"trashy" poems
Eenie Meenie Miney Moe
You're just another ***
Never saying "no" & NOT **** fo' show
Beyond ****** is where you go
The nasty crust is what you are below
A busted *** ratchet
With a scandalous habit
So bounce ***** with that ****
Or you're going to get hit
Peace out **** it
You need to just quit
Karma is what you're going to get
Because ******* DONT FORGET
You're not classy, just a slutty *****
With legs like a revolving door
Open to anyone wanting to score
But your ***** is stank & rotten to the core!
With more than one new STD sore
Just like I said before
BOUNCE,BITCH no one wants MORE!
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 12:32 AM UTC
Terrifying.
Ignorant.
******
Psychotic.
Unforgiving.
Over-emotional.
Jealous.
Competitive.
Manipulative.
Abusive.
******
Flirty.
Criminal.
Everything I just said.
Is the reason why I despise the female gender.
Good DAY.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 9:27 PM UTC
Ignorance is bliss,
really,
more like Stupidity.
an aspect,
benefiting a person,
like cold sore,
irritating,
an annoyance,
peevish to your life.
Face it, honey,
you’re as fake,
as your personality.
You’re plastic,
I could melt you,
if I truly desired,
setting a lighted match,
to your artificial body.
Please, take some advice,
lay off the make-up,
you look like a clown,
maybe a **********
Tanning is acceptable,
but looking dark orange,
is outrageous.
There is no need to look,
like you just rolled in bag of Doritos,
that’s Snooki’s Job.
There is more to life,
besides appearances,
waking up like P. Diddy,
sweet heart, don’t like be Kesha,
it’s ******
Partying is enjoyable,
but not necessary every night,
consisting of drinking,
frat boys, jocks, pretty boys,
saying “oh my god”,
or “I broke a nail”,
and precarious ***
I know you were raised with Barbies,
but you don’t have to be one.
Barbie is a piece of plastic,
containing no originality,
with an unfeasible body,
and isn’t real,
much like yourself.
Stop with the act,
no one wants to be,
around a person,
who is often intoxicated,
narcissistic,
and a ditzy *****
You can be a girly girl,
but be genuine,
stop being a follower,
if everyone jumps off a bridge,
then you’ll be splattered,
upon the ground with them,
no use to anyone.
My words are probably useless,
going right through the holes,
of yours ears,
attached to the plastic head of yours.
Anyways, I tried,
as excruciating as it was,
to reach out to you,
who are living this life,
of alleged greatness,
more like a travesty,
in my eyes.
Hopefully, you’ll change,
wake up from this social stupor,
become yourself,
regain your individuality,
and cease to be,
a Barbie doll.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 2:54 PM UTC
craigslist posts on women
Things women hate about other women (MICHIGAN)
I'm a man and I got no problems with beautiful women and love looking at and spending time with them. Listed some of the problems women have with other women and why some of them get to be targets of world's biggest haters.
1. Beauty - If the women think you are prettier than them, the more threatened they feel. They feel like ogre and hags around the woman and become haters.
2. Intelligence - It's okay to be smart but not if people are reaching for dictionaries or have to google to translate your last sentence. The bigger the words, the smaller your audience feels.
3. Hard Work Ethic - no woman wants to know another woman is working harder and reaping rewards from it. Women want that hard working woman gone.
4. Confidence - Women can't stand women who are confident.
5. Dress better - women hate other women who dress better than them. Women who dress flashy are called ****** by ****** ones who hate them.
6. Strong Personality - women have serious issues with women who are strong and speak minds.
7. Competitive - women are competitive by nature and when they feel they can't compete they hate.
8. Affluent - women being richer than another woman is not what other women want. You see women have to have more money than other women or the richer one get called all kinds of name.
Women feel threatened and intimidated by other women faster than by men who they flirt with and plot to get as sugar dads. Biggest problem of women are women who hate other women
Response to post
competition in women
Ever have a female friend who flirted with you knowing you had feelings for another woman? Been there with a few ladies who wanted nothing to do with me when I alone. Moment the office sweetheart started saying hi and took interest, I got popular with some of my co-workers who started saying hi and flirting. That's the competitive thing happening in women's brains. Where the hell were all the women when nobody wanted me?
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 5:28 PM UTC
11-6-14
I saw my name on your contacts list
and wondered how many times your finger hovered over the "call" button.
---
I hope you, or at least someone
thinks at least some things about me are cute
the way my hair sticks up and then flops over when I try to fix it
and, when pinned up, the way it becomes gradually messier over the course of the day.
When I mouth the words to a song on the school bus,
scrunching my eyes and headbanging,
or when I spin around on my heels, and try to look graceful.
---
Frick, I shouldn't try to write about love, i'm just a thirteen-year-old girl
who grew up on the internet
and doesn't care about the ****** music she's listening to.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 7:27 PM UTC
I'm not an alcoholic,
I just like to drink alone.
Thanks for the concern though.
Why can't a girl get drunk alone
at her place with that ugly
word getting tossed around?
I'm too broke to sustain an alcohol addiction anyway.
Too prissy to pump myself full of cheap liquor.
I'm a high society mess and only indulge myself on top shelf drinks and failed dreams.
Thanks for the concern though.
I'm twenty one.
I'm young.
I'm fun.
And an introvert to the core of my being.
Why can't I drink alone and watch ****** reality television
without the threat of an intervention?
People exhaust me.
Wine delights me.
People are evil.
***** is tasty.
Society is corrupt.
And tequila tastes like vacation.
Good for you man,
you've got it together.
I don't. And I hate going out
and socializing despite what my
cheerful disposition might lead you to think.
So let me drink
And mind your own **** business.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 5:36 PM UTC
i love you.
i love you.
i love you.
you prepared me for this
and i can't decide whether
it's ok for me to feel as relieved
as I do when I am not crying
i've never felt so much instant pain
and relief all at once
so confusing-- my ****** lady
who walks like a trucker
piebald nightcaps
tree terrace
800+ hours
miles upon miles of cigarettes
dengue.
my heart.
my heart.
you brought me to Christ
you showed that God is love
you've left such a huge rainbow
in the earth's clay
i miss you
i want you
but I don't need you now
you know that
we know that
my heart.
you dreamt me and robbie
will one day meet
we will
and it won't be incredibly soon
--but it doesnt matter.
promise brothers
promise sister
Ngariy.
please hug Tithinfal for me
i'm glad you are with him now
im trying to go to Yap on Tuesday
for a week to see Ray and Celine
and the kids
to see Tingin
our spots the island wide
the tunnel behind peace corps
i inadequatley described to you
but that you can now see
and feel
with ****** yapese local music
blaring in the background
i'll be fine
you know I will
with heart on fire
I reach out to you tonight
all nights.
i'll find Zeyto
i'll hug him
those eyes
i'll sit in Gilin's kitchen and chainsmoke
i'll make you proud
i'll spread your word
i'll spread your message
i'll spread your love
i'll make it to Africa
and ill see you again
before we both know it
i love you.
and i'm good
ill learn to dance with a limp
rug baadagem ni odig, tinmad
gu baadagem.
forever
forever
forever
go rest
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 7:45 AM UTC
What I managed to regrow,
You stomped on.
You waltzed into my garden
Like you had grown the whole place yourself,
Your nose in the air.
You looked at my carrots and scoffed,
My cucumbers you mocked
And you thought my garden gnomes were ******
And I let you,
Because you acted like you knew so much about gardening
You said the caterpillars would help my leaves
And the crows would **** out my rotten veggies
But those cruel birds have just been eating away at my prize-winning squash,
and the tomato worms....well, they ate all my ripe tomatoes.
You said you'd help me tend to my garden
But you rarely make it over
And when you do, you throw a shovel in my face
And tell me to get on my knees.
You watch while I ****
And talk about the grandeur of the flowers next door.
And I wonder as I wipe my brow,
What I ever thought I needed you for?
And why you ever came over in the first place,
Since you obviously prefer pretty colors to nutrition
And you must have had some notion that I would one day realize,
That you've never kept anything alive in your life,
And you don't even have a yard.
Nov 9, 2010
Nov 9, 2010 at 6:55 PM UTC
My body sinks smoothly
Into the curves of your mattress
As I wait for you to crawl in beside me
Among the clouds we shift repeatedly
Apparently soft beds don’t promote cuddling
Netflix plays in the background
Some standup comedy for background noise
But we are not here to chill
The lining of your bra creeps from beneath your crop top
Black lace against your pale skin
And my fingertips can’t help but graze the intricate designs
And trace the edges along your soft skin
While I always think you’re ****
I am not trying to ****** you
I simply cannot get over
How someone can be so perfect
And how so many ****** humans
Could look at you
and touch you
Hear you
and connect with you
Yet somehow couldn’t love you.
But I’m also glad they didn’t
Because I could do this forever.
Sep 3, 2017
Sep 3, 2017 at 3:16 AM UTC
little the life that is left unto us now!
wars a ****** in!
(COME SAVE US E E CUMMINGS!)
the massive death
the rags of poverty grief and despair that shall be
our only dominion in a matter of days or weeks or years
(at best)
oh ****
are here
after I finally have come to kinda like it here
amid the queer folks and the paparazzi
socialists and nazis!
but the bankers have mastered oink-piggery
and the politicians have turned us into
****** weenies seeking only false security!
and there is no life left here!
(WHERE ARE YOU E E CUMMINGS!?)
ah, gentle reader, be brave be kind and good still
be the subtlest sense of decency shining and displaying
a last bit of reverence for this sacred universal place
we are in
though painfully being murdered
let us rebel gracefully
and live freely
again
Jun 8, 2010
Jun 8, 2010 at 11:38 AM UTC
i love you.
i love you.
i love you.
you prepared me for this
and i can't decide whether
it's ok for me to feel as relieved
as I do when I am not crying
i've never felt so much instant pain
and relief all at once
so confusing-- my ****** lady
who walks like a trucker
piebald nightcaps
tree terrace
800+ hours
miles upon miles of cigarettes
dengue.
my heart.
my heart.
you brought me to Christ
you showed that God is love
you've left such a huge rainbow
in the earth's clay
i miss you
i want you
but I don't need you now
you know that
we know that
my heart.
you dreamt me and robbie
will one day meet
we will
and it won't be incredibly soon
--but it doesnt matter.
promise brothers
promise sister
Ngariy.
please hug Tithinfal for me
i'm glad you are with him now
im trying to go to Yap on Tuesday
for a week to see Ray and Celine
and the kids
to see Tingin
our spots the island wide
the tunnel behind peace corps
i inadequatley described to you
but that you can now see
and feel
with ****** yapese local music
blaring in the background
i'll be fine
you know I will
with heart on fire
I reach out to you tonight
all nights.
i'll find Zeyto
i'll hug him
those eyes
i'll sit in Gilin's kitchen and chainsmoke
i'll make you proud
i'll spread your word
i'll spread your message
i'll spread your love
i'll make it to Africa
and ill see you again
before we both know it
i love you.
and i'm good
ill learn to dance with a limp
rug baadagem ni odig, tinmad
gu baadagem.
forever
forever
forever
go rest
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 7:45 AM UTC
My worst fears have come true,
I'm just a face in the crowd that
means nothing to you.
I've got a ****** apartment with two dudes
dropped out of school to fly
but cash shot me down
And I swear someone taught my demons to swim
because I can't seem to get them to drown.
It's like I'm stuck in immaturity
I'm a twenty-something nobody,
twenty-something nobody at all.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 12:39 AM UTC
Love is tacky.
Love is cheap.
Love is scrolling through an endless amount of ****** online dating profiles
on a Saturday night.
Love is not subtle.
Love is two people bargaining,
lying to each other,
lying to themselves.
Love keeps track of every misstep
so as to hold it against their partner in an ongoing war of attrition
so that they get to pick what to watch on Net-Flix.
Love does not rejoice in itself,
but does so on Facebook,
so that you can rub it in the face of your ex,
and all those friends that just really want to watch you fail.
Love is cheap.
*** with a price tag marked to sell.
Love is dead.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 10:29 PM UTC
I'm not addicted to the substance
I don't really care about the high or the low
I'm addicted to the morning after
I'm addicted to being able to tell you exactly how I feel
and to take it all away the next day
I'm addicted to "I'm sorry, I was so ****** up."
I'm addicted to "It's okay."
Because I'll never be enough.
I'm addicted to the aftertaste of our drunken kiss
I'm addicted to forgetting how you pushed me from your lips
I don't care for lightheaded feelings
I get enough from you
I don't need the acid rising up
but you hold me when I do
I don't need the ****** parties
The kids all passed out on the floor
I'm addicted to sobering up
I'm addicted to needing you more.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
Sunday morning
and I'm tired of macDs and cigarettes and diet pills and coffee
they don't make me happy
Im not thinking about you
because I think I hate you but I'm not really sure if it's hate or annoyance because
if we're to be honest I'd have to love the **** out of you to hate you, or even feel just the slightest bit of emotion
but I don't
because I've realized that's resent you for being such a ******** of a person
you disgusting , ******
I asked you multiple times not to drink my mother's coke and you assured me you'd bring a full bottle right before mothers came home from work but you had no intentions of doing that
you disgusting , ******
anyway this is not about you
it's about how I've burnt myself to ashes trying to understand where I am right now
and why
I think I love almonds cause they're good for me and are just what I need and the doctor won't warn me against it,
but almonds are boring and are nothing like the nauseating feeling of finishing a whole pack of ciggs alone outside of a lecture you know you're gonna pass anyway , unintentionally
Im here thinking about how I know I don't want any of these things but I do,
and conjunctions, **** conjunctions and the way they're meant to connect two things together but when it came to you and I ,
our only conjunction was the very scripture I was too scared to tell my sunday school teacher
because I made a deity out of you to the point where you were my king but the only time you made me feel one with your royalty was late night's on bent knees , when you held my crown to control the motion of your pride finding warmth right deep down my throat .
throat
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 4:06 PM UTC
My friends and I
are forlorn fabrics
haphazardly stitched into a quilt.
Comprised of different textures and fabrics,
frayed at the ends,
rejected pieces meant for the trash,
not good enough for made-to-wear mall clothes.
My friends and I
fit like a puzzle
consisting of pieces from various other puzzles--
found under coffee tables,
between couch cushions,
tossed into the bowels of forlorn toy bins--
forming a collage of something
disoriented and ambiguous.
Crammed together,
smashing our appendages,
leaving crooked gaps,
wrinkled, torn, ****** up,
but feeling better here
than in our small contribution
to the bland image of our factory's design.
My friends and I,
outcasts, rejects, punks,
convening in the junkyard heap
where we dance and laugh among trash
that makes us feel clean.
Pure when we're filthy.
Quilts and puzzles,
to instill and befuddle;
****** treasures.
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 11:53 PM UTC
The chorus of Katy Perry's song "unconditionally" is written in the future tense. "I will love you unconditionally." This implies that current circumstances preclude love. In other words, her love is subject to conditions.
She goes on to suggest "open up your heart and let it begin."
In other words, her love will become available if and when the subject decides to receive and/or reciprocate it. This sounds like the opposite of unconditional love.
She also repeats many times "there is no fear now." Irregardless of whether she is referring to herself or the subject of her affection, it sounds like there is in fact a lot of fear insecurity and reluctance on both sides. Perhaps this was supposed to highlight the wishful thinking of a person in this situation. Perhaps this whole song is a sardonic analysis of unhealthy, obsessive, unrequited love and how difficult it is to be objective under these conditions. Or maybe Katy Perry doesn't care that her young female fan base will listen to this song and see nothing unreasonable about it. Or maybe it's like the movie Shrek where it's fun for the kids but also has some elements that only adults will understand. Maybe Katy Perry is a gifted lyricist allowing millions of people with different amounts of life experience to listen to her songs and all hear a different message. Maybe the apparent banality of her music actually allows it to function as a sort of mental mirror, forcing people to confront their inner most thoughts. Maybe that's why her music is so popular, because everyone hears it as a harmonious duet between Katy Perry and themselves. Maybe Katy Perry is like a cool kid that's introducing us to ourselves, telling us that we're cool too. Maybe, all of her listeners, whether fans or not, have been enriched by her music.
Or maybe it's just ****** pop that has been marketed very effectively.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 10:26 PM UTC
Kick in an amp or something
Break a couple rules
Let out all this angst at nothing
Just break down and rock
I need to cut The Punk loose
I've tied him up too long
Let me ease my ****** off loud-mouthed soul
With some nasty
******
Noisy
Rock 'n' roll
Let me yell until my voice hurts
And play til my fingertips bleed
Feel the beat that my gramps said would send me to Hell
Yeah...
That sounds sweet.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 1:34 AM UTC
I am yours, always yours
For as long as I am useful
As long as you will have me.
I am a ****** idol,
A divine ***** who
May not be the classiest but
Certainly gets the job done.
You were unsophisticated,
Uneducated,
Crude.
Rude.
My mood may change but
My feelings never did.
You left me in the gutter,
Kind,
Knowing it to be my
Place of birth;
Cold,
Knowing it to be the
Place for my death.
I am yours, always yours
Until a more fit replacement may come.
It is more, is more,
Is more rain-spickle,
Spack-tackle, shoe-shit love-drunk easy
To miss my train.
You alighted onto the next platform,
Passing me by on the way
To being busy, to pretending to have a delay.
Don't carry your head so high
When everything you told me was an utter lie.
Why
Would you pretend your life could be shared with me?
Your sweet-warm friendship could
Slip through my fingers,
Keeping the arthritis of
Loneliness away.
So I tried to help you
Carry your back,
And I carried you out of
Immaturity,
But now
I'm fag-snubbed into your snow,
Snowy skin which smothers me
In spring feelings gone cold.
Mar 18, 2010
Mar 18, 2010 at 9:28 PM UTC
Eli tossed the ****** novel aside; a radical tale
of painters in the far future when paint itself
would be illegal; arms dealers, drug traffickers,
*** workers gathering in dark interstellar holes
bored into passing comets & orbiting meteors
docking illegally at satellite ports & unloading
chemicals frozen into place by the artists
who can never let their identities be known;
all colors on earth are registered & trade marked
by the Beast's Corporation & so Space Art is
highly sought & lucrative but lethal as it can
made to explode w/ enough energy & radiation
to leave a small planet barren for millions of years;
the Beast is reasonably worried as Space Art, or
Action Painting [after the ancient school] is wildly
popular & traded openly for billions of dollars;
the Beast may be able to keep everyone stupid
& greedy but Art liberates them into heights of
ecstasy & kindled wisdom; freedom of thought
the last frontier no one suspected & so abrogated
their intelligence & imagination to fembots
who pump their heads full of colorful action sequences;
the illegal paintings too stiff, just stand or lean
& look back at one w/out blinking
& the female-computer-network unable to bear the silence,
initiates automatic shut-down of itself; femportals
abandoned on stations where the painted images
projected on microcells to the clandestine buyers,
spread as an unseen mist through the various
artificial environments;
the distant star paint miners
smoking up a storm & using steam-powered
fembots
to mine for their oil & charcoal;
Eli putting on the kettle for tea,
thinks about the fembots in the novel & calling a **********
demands she not speak; the girl arriving naked in stockings
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
In the amber-smog flicker of the streetlamp
raindrops stick
like molten copper ticks,
and gnaw away at the wrists
of the wrought iron railings.
Boy stares down through corroded metal steps,
takes a breath
of midnight mass crystal ****
parts his hair with his fingers,
and spits into summer’s face.
Down below a cat hisses in a dumpster,
rats scamper,
and a trash can orchestra
churns out a ****** rhythm
to the tune of traffic jams.
A shiver as Boy feels street corners looming—
one more fix,
then, on legs like tinder sticks,
down the spiral staircase
to where chanceful delights await.
Feb 7, 2011
Feb 7, 2011 at 3:50 PM UTC
THEY!!!...evil "them"
and we so gosh dern sweetly ...........good!
in our ****** neighborhoods
addicted to our poverty
and our virtual leaders
in this virtual world
making love to lovers
made of paper-mache!
---------------
til death do us part
------------------------
(WHICH HAPPENED
YESTERDAY!)
Aug 7, 2010
Aug 7, 2010 at 10:25 AM UTC
I want to shrink
And throw myself
In the waste-paper basket.
That's how ******
I am feeling.
F.Z.N
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 2:54 PM UTC
I am such
a *******
******
Been fanning the flames
of my flamboyant faggotry
since April 1990
when I strutted from the caverns
of my mother's....
nevermind,
I'm never touching one of those.
My childhood is exemplified
by late-night espionage treks,
sneaking through my sister's side
of our bedroom
maximized by youthful perspective,
each step of mine garnering more
taut gravity than the next,
finally reaching the Holy Grail:
her Barbie collection.
In the fourth grade, I drew
my interpretations of those
beautiful, diamond-infested drag queens
that rained feathers and sequins
upon one drought of an existence,
the adults framing my tolerance
as a smut-stained abomination.
Now people ponder
why I'm so overt
with my gaydom.
Why argue with your
nostalgia-hemmed family friend
over the cultural significance
of the Barbra Streisand Album,
or gladly sit through marathons
of 1980s ****** camp classics?
It's the kid in me.
Something lost for an era
in a washing tub
of middle school torture tactics,
heavy breathing
over hiding something
so natural.
And a few years of that
are **** stifling enough
for this gigantic ******
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:54 AM UTC
She’s got a cheap cigarette
she uses to bury us all in smoke.
It hangs off her lips
and wobbles when she talks.
She’s cracked open a new book,
another ****** romance.
It’s always romance,
she says, taking a drag from her cigarette.
*It’s in everything, in every **** book.*
Each word she speaks is followed by a puff of smoke,
small clouds that form as she talks
and roll off of the curve of her lips,
the very same lips
that told me romance
is for suckers, told me talks
of love are talks of nothing rolled into a cigarette
she’d never smoke.
She buries her nose in her book
once more, leaving me to stare at the book
cover and nervously gnaw at my lips.
The empty space between us is full of tension and smoke
and somehow, a stubborn romance
that hangs in the air like a half hit cigarette
hangs on the edge of an ashtray. She talks
to me, around me, and about me, but our talks
never include that tension, though I could write a book
full of the way she glances past her cigarette
at me, how her inviting lips
beg me to foolishly romance
her by hurling apprehensive smiles through her wall of smoke.
The tiny wisps of smoke
that swirl around her dance as she talks
about this dime-store romance
novel she happened to pick up, a devastating book
about a man who spent his life with his lips
sewed shut. She finally puts out her cigarette.
The smoke from her cigarette peters out and silence settles over the two of us.
I move my lips and no sound comes out. When she finally talks
again, I cross my fingers in hopes of being the next romance book she wants to discuss.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 3:00 PM UTC