Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Peter Garrett Jun 10
Boys will always be boys
So you’re allowed to be a creep
Treat women as your toys
Don’t let anyone see you weep

Man up, pick some fights
There’s nothing as get a kid hit
Bully away someone’s light
Do that and I promise you’ll fit

Just be cool, society got your back
As long as you paint your soul in black
And never forget to wear your mask
Inspired by my own sick childhood and the doccumentary "The Mask you Live in", which a very dear friend recommended.
cait-cait Oct 2018
the devil’s eyes are blue ,
from when they made him up in heaven ,

but he keeps his girls like toys,
strewn,
             broken
and like dolls, they lay in piles.

you know,
ive always kept my mouth closed ,
and my sharp teeth dulled,
for i have been forced to wear a smile
to cover up each bruise .

so how come,
when
he looks at her like a dog ,
you all just let him bite?

do you think he ever kissed his wife’s wounds?

because
you know, we know that you men all kiss his,
right?
it is time to be angry. It is time for women to bite and kick and scream and make everyone sorry for ever thinking that any of this was okay. I’m sorry Doctor Ford.
angele Dec 2018
i feel like glass.
i feel like the word shatter.
this is what you have done to me with your abuse
this is what you have done to my heart
broken and smashed it over and over with a hammer.

i loved you-i still love you.
how come i still love you?
you break me as if i’m just one of your toys and toss me to the side again
and again
and again

and you have ruined me.
and you will again
and again
and again
until there is nothing left of me to break with your hammer.

and despite the uncertainties with how you feel about me and how you treat me…

i’ll always come back.
you know that.
L B Apr 2018
Stars
So many!
opened the sky above the ocean
A map
of night's heaven held
with the tailings of day

...and the pink moon
content  
with the toys
left by spring peepers
was playing in the dark woods
across the road

waiting for its mother
Cné Aug 2017
A tentative touch unsure
of erotica I've yet to explore.
Her sweet ripe ******* allure
my watering mouth can't ignore.

Tickling teasing touch to ignite us
giggling on our high
Soft soothing caresses in between
wondering why I was so shy...

Our fingers tangled in long blonde hair,
then gently stroking soft warm skin.
Bodies writhing, legs entwining,
where she ends, there I begin.

Oblivious to our thoughts
enambered with desires
Lips of wine in heated passion
soaring pleasures even higher.

Perfumed oil on bodies glistening,
**** laughs and playful fights.
Lace and heels and toys aplenty,
Girl, we'll make this last all night.

By EJ and Cné
A little wine
A little laugh
A little pleasure
For our own behalf

Thank you EJ for such inspiration
https://hellopoetry.com/elizabeth-j-1/
Eryck Oct 2018
We would collect
the wrecked
And broken toys.
The unspoken for toys,
That no one cared about anymore.

Each year on that day,
they were shipped and sent away.
Where did they exactly go?
I finally wanted to know.

I told dad these damaged toys sound like my brother Jimmy who was also wrecked and broken.
He couldn't control himself in his child like ways, was full of anger and ill spoken.

Where did you send my brother Jimmy to, was he really so bad?
Where has he gone to my brother Jimmy, where did you send him dad?

"Son, I'll be honest. Your brother Jimmy now lives with the other troubled boys...on the ISLAND OF BROKEN TOYS"!
Happy Halloween
Dead Rose One Jun 2015
Lush is the quietude
of the late Saturday afternoon,
rich are the silencing sounds,
as variegated as the shades of greens
of a man-seeded, nature-patchworked lawn

rays reveal some bright,
some yellowed spots,
all a potent color palette

resting worry wearied eyes,
untroubled by the gentle fading light's illumination,
that soon will disappear and seal officially,
another week gone by

the lawn,
acting as an ceiling acoustic tile,
absorbing and reflecting
the varied din of disharmonious
natural sounds orchestrated,
an ever present reminder
     that true quiet
is not the absence of noise

I hear
the chill in the air,
insects debating vociferously
their Saturday evening plans,
the waves broom-swishing beach debris,
pretending to be young parents
putting away the children's toys for the eve

the birds speak in Babel multitudes of tongues,
chirps, whistles, clicks and clacks,
then going strangely silent as if all were
praying collectively the afternoon sabbath service,
with an intensity of the silent devotion

this moment, i cannot
well enough communicate,
this trump of light absolutes,
and animal maybes,
that are visually and aurally
presented  in a living surround sound screen,
Dolby, of course,
all a plot of
ease and gentility,
in toto,
sweet serenity

here to cease,
no more tinkering,
leave well enough,
plenty well enough
for Sally and Rebecca, who love the lushness best....

JUNE 2015
Wandering the streets
Feeling in the rain
Keeps my love
In the air
Gray in the day
Evening keeps my love alive
So I wake up with her in the morning
Unrest at the night
Feeling the sensual senders
Take my angel's breath
You were never there.

And you never tried.

You had a chance,
but you stepped aside.

You never read me
stories,
or kissed me
good-night.

You never took me camping,
or even for a bike ride.

Now I'm a big girl,
and you can't buy me toys.

But that's ok,
cuz you never did in the first place,
though you had the choice.
Spend time with your loved ones while you still can.
Brother Jimmy May 2017
Fidget spinner
This year's winner

The latest fad
All schoolchildren had

To have

"We have to have it!", they exclaim,
"Last year's toys just aren't the same!"

A nine dollar trilobular spinning wheel?
Why would you need one? What's the deal?
"It demonstrates conservation, Dad.
Can't we PLEEEEASE get some?"

Conservation?

"Conservation of angular momentum"

So it's educational, eh?
Oh, okay.
#fad
A broken little heart entangles his tears,
that come from a person that he'll never see.
Wet rain boots and ***** feet make him forget
about the darkest nights. His bed and blankets
are like souvenirs from home; a house he'll never
remember. Lies and "I'm sorry"s are trapped in his
hair, dangling behind his ears, whispering such
morbid pain among his lullabies. With every cry he's
screamed for you, can you even hear him? He's afraid
to sleep alone, as the TV erases nightmares oozing from
his eyes, do you care at all? Lost toys and old photographs
make him plead; Oh, but why? He'll never understand the
love he couldn't have, the love you wouldn't give-
I made this poem a long time ago.
All feedback is welcome and appreciated!
They say children put childish things away. What they mean is Deconstruct the tower of your ideals and put your blocks away,
swim through the Milky Way of your dreams and put the flippers up.
As you come across your front lawn scattered with bikes as the kids scream kicking a ball he replies make sure both locks are locked, as they click you hear a slight slip in your heart.
Click click.
When his anxiety kicks in he will ask again, are both locks locked? You feel the toy box in your chest trying to burst at the seem but you only reply “Yea, they’re locked”
When he says children put their childish things away he means, the things you see don’t align with me. I’m too afraid of the freedom they bring when they take you away from me. So you sit on the granite floor of your life, floors clean, his smiles beams, and it’s as depressing as it seems.
Jordan Rowan Sep 2015
My humanity's in jeopardy every single day
Do I have the right clothes?
Do I have the right nose?
Did I say what I should say?

I'm constantly worried and in such a hurry
Did I make my own meal?
Did I work or did I steal?
Should I open up or conceal?

I'm always tired from pent up desire
I'm listening to the hum
From the people and their guns
Trying to ruin all my fun

I'm being told that love won't grow old
But it's stifled and stopped
These floating heads talk
About it around the clock

I'm just weary from always being cheery
I want to be alone
Not chained to a phone
Or hearing the public groan

If I'm 21 now then I'm too dumb anyhow
To fall in love or work
I'm just a coffee clerk
Spit on my college shirt

My self-worth isn't tied to this earth
It's tied to a wire
That leaves cities on fire
I can't get any higher

I feel like a little boy playing with little toys
Why do I have a voice,
If I don't have a choice?
Am I just radioactive noise?
Wayward Jul 2018
I was born out of fur and cotton,
With eyes that were shiny, black buttons.
From the store rack, I always watched the distant tree.
But one fine day, this little girl picked me.

My owner handled me with great care.
I was, after all, her beloved teddy bear.
I seemed to be her biggest comfort,
When she couldn't sleep or she felt troubled.

Years passed by and so did my time.
The little girl didn't need her teddy when she cried.
As I lay with the other toys in the attic,
I realized that my short life was quite tragic.

"Mr. Cuddles! Your child's best friend!"
But who's going to care about me in the end?
I played my part. I stayed with you.
But in the end this is what it came to.

Mr. Cuddles, the lonely one.
Who lies in the attic with his fur undone.
The cotton keeps falling out of his limb,
The once happy bear now lays grim.

                                                    -Waywa­rd❤
I attempted personification for the first time. I kind of relate to this poem though. I feel like Mr. Cuddles. And that somehow is my greatest fear. I fear being unloved and forgotten. I hope I got the message delivered in the poem.
A-McIntyre May 2018
We never had enough when we were young.
We never needed much, but the exact amount was unknown.
We never got enough; toys food or clothes.
We didn't need that much, so "barely" was the most.

We never got enough of your time.
We didn't understand, the eldest not yet nine.
We didn't get enough, affection or warmth.
We never took for granted, but your time spent was short.

We didn't want more than enough, somehow understanding all you had.
We never asked for much: to play or share or cuddle.
We never got that, you liked to stay in your bubble.
We didn't ask for this, to be born, or brought into your life.

We didn't choose the love, or the lack thereof.
We didn't need the money, you hid away from us.
We had enough for us four, your greed was just because.
We had enough, We had enough, We had enough.

We had enough time, to learn proper affection.
We had enough vocabulary for simple conversation.
We had enough feelings, to know you didn't care.
We were not selfish, so why didn't you share?

Was it that we weren't enough, you needed a new man?
Was it that we weren't calm enough, it got out of hand?
Was it that you didn't have enough, of the finer things in life?
Was it that you didn't think enough, before becoming an underage wife?

Now we live out our lives, believing we aren't enough.
Now we live out our lives, always trying to be more, never being enough.
Now we live out our lives, working hard at enough.
Now we live out our lives, still not understanding the problem wasn't us.
the song of my existance.
Krish Raj Jul 8
I will be free, Papa said.
No more tummy growls, Mama said.
I won't be sick often, Papa said.

I can dream, Mama said.
School I can go, Papa said.
Stars I can reach, Mama said.

Land of plenty, Papa said,
Cats have toys, Mama said.
Dogs sleep on beds, Papa said.

Don’t drag my Papa, I begged.
Don’t take my Mama, I cried .
Inside a cage my tears dried.
Family seperation at border
Nassif Younes Mar 2016
You know what?
**** your mortgage
And your four wheel drive
With its blah blah mileage
And blah blah blah long hard cylinders
And your newly painted lounge
Passionate Purple and Mellow Magenta
Blah blah blah
And your giant flower pots
And your five hundred channels
And your grand piano
That nobody plays
And your recliner sofas
And your perfectly square
Family photos
And your walk in wardrobe
And your cufflinks
And your **** toys
And your big *******
Lawnmower
And
God ****** I hate consumerism
Beer
Beer
*******
BEER
SOMEBODY GET ME A BEER
PC classic Feb 2018
Pretty girl living a nightmare

Pied Piper'd her twisted mind

to Einstein her nightly sheep

and white flag her past behind


The B-side to rainy songs are pedalled by callous kicks

They alz-heimed-her faded toys with a ******'s overkill

Now hard work is wasted time when cool cars have vacant seats

and the sky is but a snapback on a highway with receding trees.
Emma Jul 2018
She was never sure it was what she wanted,
arguing with a man who wanted her to carry a piece of them both.
But sure enough a small bump formed,
and from the first heartbeat she fell in love.

Everything from then on was tiny socks in tiny shoes,
fluffy cribs in shades of pink and blue.
Excitement and worry and fierce protection,
arms curling on top of her belly in intense affection.

But when the time came, something went horribly wrong,
when there was no screeching and crying to break the calm.
A child, still, unusually peaceful and serene,
she held the tiny shell where her baby should have been.

Everything in her life reminded her of her pain,
and nothing inside her could ever be the same.
Not even he could understand,
how she was stranded in her ****** wasteland.

Clothes and toys quickly packed in a box,
her body still creating milk for a being that would never grow.
she'd have to find a way to move on, living with the constant ache,
of the loss of a person she would never know.
Mohamed Nasir Aug 2018
As though their roles are irreversible,
As only comforters to bread winners,
And thought as weak oft perceived as sinners,
The men rules, women seems incapable.

Dear fathers why burdened your daughters so?
Of women's jobs but forced the girls to fill
The pails with water, wood from distant hills,
Instead of school to learn what they should know.

Herded at tender age to married life;
Heaven's rewards engraved on simple minds;
To tidy, cook and wash, no cuddly toys,
Be ever present, good, obedient wife.
They need your love, affections so be kind,
They strive in onerous world with men and boys.
The Petrarchan or the Italian sonnet. A different form from the modern shakespearean sonnets that I normally write.
Next page