation that is your Being-
So that your skin is fed and living,
And your knees are lubricated and sprightly,
And your blood is rich and active,
And your soul-
No one will give you
"How I brightened my soul in 4 weeks" tutorials,
But you ought to set your happy soul-goals,
A tummy rub in a sunny lawn on a lazy winter afternoon/
A drenching bath in heavy July rains/
A spontaneous poem effortlessly jotted down on a napkin
Level-happy!
And when you're that happy you will know
That you aren't a cut-out on public display,
Not a fruit,
not a diet,
not a fad that peaks and wanes,
You are an everlasting uniqueness,
You are an undefined shape,
You are that collection of rare energies
That only comes custom-made.
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 4:28 PM UTC
Fate, the absolute tyrant -
Brings me to my desk,
And I sit down to vent
This infernal night,
As prose or verse,
Or utter hogwash -
My wasted emotions -
Which some termed rhapsodic.
I promised myself not to cry -
As the day would dawn,
And I'd wheel down the aisle.
Making myself fall prey -
To another trade
Of cash and silver and solid gold,
A car and bungalow and so much more
- Of which in detail, I wasn't told.
Though I was called a beauty
Who could leave people dazed,
With two curvy dimples,
That lit my pretty face.
People never touched me
And would look at me with shame
Tell me I looked fragile
Once they knew I was lame.
I grew within four walls -
Comfy cushions and space
And it wasn't my legs, feeble
That restricted my pace.
It was love from parents
Siblings' scorn and care
That kept me from the wisely world
To go outdoors, I never dared.
I grew up crawling on my limbs
And seeing people walk
I never wished for them to stop -
Only prayed that they wouldn't talk!
For it was not their legs, I longed for
I reveled for what I was!
I only hoped they applied thought
Before pitying, how crippled I am!
I grew up watching the world go by
Each day and night would fly
Fantasizing with what I had been blessed -
My free and 'abled' mind!
I dream of a world - filled with trust
And friends who would 'walk' with me
Who would talk to me for who I was
And not offer sympathy!
I wished for love,
And found mine, divine
In a fairy tale -
Ironic indeed!
I sang love songs,
Wrote mushy poems
Painted wild dreams -
All to him, which would eventually lead.
You must have known this little boy -
Though a flaw, he did make history.
"Pinocchio", he was fondly called
And was known as a puppet with zeal!
It was not his quest for love that struck
Nor his zest to live
For it was his gait with wooden legs,
In which I could identify me!
But my dreams were thwarted
When to a man, I was entrusted -
(Or rather, on me thrusted)
One - with no love, but legs instead.
Along with blessings
For him to take along
Ample gifts were bestowed -
To keep us betrothed!
And now I await
To be proclaimed his wife
In the presence of a world
Which always kept me deprived.
It will be dawn
And I will soon be gone -
Yet I will yearn
For my Pinocchio to return!
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 10:21 AM UTC
fallow lay in a field, neath soil well over-tilled,
the bones of explanations, excuses, and desperation,
a singular self-destructive but upward thrusted commandment,
compose a poem of revelation,
a poem of destiny and unknown destination
of thee, I write, ashen standing,
with the poker face of a lying son,
before the father confessor mirror,
stand with palms facing outward,
with perfect calm and utter fright
for every nominated error listed below,
when confronted,
hopeless the innocence,
easier now to admit,
with perfect clarity, your innermost
confabulatory familiar friends,
rise to the fire,
first and foremost
belabor not with supposed ratiocinations,
put aside, your ration of
conjured up-for-all, and-all-for-naught excuses,
the prosecutors charges, so thoroughly distinguished,
it disables, speech, vision, all reason extinguished
as the lips and fingers silent move,
the hopeless knowledge of a pardon of 99.9%,
untenable, ransacks,
for what passerby criminal thought
has not resided in your head,
the hearth of who you are?
you,
write of nature, love, celestial notions,
the Etcetera's of life, but to me,
leave the exposure of our uncompressed,
here revealed sinning,
for among those who
unashamedly acknowledge
the intertwining nature of
human failings, and for the balance,
uncap our divine imagery
you write at of those other
nuanced pleasures,
nature, love, celestial notions,
while the sinners wrestle with
the angelic demons of
confrontation and revelation
for your own sake and saving,
do not wrestle with me
for sinners love, welcome
company
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 6:54 PM UTC
You are a beacon of light shining for me, the way home.
Which is a sort of contradiction because you are my home.
And right now I am just lost at sea.
I'm almost drowning in the ocean because I naively mistook it
for the depths of your eyes.
What a foolish, lovelorn mistake;
A mistake only lovers make.
For all I know you could give me an anchor disgused as a life preserver.
I'll take it because I trust too easily and I'll be thrusted down to the bottom
where the bodies of water keep their secrets.
I'm just another thing to keep quiet about.
Another mystery when the sun's up and another mistake when it's down.
The moon has a way of showing me for who I really am.
I want to yell out **** you" to it for illuminating me but I'll swallow water.
Just like I have choked back my love for you all this time out of fear
of your silence.
A silence I am all too familiar with.
I use my last breath to say that I'll miss you.
But only the fish can hear me.
And frankly, they don't give a ****
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 8:25 PM UTC
"Funny poems aren't taken seriously",
the figure splashes verbal acid over the
crumpled piece of paper I handed them.
Refusing to laugh
Curling their lip.
The paper quickly,
without a thought,
thrusted back into my hands.
They leave behind my thought
which fills the space between
myself, fidgeting alone
and them, striding away.
*Does it have to be serious
to be taken seriously?*
A mental court gathers itself around me
Myself, a defense attorney
Pointing a stained finger
at the figure on the stand.
I present the shoe-eating Peruvian
and his limerick friends.
Generations of drinking songs
often crass, but lasting.
There is laughter from the jury
There is hope for the poems.
Then my final evidence
the crumpled paper
I read it aloud
silence.
Is split by the dull chuckle of the figure
elbows in suit jacket pressed against the stand.
"Sure, there's examples from the past,
but you?
the troubled kid?
the depressed one?
the pariah?"
I glance at more files, appearing,
my name on each.
analysis,
evaluation,
diagnosis,
test.
Laughter, the type that jeers,
grows into a crescendo.
I huddle, hands over ears,
creasing my suit
but the muted version is worse.
I stagger to my feet.
The court has morphed cruelly
into an arena of sorts.
Brutal, simple, life-ending
decisions are made here.
My jacket is gone
My cheek openly bleeds
My sleeves have ripped
revealing the scars below.
I hurl out, from deep within me
"It's because I'm ****** up that
I need to write it!
Don't you understand?
Making people laugh
keeps and edge off the old habits
keeps the thoughts where they belong!"
My voice is hoarse.
The arena tightens.
Even as I say it, I'm overwhelmed by the thoughts
That I do not belong.
That a funny poem punctuated by my fingers
despite their past harm
delivered from my mouth
despite its harsh denouncements
and shared by my whole self
despite my self-banishment
is not enough.
I sink to the ground, stripped of my senses.
My poems have turned course
once helping ease pain,
now proliferating it.
My fingernails pierce the palm of my hand
through the crumpled paper
and two drops of blood strike the tiles.
I meant for this to be
a funny poem
But I guess it's about why
some people need to write them.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
In the linoleum dungeon
Sparkling swiffer creature
Squirts the floor
Calls polyphemic odors
Opening
And the crazy stench of allspice
Biting lime and draconian breath
Burning the nostril coins
Copper shield bending the cilia
Oven mitts plastered with narcotic grease and decomposing meals
Of yesteryear
Unclear
She speaks between steaming inspirations
Hoo-huh
Exhale the fire
It's'a hotta pasta lasagna
As the helicopters flap their handy rotories
Fast fractal birds
In circumfereferential motion
Cool down our mouths
Ice cubes in the juice
Plop a shot of gin
With that silly child's grin
And the room slowly cants
Begins to spin
As we laugh at the spots we cannot
Pin
Staring at the stellar mountain chains
Thrusted stone
Busted metal
Stabbing up into the sky
Competition
Where is the home beyond the horizon
Where we ate good meals
Not made alone
With parental guidance
As the days were stolen
By the erosive time
That spinning wheel
Well,
It's deep in us now
And the cells metastasized
Realized
That heaven is hell.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 3:51 PM UTC
Chest to chest,
Sweat on sweat.
Moans loud and sloppy,
Faces wrinkled in pure ecstacy.
"Gerard" Frank moaned,
And didn't hide his pleasure.
He dug his nails into Gerards bare hips,
Definately leaving a mark.
**** some more" Gerard groaned, and thrusted harder.
The headboard smashing against the wall,
And the neighbours shouting.
"I'm almost there" Frank yelled,
And pulled Gerard hard.
A few moments,
And Gerard was done.
Gerard rolled off of Frank,
Without a care in the world.
"I'm going to work" Gerard said,
And pulled on his clothes.
"B-but, you don't have to be in for an hour.."
Gerard grabbed Frank harshly by the hair,
And pinned him down.
He smirked down at the younger man,
And harder in love Frank fell.
"But you're my ****
And you know you love it."
Frank thought for a second,
And well,
**** it.
"I'm a bad little boy,
With no heart left,
Or soul.
Just ruin me Gee,
Take my body through hell."
Frank bit his bottom lip,
And looked at Gerard.
He was smirking,
And blushing hard.
"Yeah,
You're right little boy.
Now get on your knee's,
And at least have a try."
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 4:43 PM UTC
I didn't mean to bother you.
I know you're busy.
And as it turns out,
I'm bad at apologies.
So here's a poem:
Rose are red,
Violets are blue,
I'm also bad at rhyming,
So here's a Haiku:
Haiku's aren't easy.
So I'm having some trouble.
How about a song:
This is a song without music
So it's not very good
But you should know
That I'm sorry
Hey, Hey,
I'm sorry for bothering you
Hey, Hey,
Maybe I should try a Limerick instead:
There once was a guy named Dan
He had just eaten some ham
He tried to write stories
To say he was sorry
But everything he wrote was bland
Alright, so maybe the Limerick thing didn't work out either
.
.
.
Hmmmmmmm
.
.
.
Oh! Oh! How about an epic story!?
(But you just said you were bad at those)
It was a dark and stormy night.
(Come on, that's lame)
SHUT UP, BRAIN. I'M TRYING TO MAKE THIS APOLOGY CUTE.
.
.
.
Ahem
.
.
.
So there we were, alone out on the battlefield. A single hawk circled above.
"I don't know how much more of this heat I can take," you told me.
We continued walking when suddenly, a giant tiger with teeth as sharp as a knives jumped out in front of us!
"Why is there a tiger in this desert!" you screamed in horror.
"Don't question the plotline!" I yelled raising my sword.
The tiger leaped at me with all its might.
"I'll protect you, my dear!"
I dodged left; sword still at the ready. The tiger turned around slowly, his dark eyes burning into my soul. What could I possibly do to defeat this huge beast? The tiger jumped again, but this time I was ready. I ran at him and slid onto my knees. As the tiger lept over me I thrusted my sword upwards into its stomach, killing it instantly.
We had survived the attack, went to find shelter, and lived happily ever after. The End
Long story short: I'm bad at saying sorry, I don't know what that story had to do with saying sorry, and I hope this made you laugh a little. It certainly made me feel better writing it.
This Thanksgiving, I'm happy you're back in my life. :)
Peace.
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 11:13 PM UTC
The words of anger you spill can penetrate deep into my soul, your icy chill makes my blood run cold.
The constant judging glances that you cast my way can instantly make my courage fold.
But that's just a family affair.
It cuts so much deeper when the knife thrusted into my back is wielded by one that shares my family name.
A person that I would die to protect suddenly has me second guessing if they would do the same.
But hey , that's a family affair.
You can bring out of me a rage like no other person can and in an instant all I can see is a fiery red hue.
But despite it all we are family, you will always be connected me and I will always be connected to you.
That's how it goes when it's a family affair
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 7:50 PM UTC
You ask me to come over so that you can taste my sweetness, I rush right over smelling like Roses and honey and my glitter body lotion has me glistening.
You open the door to me wearing nothing but a red thong and red pumps, with my jet black hair covering nothing but my dark chocolate *******
You grab me close to you and kiss my full red lips, as you begin to play with my **** I say just take me and dnt hold back... you put me against the wall and down to the floor goes my thong and you begin to travel south and tasted my valley low...
I began to shiver as my juices came down as a river as you twirled your tongue and gave a lil tickle with your finger...Ooooo I'm starting to shake more as you threw me on the floor and laid your strong body on my and thrusted your man hood all up in me..
I began to MOAN as you began to grind... you turned me over on my stomach and started to hit me from behind... I Love for you to pull my hair and pump me hard as I skeeted all on the floor... You arched my back even more so I could feel you....Ooooo baby give me more!!!!!
You didn't want to *** so you began to eat you some and my MOANS came on even louder... you played with my breast and did a trick with your tongue and **** (explosion) ...my bad baby you didn't get to cum....lol
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC
Zombies they approach
to bad we can't be friends
This was my last thought
As I load my gun
This will be a blood bath
And I may never survive
I am the last, destined to die by hand I used to curest
I see her in the mob
Slowly approaching
Why rush I was doomed
I know it and so did they
I faught for 7 years
And this is my end
I am the last to see thair loved ones
I wounder how they will live with out me
I guess the same if I was the one that was victorious
**** this I yell"
as the zombies began to in case me
I was never the one who seeked the crowed
All wayse the loner
Dreaming for this day
Not hoping just knowing it will come to pass
My end will be beautiful
I cocked my gun
Knowing I wount need it but just liked the ilosen of my finally
Being of a gun fight,
We planed this
Me and the once people who surround me
All hopping it will never come
But non believed it was unnesary
They was in place
The shells all in place
I slipped the wire under my feat
And even though I could not see the liquid I know
It hit its home
Zombies cried in rage
Canines thrusted into the air
Trying to cut the air
And I laughted
****** was my favorite was my favorite wepen
I glanced above my head to see the net
Filed with liquid hell
It amused me that all the years I threaten to rain
Hell on my enimeyes
I get to do it
I hit the swich in my poket
I herd the flames hit the net
It will take 2 minutes for the flames
To meet the c4
But the zombies had a different plan
They rushed me
And all I did was take two steps backwards
And the mine wint of without a hitch
I lust a leg but that was enught distraction
C4 inighted and turned the night alive
I had made my last day of life
Hell
And I smile
The end is now
I closed my eyes
And waited
For my firy demise
To welcome me
Mar 30, 2012
Mar 30, 2012 at 6:22 PM UTC
I’m so tired,
but I could break every dish in this place.
If I screamed,
and bled,
and fell to my knees,
would you even walk over to clean up the mess on your floor?
Mr. Incredible,
waiting for your wonder woman,
but who the **** is a hero,
when no one’s being saved.
Trusted you,
thrusted you,
and now,
i’m disintegrating,
rusted in you.
Cut from the same cloth,
but i’m fading.
I’m torn up,
and spilled on,
and nothing but new is good enough for you.
Took me away,
bag me up,
may wind up at a good will.
But all I had was good will,
good intentions,
muddled by imperfections
you must not have been able to look past.
But ain’t that the ***
calling the kettle ******
You’re riddled with the same mistakes as me,
breaks as me,
teased about your weight like me,
face like me,
the braces that used to cover your incisors,
but mine weren’t.
I was always straight with you.
And one time,
I was late with you.
And then,
you ran.
Cause our mistakes,
could only be placed on me.
Now,
i’m tired.
Cause I could have held part of you,
but I just held the burdens.
And I did so gladly,
I wore you like a crown.
I sported you rightfully,
but you thought you entitled me.
Again about me.
Even when i’m dissing you,
i’m wishing I was kissing you.
Cause you helped make me,
baby.
But now i’m your creation,
sitting here waiting,
wishing I was breaking,
everything,
but us.
Sep 19, 2010
Sep 19, 2010 at 11:42 AM UTC
*embers drew to a shaded face, fragmented lips wept;
storms, feral and unabated, loitering in the combe of fires.
the ethereal visions of honey amber lights, faint and narrow;
ebony of my pupils dead, alike of shriveled meadow.
violence thrusted into yellow mouths of daffodils,
like tapestries like yarns of blue saccharine sorrows.
brimming with viscid liquids of blackeries and vains,
like silver mackerels, sleeping out of the abyss, on a train;
like subtle, maladroit shorthands and dewy black inks,
who lilts the fawnish plateaus and quaint alleys.
the depths of my shallow sleeps, glowing under
the burnt foliage, mellifluous sonatas gently play;
strawberries occur under bare walls of throat,
vanish on the morrow, like a dalliance—
so frantic and hollow.*
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
You take that **** thrusted upon you
You pick out the nutrients from that compost
And make it work in your favour
Grow from it
Because
Because god ******* ****** you're worth more than this
And you know it
Root yourself
Anchor using your values
Build that steady foundation
Then take it from the bottom up
Defy gravity
Chasing the sun
And after your beautiful bloom
You will die
But not in vain
Others will stem from your knowledge left behind in the soil
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC
Going to sleep
is the best thing
a person can do.
After a long day of work
just slip under the covers
clean, wrinkled, soft and daring
the night a comfortable pillow
in which to rest sleepy tired eyes
while finishing a dystopian sci-fi movie
taking place in the desert.
Furiosa takes the night
across her shoulders
black engine grease smeared
across her forehead as Mad Max
rides shotgun
before the heat consumes them.
Enjoying every sand crusted
machine cranked thrusted
water tank bomb shell.
She is the best kind of heroine
taking complete control
of the current situation.
But sometimes there’s a break
when the dusk becomes depth
merging into the white halo of moon
slivered like a cut thumbnail
just hanging there, lifeless.
And this is when
the truth becomes
completely apparent.
Resting one’s body
after a tough week
of physical and emotional sickness
becomes first priority
where relaxation nods its weary head
to slumber under a pile of blankets.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 10:44 PM UTC
King Arthur the great, a man to be noted,
head of the table, of greatness t'is coated,
slayer of dragons, killer of kings,
***** of brats and fellater of things.
After a triumphant skirmish, which Arthur did lead,
it was decided he'd celebrate in his great hall of mead.
One of his councilmen, being ever so corny,
decided to throw old Arthur an ****
he rallied his men,
about a hundred and ten,
and proved to Arthur that they were quite *****
He yanked Arthur's hair,
thrashed his fine heir,
and while in the process, he was not far from bare.
He spread Arthur's *** and shoved in his large diaphragm,
then threw in his huge **** and yelled "Here comes the leviathan!"
He thrusted and pounded then started to moan,
he ****** on his ******* and continued to bone.
The councilman, not satisfied, pulled out his large knife,
his eyes were bloodshot , his **** was his life.
He stared at Arthur's *** crack, it looked rather thin,
he carved it and sliced it then shoved it back in.
He looked into Arthur's eyes and said he wont waste,
he told all his men to **** with such haste.
Not one hole was spared, his nostrils were bleeding,
he turned at the councilman and asked for a beating.
The councilman nodded and with such a strange grin,
put it in Arthur's mouth, t'is no mere sin.
He slapped it, shook it and cried for power,
the gods must have heard him, his men started to cower.
He screamed and yelled as he let out his gravy,
he licked Arthur's eyes and cried "too bad theirs no baby!"
Arthur's eyes turned red, mad with such rage,
he snapped off his **** and thrashed the old sage.
He ripped out his stomach and had it ****** clean,
he shat on the sack and ****** on his spleen.
He stripped off his shirt and threw him on a bed,
then blasted a load, my word he was dead!
he ******* the mans carcass and licked his curved spine,
he exploded with power and yelled "By God it is time!"
And with a snap of his fingers the man turned to dust,
Arthur then cackled "well he earned my trust".
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 5:44 AM UTC