"tit" poems
Why Men Cry in the Bathroom
For so many reasons.
I will tell you the why.
I think you know,
Or perhaps, you think you know.
Men are always O.K.,
Even when not.
We expect the worse,
Accept the worse,
Nonetheless,
We are forever unprepared.
Wearily, we cry,
In the bathroom, in private,
Lest sighs slip by,
We be unmasked,
Early warring, strife signs warning.
Copious, tho we weep
Before the mirror confessor,
It is relief untethered,
Unbinding of the feet,
An uncounting
Of beaded rosaries,
Of freshly fallen hail stones,
Of night times terrors
By dawn's early edition's light,
and welcomed.
But look for the mute tear,
The eye-cornered drop,
*** tat, that never drops,
But never ceases formation and
Reforming, over and over again,
In a state of perpetuity of reconstitution,
*The tippy tear of an iceberg revealing,
And I see you peeping, wondering,
What is beneath*
Look for:
the torn worm-eaten edges of spirit,
thrift shop bought, extra worn,
grieving lines neath the eyes,
where the salt has evaporated,
discolored the skin.
worry lines,
under and above,
browed mapped, furrowed boundaries.
the laugh line saga,
where better days are stored,
recalled, as well as recanted,
publicly, privately.
Why just men?
I don't know,
Perhaps,
it is all I know. end.<nml>
Jan 6, 2013
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 10:46 AM UTC
I am worth more than my *******
My body is worth more than your ***** desires
If you lust after me then prove your desires through a song, written words or simple communication
Do not send me your less than mediocre ungroomed extremitie in a snap
With the word ******* written on it
Take you and your salivating mouth elsewhere
If all you see me for is my *******
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 8:37 PM UTC
Party
He gropes her ****
She grabs his ****
He reckons she wants it
Bad Bad Bad
He was a ***
She was a farce
Her husband saw & he’s
Mad Mad Mad
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 4:37 PM UTC
All these kids,
They cry,
Scream,
And *****
"I WANT FREEDOM FROM MY PARENTS!"
That simple freedom does not concern me.
I want freedom, but not just from my parents so I can stay out late.
I want freedom,
From my peers,
From my family,
From the government,
And from myself.
I want to be free to walk down the halls,
Hand in hand with a girl,
Who I'm in love with.
I want to be able to do that,
With no fear in my heart.
No worries or names called,
Or punches thrown.
I want that freedom.
I want the freedom to be able to bring a girl home,
And show her to my parents,
And tell her how much I love her,
In front of them.
I want to be able to talk to my mom,
About relationship problems,
About the GIRL who broke my heart,
But I cant.
I want the freedom to marry.
To marry any person I choose,
No matter the gender.
Male,
Or female,
It should not matter.
My happiness,
And the way I spend my life,
Is not something that should be voted on,
By those with half a brain.
I want freedom from myself,
To accept me,
And be who I am,
Without any shame.
But I can't do that,
Unless I have the freedom from others,
To be me,
And be happy with that.
I want the freedom to be gay.
Some may complain,
That the gays are already free,
Too much maybe.
But that is not the case.
We're not persecuted,
But we're not free.
All throughout history there has been movements for freedom.
There was one of religious freedom,
When puritans came to the New World from Britain.
A war was started,
And freedom came out with a victory.
There was one of freedom for slaves,
So that they could live the lives they wanted,
And not have to be owned,
And treated like property,
By another human being.
Once again,
A war was started,
And the slaves were freed.
There was one of freedom for women,
So that women could be the same as men,
Equals.
There were marches,
And protests,
And women rights came out on top.
There was one of freedom for those of color,
So that they can mix,
And mingle,
With the race that whites thought was superior.
There were marches,
And sit ins,
Protests,
And brawls,
But guess who won in the end?
We are working towards freedom of LGBTQ,
lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, questioning/queer,
And one way or another,
We will eventually get our freedom.
Look at all these past freedom movements,
There were always two sides to it.
Which side are you on?
Is it the right one?
This is not the land of the free and the home of the brave.
This is the land of the *** ******* cowards,
And the home of the "You can be free, if we allow it."
I think its about time we either lived up to our motto,
Or changed it.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 11:14 PM UTC
The shadows against your skin, the light that hits your
breast,
perfection in your curves my lips softly touch your
chest.
Slowly kissing towards your neck, your hips pressed
hard against my own.
I trace your neck with my tongue and you beg me to go down.
Nothing left on your body but your thong red as sin.
I slowly pull them off, my lips follow down your skin.
Hands grasping on your hips, teasing your inner thigh.
Soft bites followed by kisses, I move closer, close your
eyes...
Legs resting on my shoulders, my hands all over your
silhouette
Your nails dig into my skin, my tongue has you dripping wet.
Sucking softly on your **** nibbling on your lower lips.
Licking from the bottom, going up, as you tighten up your
hips.
I feel every muscle tighten while my fingers are inside.
A sigh of extesy when you *** the first time.
I move up towards your breast as I bite and nibble on the
tit.
I pin your hands down, hips grinding, with my **** on your
clit.
Teasing you with the head, gliding it in nice and slow.
Your back arches, I push harder, I love hearing you moan.
You smile and bite your lower lip trying not to scream,
Leaving marks down my back, take reality from a dream.
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 12:09 PM UTC
if i was a girl i wouldn’t shave i’d be a tomboy ballerina with upper body muscles maybe a **** or surfer girl smell a little subtle i’d be tough learn to take a punch but i’d also be fragile sensitive intelligent i’d dress down like female ducks gray beige brown yet wear thongs boots bikinis heals girl stuff if i was a girl i’d be freaked out by ************ and even more freaked out by menopause depressed i lost my wetness if i was a girl i’d flash *** crotch drive boys wild be a complete nymphomaniac **** until i found the right guy he’d be strong gentle patient caring with a cute ***** i don’t care how big if i was a girl i’d learn to give blow jobs really good acquire a taste for ***** and play that skill as my trump card if i was a girl i’d find a job roll up my sleeves be a hard worker impress my managers become a manager quit i would find another type of work maybe a writer painter if i was a girl i wouldn’t compete with men i’d simply be more creative smarter if i was a girl i’d want to give birth as scary profound as that might be i’d want to be a mom a nurturing loving attentive mom i’d garden cook sew clean stand by my man my children devoted to home and hearth if i was a girl i’d cry a lot but not in front of anyone if i was a girl i wouldn’t want to become an old woman surrounded by other old women taking care of sick old men or no old men if i was a girl i’d want to die instantly in an accident or in bed reaching ****** age 82 if i was a girl
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 7:37 AM UTC
The missus bought a Paperback
...at Val Village, Saturday,
I had a look inside her bag;
....T'was "Fifty Shades of Grey".
Well I just left her to it,
And at ten I went to bed.
An hour later she appeared;
The sight filled me with dread…..
In her left she held a rope;
And in her right a whip!
She threw them down upon the floor,
And then began to strip.
Well fifty years or so ago;
I might have had a peek;
But Mabel hasn't weathered well;
She's eighty four next week!!
Watching Mabel bump and grind;
Could not have been much grimmer.
And things then went from bad to worse;
She toppled off her Zimmer!
She struggled back upon her feet;
A couple minutes later;
She put her teeth back in and said
.....I am the dominater !!
Now if you knew our Mabel,
You'd see just why I spluttered,
I'd spent two months in traction
For the last complaint I'd uttered.
She stood there **** and naked
Bent forward just a bit
I went to hold her, sensual like
and stood on her left ***
Mabel screamed, her teeth shot out;
My god what had I done!?
She moaned and groaned then shouted out:
"Step on the other one"!!
Well readers, I can't tell no more;
About what occurred that day.
Suffice to say my jet black hair,
Turned fifty shades of Grey.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC
all aluminum alloy ammo
bane bat brakes badly basters back bones
come call cthulhu Cristo cuz
dead ********** dominate de download
even elven eternal endowments
fail frivolously flaming for fair fraudulence
grant good goggles give grandiose gratuity
how hella homeboys have how he has
If I ignore I implicate its implore
jack jacks jacks
kay killla kooks krack
LAPD locks la lackeys
maybe mom made mad monoxide
no, no natural nix NOx neutralizes
oh over overt opp only overlay orphic
please protest politely panic pretenses perpetuity
quiet quivers quiet queens
remember rage reaps reciprocity
so sour sits supplanters sat
to tell them to tare trail *** tat?
universal unhappiness underlays under us
victory validates victors vanity
why warble when winners wont waste worry wanting
x-axis x-rays Xerophagy Xanax Xanthorroea
you yodel yonder yet yahweh's yells Yarrish
zero zag zealots zoos
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 4:40 AM UTC
Foreigners are people somewhere else,
Natives are people at home;
If the place you’re at
Is your habitat,
You’re a foreigner, say in Rome.
But the scales of Justice balance true,
And *** leads into tat,
So the man who’s at home
When he stays in Rome
Is abroad when he’s where you’re at.
When we leave the limits of the land in which
Our birth certificates sat us,
It does not mean
Just a change of scene,
But also a change of status.
The Frenchman with his fetching beard,
The Scot with his kilt and sporran,
One moment he
May a native be,
And the next may find him foreign.
There’s many a difference quickly found
Between the different races,
But the only essential
Differential
Is living different places.
Yet such is the pride of prideful man,
From Austrians to Australians,
That wherever he is,
He regards as his,
And the natives there, as aliens.
Oh, I’ll be friends if you’ll be friends,
The foreigner tells the native,
And we’ll work together for our common ends
Like a preposition and a dative.
If our common ends seem mostly mine,
Why not, you ignorant foreigner?
And the native replies
Contrariwise;
And hence, my dears, the coroner.
So mind your manners when a native, please,
And doubly when you visit
And between us all
A rapport may fall
Ecstatically exquisite.
One simple thought, if you have it pat,
Will eliminate the coroner:
You may be a native in your habitat,
But to foreigners you’re just a foreigner.
5.4k
You kiss me, I kiss you
You grab me, I stroke you
On we go, *** for tat
Push inside
Fill me up
Stretch me out
I cling to you, surround you, arouse you
Still and slow at first
and the pressure builds
Harder and faster, till we're all skin, and teeth, and nails
And the smack of my skin on yours
It's a race
You pull me, I push you
You scratch me, I bite you
On and on it goes
Breath mingling, sweat mixing
Till we both come
panting, leaning on each other
This is physical, the most carnal desire.
This I understand. In this we are mere objects; animals moving solely on instinct.
It's the occasional tender touches that confuse me.
A soft kiss on my forehead, your hand seeking out mine; these baffle me.
Sometimes I wish I knew your intentions, sometimes I wish I knew mine.
Do I want more from you then the physical? Do you desire more from me?
In my wondering sometimes I think it might be nice to have a part of you,
and to give you something more of me.
But you never ask and I'm reluctant to offer.
Where are your layers?
Are we deeper than this kiddie pool we've been wading in?
What are we?
You never ask and I'm too cowardly to offer.
So we remain laying together, so close yet so distant.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 10:30 AM UTC
When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale ***
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
All the green leaved little weddings' wives
In the coal black bush and let them grieve.
When I was a gusty man and a half
And the black beast of the beetles' pews
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of *******
Not a boy and a bit in the wick-
Dipping moon and drunk as a new dropped calf,
I whistled all night in the twisted flues,
Midwives grew in the midnight ditches,
And the sizzling sheets of the town cried, Quick!-
Whenever I dove in a breast high shoal,
Wherever I ramped in the clover quilts,
Whatsoever I did in the coal-
Black night, I left my quivering prints.
When I was a man you could call a man
And the black cross of the holy house,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of welcome),
Brandy and ripe in my bright, bass prime,
No springtailed tom in the red hot town
With every simmering woman his mouse
But a hillocky bull in the swelter
Of summer come in his great good time
To the sultry, biding herds, I said,
Oh, time enough when the blood runs cold,
And I lie down but to sleep in bed,
For my sulking, skulking, coal black soul!
When I was half the man I was
And serve me right as the preachers warn,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of downfall),
No flailing calf or cat in a flame
Or hickory bull in milky grass
But a black sheep with a crumpled horn,
At last the soul from its foul mousehole
Slunk pouting out when the limp time came;
And I gave my soul a blind, slashed eye,
Gristle and rind, and a roarers' life,
And I shoved it into the coal black sky
To find a woman's soul for a wife.
Now I am a man no more no more
And a black reward for a roaring life,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of strangers),
Tidy and cursed in my dove cooed room
I lie down thin and hear the good bells jaw--
For, oh, my soul found a sunday wife
In the coal black sky and she bore angels!
Harpies around me out of her womb!
Chastity prays for me, piety sings,
Innocence sweetens my last black breath,
Modesty hides my thighs in her wings,
And all the deadly virtues plague my death!
5.3k
To have them shipped across the sea,
sitting like ornamental drops
tinsel strung around your eyes
pocketed the tree
walking down sunset avenue
reeking of bamboo stalks and water chestnuts
looking for a place to submerge your treasure
with a rattling breath do you deflate
And the Oak trunk that grows unimpeded
hanging her branches
caressing the Spaniard shingles
the clay missionary tabs
touching the stucco with a golden blade
of sunlight
cutting a thousand little strips
to hang about the face
moving a thousand miles a second
stopped in place with the quiet repose
of a yoga state
humming and shimmering
yet let me be sweet oak tree.
And I wander through the canyon boulevard
between the rocky cliffs and the endless riff
of surf-rock echoed off skate parks
and riding the PC
highway hair bedraggled and snaked into next week
lingering bonfire on the cotton shirt
plant for plant
*** for tat
seed to breed
Now dance, you and me.
Insinuation
drooling salivary tongue full
bacon
pigging out on burgers
getting red-eyes from vegans
smoking plants
murderers
We squirt,
relish on the act of dying
all things dying
choking life second by second
dying to live.
Staring at neon fins lining the gravel lot
Koi flickering beneath the celestial night
Suspended pondwater
pondering
In surfce tension
the deep mysteries of life
Tracing the snake through the winding streams
we watch atop the rooftop
Gaia
Taking in the burgeoning
Ocean of incandescent tangerine
and Peyote-light
Cacti hidden somewhere between
the quiet slumber of mindless streets
aligned by formless hands
Drinking the mescaline
air
Twisting the nightly moments
as locks of hair
I curled them, slipping, within my fingertips
tracing the long winding road of Tao
along her shoulders
Enraptured by her sensual bliss
When I finally drifted along the clouded memories
of divine rumbling eyes
she disappeared into the sky
blinking along the Jet turbines
Never meant to be mine
for more than a night
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 12:25 AM UTC
She was the ***** prize, he left her cos she had none.
He was a right ***
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 3:33 PM UTC
When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale ***
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
All the green leaved little weddings' wives
In the coal black bush and let them grieve.
When I was a gusty man and a half
And the black beast of the beetles' pews
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of *******
Not a boy and a bit in the wick-
Dipping moon and drunk as a new dropped calf,
I whistled all night in the twisted flues,
Midwives grew in the midnight ditches,
And the sizzling sheets of the town cried, Quick!-
Whenever I dove in a breast high shoal,
Wherever I ramped in the clover quilts,
Whatsoever I did in the coal-
Black night, I left my quivering prints.
When I was a man you could call a man
And the black cross of the holy house,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of welcome),
Brandy and ripe in my bright, bass prime,
No springtailed tom in the red hot town
With every simmering woman his mouse
But a hillocky bull in the swelter
Of summer come in his great good time
To the sultry, biding herds, I said,
Oh, time enough when the blood runs cold,
And I lie down but to sleep in bed,
For my sulking, skulking, coal black soul!
When I was half the man I was
And serve me right as the preachers warn,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of downfall),
No flailing calf or cat in a flame
Or hickory bull in milky grass
But a black sheep with a crumpled horn,
At last the soul from its foul mousehole
Slunk pouting out when the limp time came;
And I gave my soul a blind, slashed eye,
Gristle and rind, and a roarers' life,
And I shoved it into the coal black sky
To find a woman's soul for a wife.
Now I am a man no more no more
And a black reward for a roaring life,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of strangers),
Tidy and cursed in my dove cooed room
I lie down thin and hear the good bells jaw--
For, oh, my soul found a sunday wife
In the coal black sky and she bore angels!
Harpies around me out of her womb!
Chastity prays for me, piety sings,
Innocence sweetens my last black breath,
Modesty hides my thighs in her wings,
And all the deadly virtues plague my death!
4.9k
There’s a lot to be said for this place.
A near-perfect pitch for diversity,
Diversity: a neurolinguistic term;
A quaint way to say: miscegenation.
No, just kidding; I meant the melting ***
A fine blend of Anglo, Hispanic & Indian blood—
That’s Pueblo & Plains Indian blood--
Not that **** masala, chapati & dal Indian blood.
My apologies to "Who's the White Guy?" Bobby Jindal.
New Mexico: “The Land of Enchantment.”
Where 310 sunny days per annum,
Are like money in the bank, earning
Double-plus compound interest for those
Suffering with seasonal affective disorders.
A land of sunshine without the orange juice,
But substitute chili, red or green?
An equitable offset to be sure.
310 days of sunshine:
Even the white people are brown here.
Which does a lot for my self-esteem.
Back east—New York, Chicago & Philadelphia e.g.—
People that look like me, i.e.,
People with dark brown hair, eyes and skin,
Get stopped/ass-cheek spread/& frisked, routinely.
Stop & Frisk: NYPD’s spectator sport for decades.
Stop & Frisk: Mayor Bloomberg-defended
Crime-stopping Godsend,
Getting guns off the streets.
Getting homicides down.
Everything’s cool until some slick race baiter,
Starts yelling: RACIAL PROFILING.
Forget for a moment that people that look like me,
People like me with dark hair, eyes & skin,
Commit 78% of the crime in most cities.
“It’s not racially driven profiling,”
Said Newark’s police director recently
Referring to stops carried out by his officers.
“IT’S CRIME-DRIVEN PROFILING!”
But, again, political-correctness trumps common sense:
August 2013: Judge Rules NYPD
Stop-and-Frisk Unconstitutional.
Well I’ll be a monkey’s *** ******
I moved to New Mexico to blend in.
My complexion a shoe-in for
The Witness Protection Program or
Any other public or private,
Domestic or international rendition site.
But I digress.
New Mexico: no passport necessary, Babaloo!
New Mexico: be you white or black, Hispanic or Indian,
Or even Roswell extraterrestrial,
The cops here will beat the **** out of you.
Or shoot you dead, Kemosabe.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 1:44 PM UTC
On the face of it, there isn't much about this bird
To stop me in my tracks.
Brown, oblivious, busy with the ground
It totters along on stilted legs
Probing among the frozen fields.
It's the name that's the trouble.
Childhood hours spent copying pictures
From the Readers' Digest Book of Birds
Call to mind the name, 'Curlew'.
In my house, though, birds had Scots names
and my dad, a linguistic David Bellamy
Urged us to conserve these rare words
or lose them forever.
Goldfinch? Gowdspink!
Starling? Stuckie!
Blue *** Umm...
But the undistinguished gentleman before me
was definitely a whaup.
Curlew or whaup?
Which is it to me?
The English of books
or the fading Scots, maybe closer
to the bird's wild home?
Textbook reality
or romantic poetry?
Or both - can the creature sit
in two states at once?
"Schrodinger's Curlew", I think with a smile.
("Schrodinger's Whaup!" bellows the bit of my dad
that lodges in my head.)
Here, under a cloud of my own breath
In the low winter light,
Neither seems quite adequate.
And then, untouched by my musings
The bird spreads its wings and lifts,
Naming itself, with a long, pure note
And my heart, in two states,
Leaps
and breaks.
Nov 26, 2010
Nov 26, 2010 at 12:03 AM UTC
Todays Cubical
Is Contradistinction of
Tomorrows road trip
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 8:09 PM UTC
*After five good years of drought
It rained kisses and warming hugs
After my heart emaciating from rejection
I have experienced a resurrection
She kissed me wholly and deep
She sowed and had to reap
Could not recall the feminine grip
Even how to undo a lady zip
She kissed my upper and lower lip
Then around my body took a trip
Tore my favorite shirt,no time to unbutton
She ate my skin softly hard as a glutton
Not sure it was her mouth on my ***
Cause I couldn't open my eyes as she did it
She passed her soft fingers on my chest
Luckily I hadn't on my fitting vest
Crawled about my belly like a worm
While my ****** heart beat loud as a drum
She said something I didn't hear
Because passion had blocked my ear
She then undid my belt and my trousers
Quicker than all internet browsers
Then...then put the muzzle in her mouth
Was she aware of the bullet, I doubt
She cleared all the rust through the years
While in pleasure I cried happy tears
She knew how to hold the whistle and blow
Between where she knelt down low
Her palm around me was a soft tight glove
Felt she's the one that I deserved
Like a snake she crawled back up
And astride the volcanic plug sat Asap
Not afraid of the sharp edges causing harm
She kissed me violently and hurt my gum
I just couldn't care less at such a moment
Of a soothing ride, a welcome torment
Soon overtaken by my inner animal
I realized I could not take it anymore
And took charge of the walk to heaven
While the clock alarmed, think eleven
She arched tout like a hunters bow
And her eyes brightly seemed to glow
My journey deep was careful and slow
But the return as swift as Pacman's blow
I loved the way she clawed her nails
Into me, she reopened all my wells
I wanted to take her for a longer ride
But the wave of passion killed me,I died
Even when we were done I remained inside
Watching her skin as pale as transfiguration
Out of the joy we had shared, I'm glad
I received my emotional resurrection*
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 5:03 PM UTC
****** and bass
****** and bass.
All she want in her face
is ****** and bass.
All she wanna do
is **** ******
kiss *******
and listen to Future.
**** that's why
I won't pursue her.
Love and the essence of life
don't get through to her.
She is an addict.
Running from life
and abusing ****
to get away from it.
So much beauty and potential
but he she wanna be a dumb *****
She wanna be that *****
or some *****
that gotta man that's rich
and follow the crowd.
Blowin loud.
Poopin xans
and sippin lean.
She ain't never seen
a trap but
She listens to Future
and shes stumblin.
Choppin it the **** up
and mumblin.
Lickin her lips and giggling
because my sub in the trunk
is tickling her pearl tongue
and both lungs.
We are both young
but that's no reason
to act so dumb
and walk around all numb.
When I kick her some philosophy
she doesn't care
all she can think about
is her on top of me.
All in her soul.
All in her face.
****** and bass.
****** and bass.
All she want in her face
is ****** and bass.
All she wanna do
is **** ******
kiss *******
and listen to Future.
The Promethazine King.
The codeine connoisseur.
You can't be a loser
if you wanna get
through to her.
She needs your dollar signs
and expensive ****
before you even see the ****
or a *** or an *** cheek.
She's fine as hell but
If you ask me
she ain't no Ashley
from Fresh Prince.
She's nasty.
Freaky and far from innocent.
She wants it blasted
in her face
until she can't see straight.
She wants the force from the back
till she feel it
in her stomach and her back.
She listens to Future
but I'm no codeine cowboy.
She's mistaken me for him
because I'm
as fresh as an altoid
and my eyes are as low as
the unemployment rate.
I set the bait
and there is the prey.
Now she is
all in my face.
****** and bass.
****** and bass.
All she want in her face
is ****** and bass.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 1:15 PM UTC
Life is so short, Life is so sweet
It is a real pity, That some people sleep on the street
You see them in alleys, You see them in parks
The ones whose lives Have got no more spark
They say they are dead beats, The **** of the earth
But were they really like that, Right from their birth
They used to be happy, They used to be gay
They even had a Christmas and a happy birthday
But now their a loner and who the hell cares
For people just spit or stand there and stare
But the loner just thinks, He's still got his mind
Just look in the mirror and see what 'you' dare find
Now years have past and the loner is dead
But there in his place, Now let it be said
Is the one who walked passed and he just spat
Justice or not, Is 'that' *** for Tat
May 12, 2010
May 12, 2010 at 9:51 PM UTC
Aesthetician stares deeply into the center of a tulip
tears stream as we cry
but the earth doesn’t
ethereal spectors flow about religion
Washington did live in
a racecar, palindrome
*** Wisdom!
Meowth! I haven’t since the 90’s had a soul
estaban caresses his lover
his wife prepares
a pineapple
tapeworms infest
****** inside of a colonic protestant
whipped into shapely curves once withheld
by the likelihood ferrari
Pro-lifers are only just a fad or fling
cloudy like the soft color of pink
union between man and *****
Nicole smith I hope you go to
h
e
l
l
Awesome is he with a fatty
slimeball
foil wrapped burger
SASQUATCH GONE WORLDWIDE
Santeria love making ends with regret! Nay, Disgust!
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
Hold it!
whole ***
whale fitting
room
bowing walls
expanding spandex
seams stretched out of shape
lurid –
disturbed images play across the screen
biggest loser season MCMXVII
American dream with heavy cream
and spleenwiches
cleaning the crumbs,
bums long for an extra morsel
gnawing on dorsal fins
grinning, toothless, at least they have their figures
that figures says the emaciated diet queen
leave it to the homeless to be the only group
worthy of the runway –
starvation date
only the grumbling cuts the uncomfortable silence
empty bellies howl for nourishment
instead are fed meds and red licorice
which is immediately vomited
for fear of caloric inconsistency –
breathing adds blubber
to thighs and midriffs
marital spiff over the last cookie
sugar substitutes
substituting themselves for love and compassion
lashing out at the one above
fat girls with teary eyes cry
for just five more pounds
the dress fit in 1978 –
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 4:07 PM UTC
clumsy trip up the 17
steps to the paisley sheets
me behind you and
saying the same thing
with a new twist
"hey, know whats trending?"
"your sweet ***
or
"you smell that?!"
to which you reply
"farts is trending"
no able to erupt
in the uproarious laughter
necessitated by turning
a tired line on its head
i cover my mustachioed mouth
with a sweaty palm
to cover the guffaw
that would most certainly
awake my roommates
you always in the lead
giving *** for tat
the style of humor
i searched for yearningly
and never found
that is
till you released wind
and then told me about it
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 4:44 PM UTC
You stupid little ****
with all your lack of wit.
I was deceived.
I can't believe
I let you lick my ***
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC