"uncensored" poems
he said/begged,
make love to me just like a woman!
kiss me toe to head, linger on my neck,
trace my waist, begin at my lips, pause at my hips,
quibbles intersperse, quips and licks on eyelids,
nibble me, near me, close and closer yet
unto the glorious victorious near death experience...
whisper me sweet everythings
before during after and over again,
when you must pause to exhale, blow all their warmth
upon thy fingers and bring that warmth inside
Columbus
me with tongue and eyes,
take me slow then again,
even slower, for thy pleasure,
than execute summary judgement upon me
falsely accept, then deny, deny, deny
my every appeal to
oh my god
for anyone's mercy!
adjudge me then guilty yet again,
and to the tower take me
to drown in mine own lashing lamentations,
thy incontrovertible evidence,
mine own uncensored revelations
execute me twice,
slowly, goodly with lengthy and lovely measures
*she said, and so I shall, eventually,
do what you beseech, what you most excellently seek
but you may recall, somewhat earlier, I called out
shotgun
so you must start my dear by following
all the precise driving instructions you just stated,
and bring your GPS^, and, oh yes,
I'm waiting...*
too wit and sod this!
he gruffingly huffingly, hurrumphingly, replied,
*all hell and damnation,
treat me like a woman just once pity-please!"
*can't can't can't -
she be-witchingly cackled!
then sang to me the lyrical words of a
Nobel Prize winner!*
"***You fake just like a woman
Yes you do, you make love like a woman
Yes you do, and then you ache just like a woman
But you break just like a little boy**"
Sep 27, 2017
Sep 27, 2017 at 6:09 PM UTC
My balance is often complicated by the complex complications of construed situations.
The uncensored limitations, the spiteful aggravation; they think these are indications that I should melt with temptation through my frustration.
But if you felt my vibration, it would send you to the sky, where I am stationed.
I could never be what you want me to be in your dreams,
it seems that the seams to my soul are more than what you see them to be.
You don't see me. I became transparent,
hold me to the light for my transparency
to be clear to read.
Clarity will arrive here when your conscience calls and you appear.
My heart blends in the healing water that has a hallow father.
He is the fire that breeds these things that allow me to bleed and be these words that you see.
My balance is often complicated
but I have never once waited to be rejuvenated.
The light of the moon
illuminated my sight through my doom.
I dance with the stars and i hope we all meet soon,
so that we can bloom
as these words fill up the space
in this 4 cornered room.
-L.G
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 8:06 AM UTC
The Bird is never still
Flying from one topic to the other
Her chatter loud and uncensored
Her friends twittering at her to be quieter
The Bird has many friends
But Birds always sleep alone
And cold
With their hollow bones
The Fox is the Bird's friend
The Fox is tricky
Weaving in and out of conversations
Gorgeous
And sleek
The Fox makes rabbits fall in love with her so she'll have plenty to eat
The Bird and the Fox are unconventional friends
Friends no one would think would click
But the Bird will chatter and chatter and the Fox will quietly sit
Listening to everything
Retaining information
The Chameleon is the Fox's and the Bird's mutual friend
When with the Fox they match their red
When with the Bird they match their blue
And so on
So no one really knows the Chameleon's true colors
Whoever you are
They'll match you
Blending in
A social camaflouge
That they think keeps them safe
And when together they are quite
A sight
Wandering loudly
Through the night
They are a strange group
And when together they're tight
Exchanging advice
Or judging each other
But never outright
You'll never catch the bird
But be careful if you do
If not gentle with your touch
Her bones will crack right in front of you
The Fox puts on a face
Bearing teeth and changing mates
But under all that glossy fur
She's scared that you won't want her
If you catch the Chameleon off guard
You might be surprised
What you see is never what you get
But if you look real hard
The chameleon will freeze and fall down to their knees
please, please, just like me
......
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 11:32 PM UTC
I crave
A touch
Not soft or gentle
I crave
A lust
So instrumental
I beg
For you
To grab me roughly
I beg
For you
To touch me toughly
I thirst
In need
For someone pressed against me
I thirst
In need
For Someone to hold me
I desire
To moan
Loudly with pleasure
I desire
To moan
Loudly - uncensored
I crave, I beg, I thirst, I desire a touch, a lust-loan.
You see, I am in dire need to moan.
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 10:03 AM UTC
pain,
pain is a rush
pain lets me
feel things
I normally don't.
I'm a sucker for it
bruise me
beat me
take advantage of me.
pain flows through my nerves
into my brain and lets me
forget all of
the things
weighing down my day.
pain gets me off
pain makes me lose myself
in euphoria and feeling
and being
human in a raw
uncensored
regal sense
now if only
I could find somebody
willing to give me
what I want.
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 11:47 PM UTC
Thugs with Pens & Aerosol Cans
Thugs with Pens
Hell-bent; not on cultism
Just airing the other sentiments
That don’t make it to primetime
Thugs with pens
Not poking out eyes
Just venting spleen
Sick of the lies
Thugs with pens
Deserve to be heard
They don’t poison your brain
With stacks of *****
Thugs with pens
And aerosol cans
Can change your mind
In ******* time
Thugs with pens
Can make a dent
They don’t need to insert
Un-readable, un-interesting
Covert small print....
Thugs with pens
Don’t need no script writers
Or advisors nor signatories
Witnesses, nor dodgy men
With gold plated fountain pen nibs
To make amends
Or throw in no hidden clauses
That secretly **** your life blood
Thugs with pens
Don’t aim to pierce your skin
But make their mark
Deeper within
Thugs with pens
And aerosol cans
Completely uncensored
champions of free speech
The establishment want suppressed,
silenced, deleted; terminated.
Thugs with pens
And aerosol cans don’t
Schedule meetings
To fix the minutes
And schedule another meeting
And keep ‘minutes’
As square angled
And unproductive
As formal conversation
Thugs with pens
Aim venomous ink
At headless politicians
That squawks like chickens
Bending over
For the *************
Bank-beefing corporations,
Controlling the masses
With ***** little catchphrases
And mounds of munitions
And illegally enforced restrictions
On your movement and free expression
Honest men
Have nothing to fear
From Thugs with Pens & Aerosol Cans
These “thugs” seek asylum
From countries
Where the law’s
Not bought and bent
Thugs with pens & aerosol cans
Are made to wear monikers and masks
Thugs with pens
Don’t turn on its own
Neighbours and citizens
To perpetuate myths:
A ****** ************* lie…
A thing that never happened!
(That’s for all of you dumb wits
out there
Who believe most of the ****
That’s drip fed
Your sensation addicted minds
Most of the time,)
Time you started reading between the lines
In fact get a pen
Or an aerosol can
Write your own lines
Start broadcasting
Reclaim your space
Before you’re completely neoned
Into the shade
And corralled under the spell
Of a TV screen
Or an anger raising headline
That conducts the flow
Of the status quo
Load up your magazines
With ball point pens
And sharp edged writing nibs,
Strap on a belt of aerosol cans
Reclaim your right to free expression
In public spaces
Join the rag-tag army
Of intuitive
Self-knowing men
The End: is well begun,
George Orwell
Should never have written
That blueprint,
‘1984’
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 8:59 AM UTC
She’s so beautiful,
she’s such a Passion Magnet,
that even though I know she can not be owned,
I still want to call her my own so anytime I want I can have it,
so precious our time together is,
that I don’t take a moment for granted,
still she’s so humble,
that even though she is all powerful she doesn’t know it,
she’s the most modest Hottest Goddess I’ve ever witnessed,
so when she let’s me in I take the chance & hope I don’t blow it,
she’s everything I’ve ever wanted, best love I’ve ever made,
if she’d accept my proposal, I’d propose to her this very today,
I’d get on my knees & ask for her hand with a ring,
I’d give her my word, give her her space, & I’d give up the game,
but none of the what ifs that may happen after even matter,
because when we’re together everything else vanishes,
these words become unheard irrelevant meaningless chatter,
we become a phenomenon of amorous rapturous happiness,
whereupon all our wrongs are gone. the only song is laughter,
& all that exists is an ambience of virtuous everlasting bliss,
as her seas swell she yells,
flooding the lands of this one man island,
going off without a pause she digs in her claws,
shivering gleefully delivering repeatedly oceanic *******
& as she does I let go & give up my whole self as an offering,
I let her have her way with me, we literally make love for hours,
uncensored, this is not for amateurs or minors,
this is grown & **** pheromones exercising exciting instincts,
this is not for idiots or cowards,
it takes courage & strength,
to let yourself be so open & vulnerable,
& after the session is done I propose to her,
“Fck it run away with me, let’s go all the way,
let’s create our own world where we are untouchable,
I’ve got the funds to pay if you’re ready to run away,
seriously let’s create our own kingdom it’ll be wonderful.”,
to this she turned to me & in our post-sex sweat she said,
“But Aaron we just met I’m not so sure I mean I don’t know.”,
to which I said, “Izzy I get it but please trust your self,
take a few moments to meditate on it & listen to your soul,
let us hold onto these moments of bliss together,
& let’s let everything else just go.”…
∆ LaLux ∆
THHT3: The Hollywood Hearts Trilogy vol. 3
available worldwide: 9/9/19
Sep 5, 2019
Sep 5, 2019 at 8:46 PM UTC
"Dreams" he said, "I want you to write about your dreams"
I watched his expression full face, talk with his usual infectious vibrancy...
candle flickering, between belly laughs, raw unscripted stories, uncensored truth and the feeling of complete freedom to be human, his pouring over the brim life experiences..dripped from his fingertips as he spoke with his hands.
I'm Lucky. I thought. As I sat there, sinking into his words and gentle loving soul.
Just to simply know him, to hear of his adventures, heartbreaks, falls and climb to the top of life's list of goals and successes.
So I meditated on this writing assignment...for weeks.
I've written of Love, Loss, Heartache and Regrets.
But Dreams...I've yet to fall into ink drenching grains of paper and be completely free of the ever ticking time...to do just that... Dream.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 4:30 PM UTC
your words make me
ache as far as a torch
stretched between murky-
blank pages
do not wait to scrawl your
truths until heavy resignation
creeps over my head like
a dark shawl
do not wait -
- I miss
everything and nothing
and (god
**** it)
the philosopher was right in
assuming a search for completion
leads only to a sort of frustrated
compassionate silence,
so
tired of being tired of growing
weary with assumptions,
mad libs of the spirit, only
fill in the line with whatever
you dream might be,
no
let me know you, the real
uncensored and true
(I can love) you
I feel like a child being spelled at
to keep the F-I-L-I-B-U-S-T-E-R for
adult ears only but even though
I admit the fact
- I know next to nothing
my heart desperately
wishes to know
you, everything.
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 10:13 PM UTC
I went to close the window because it was getting windy and rainy. "can't leave this **** window open anyhow, without aluminum dust settling over the room"...Grrrr! ******* f-f-faggot factory!"
Oh **** I said ****** To myself, out loud. I felt something coming up in my chest! Laughter! Why, that factory doesn't even have a ***** besides the one it uses to **** my environment. I guess that's gay. Not in a happy or homosexual way, but in a way I am against.
So, what does this make me? A gay basher? Someone who has hit it off with almost every gay man I ever met? I always felt like they get me, which makes me feel good. I did find out a couple really did want to get me in the pooper, which made me feel even better than "getting me".
Just because it's not my lifestyle or I don't believe in it, doesn't mean I hate gay people. Does it? I mean I don't believe in *** with women either.
{Just leave this here so kids don't go to xhamster, which is uncensored. I wrote this after seeing a blogger talking about how a guy said an amusement park was gay, and not as good as his favorite park. An amusement park should be gay! Anyhow, there are actually people fighting over this crap. I know words can hurt, but so does being burned 5 times on the face with a cigarette. Yet, I don't blame everyone with a cigarette, just the guy who burned me. I bet if you dug up the men from the gay 90's they would feel a certain way about how gay is used now. I wish we could dig them up and send them after the bloggers who do nothing really, and **** sure have no gay fun. I believe that the use of bad words in poetry shows a weak vocabulary. Sometimes it's needed.)
Aug 25, 2021
Aug 25, 2021 at 2:11 PM UTC
Let's ban poetry because it
Heals wounds without prescription,
Break borders without permission,
Adds beauty without makeup,
With words all so made up!
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 7:28 PM UTC
When you do stand
so close, so bare
fingers weaving through
my filaments of hair.
When you do inhale
the extras and the
uncensored imperfections
When you do break
thus incandescent sweat
that shivers from yours to mine
I do hope you may see
The love and trust
and compassion felt
that you could find in me.
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 8:26 PM UTC
Freedom, unadulterated freedom.
Freedom to dig little toes in the sand and run as naked and
as wild as the wind.
A freedom so complete and vast and uncensored
that it weighs like chains,
and chokes like an iron grip.
And so little hands meld mismatched links of their own,
rules and laws, and should's and should-not's,
tying little feet back to earth,
away from the suffocating sky of infinite possibilities.
Little hearts yearn for shackles,
feeling utterly exposed without them,
for a free body is one that tempts oppressors
unless he dons crude metal adornments of his own.
And so with the imprint of unsung lullabies
floating in the night air, little cheeks
nuzzle their iron blankies and doze off
under the familiar weight of confines and conformity.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 9:42 AM UTC
She danced to the rumbles of the waves,
Her waist meandered to the roars of the waters,
She whistled to the sounds of sea gulls,
And nodded to the rasps of baby *****
She set her body loose,
On fire she rode her highs,
Came to a mind shattering rush,
Toe curling end,
As her spirit left her body,
And all reason left her mind.
©CathyDevan
Aug 20, 2021
Aug 20, 2021 at 11:59 AM UTC
I've fallen in love with 90's cinema
Where movies looked real and not too HD
The nostalgia of being taken back to that time
Is more then divine
scenes were not CGI
and the make up was not over the top
the message uncensored
whether offensive or not the movie won't stop
and you see the times how they've changed from uncompromising film making to watered down plots with only stunts to amaze
From reflecting after a movie to not thinking at all
I'm just reflecting that's all
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 5:22 AM UTC
My feet are so cold to lay on yours
Your hands busy chasing my curves
Paddled in cuddles, pebbles carved
Doodles dwindles all over my body
Tinkering hands as they reach a ******
Ripples twisting blossoming bosoms
Rage the sleeping animated power
Break your wings as the rod erects
Alas! The touch disappears in thin air
Feet warmed in the damning chamber
The perpendicular collapses in angle
Sailed to dally in uncensored snores
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 4:56 PM UTC
Cast all aside burn it and ****
Dancing in the running reds of massacre.
Waiting for any semblance of humanity,
Burn it all rip it out and let nothing taint.
bring destruction like a demonic saint.
Feel the flow of senseless promise,
casting naivity into uncensored solace.
Bleed your prayers onto every altar.
Watch it discolour every drop of water.
Set your eyes on every ounce of pain,
bring it in and nestle it tightley,
then unleash it in fury divine,
to burn and destroy all that was once mine.
Jun 26, 2011
Jun 26, 2011 at 3:00 PM UTC
I venture outward
Past those devoured
Through endless hours
This adventure tower
Holds uncensored power
In higher spires
And liars' desires
Ending when I perspire
In a fire retire
I must live
When lust gives
A chance at love
I glance above
A dusty cloud
Through a crusty crowd
To see love must be found
In transcendence
And dependence
So I must trust
And ignore rust
To import thrusts
Of night's passion
Despite fashion
Time vortex
More or less
As time runs out
I must decide what it's about
Others help with that decision
They help by making incisions
And letting time bleed
My emotions they read
For their corporal greed
I tried to plant a seed
But their environment is frigid
Despite my attempts to bridge it
I become detached
From my potential catch
By days and years
And waves of tears
That stave off peers
Until I'm an old man
Feet buried in cold sand
I'll say that I tried
Once I'm used to the lies
Dec 16, 2017
Dec 16, 2017 at 6:47 AM UTC
Talent.
So so Far I've seen the talent-less and the talented
**** heads until their skulls cracked and we peered in
and saw a garden growing green leafy creativity
Gallantly trotting across the right brain like the breezy morning wind
And as we looked away and declared the winner had won
but cracked his skull on the stubborn brick wall
the talent-less had spun
out of hard jealousy and mortar crafted from their own lack of self discipline
The sun even sighed
died for a second
then came back alive only to find the talentless
still forrunning their forte
up every frigid full soul he found on his way
So the days saddened into rainy Saturdays
19 in a row
with the downpour too vicious to even kiss on the cheek as a pity way of putting across that
"you should really go"
the rain rained down boulder sized bouts of concentrated creative energies
only able to be ****** up by sponges with cracked skulls
and thus made into uncracked skulls
mended skulls
Talented unabridged uncensored skulls
that may drown out the talentless
just like the rain and storms tried to muster a try at
And by that we only see the talented come out walking with rain pouring Into their brains
getting ****** up by extracorpus veins
Not because they were born with contraptions
but because they avoided distractions
and gained traction in this multiverse where everything happens with struggle
and pain.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 12:54 AM UTC
Joyous in her mind
a pinnacle of cherishment
meadow seeds in sweet abandon
laced with uncensored willingness
gives life her mound to build upon.
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
(I)
People used to light candles to ward off
prophesies such as this. Stopping, each
motherly representative, for 75 seconds
or less,
to tip match-spark to wax-thread
and hope for the best.
What ceremonial significance now
do we seek for to slow the approach
of what we know is waiting?
Oncoming march of death-knolls and unhappiness
bound up in silence
where
once we laughed uncensored at and for
the characters who spun throughout
this town, that school, the city, our lives.
All being, understandably, becomes
efficiently replaced with obvious simplicity.
From effortless performances
of what made our lives important
back in childhood years when living
was stable and guaranteed,
now to this mongrel era of constant migration
beckoning....
The familiar is no longer our youth’s
careless summer holidays.
The Familiar is now a land where
people don’t bother with any ideas
of an ideal existence beyond
what lottery tickets may bring.
Those who inhabit here are
more alerted to the purpose of lighting
coals in winter to shelter the children
and to keep the windows from cracking.
In summer find these same awaiting with
patient ears to heed any advice
which keeps them from going completely insane.
(II)
Go now, away
,begin
your quest, foolish schoolboy.
An entire adolescence’s
comeuppance is due.
Time now to seek recompense
for the years you waited
for anything significant to happen.
Time to seek girls with inviting eyes
and lilting vowels to offer favors to.
Abled with a catalogue of charmed
intoxicants. All softened by
a plentitude of weekdays waking
at three in the afternoon.
(Does “afternoon” exist in layman’s terms? Does
he simply made do with morning, day and night?)
Then on your flight make haste
to ensure your visit merely brief.
Like only one dimension of
your day-persona be a hawk
that delivers messages
back to the ivory towers of
new central HQ, while remaining
all cloak and whisper.
Messages from where people live
but no longer speak,
as result of an assigned sense
of failure,or complimentary
wrongdoings sought, what sorrow achieves.
Shattered lives, Ending dreams.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 11:55 AM UTC
On the night
At the very early morn
The moon had already risen
Just as a broken gaseous no more sleeps
Somehow, somewhere, a beast trapped, released
No longer is it trapped to the confines of its prison
Eyes that survey
Salivating, wanting,
A prompt to its hunger
Its nostril’s pleasure: my scents
Under a crack of dim, creaming crescent
The uncensored scene of my slumber
The conditions, possibilities, a setting made right for the empty
A glimmer of hope or just the fangs bared for the bark or biting
Once started, the urge, its selfishness to one else, it’ll never lend
The craving has begun; the questionable realism of this game of pretend
A shadowy figure, upon a pair of feet; yours, no, mine, it lurks in the dark
Countless moments to lose the count of, time is held still
Longer and longer, in continuous moments that shows no signs of breaking
Once I had the warming presence of the body of mine besides me, only to be replaced
“A story’s not to be finished without the satisfaction it gives,” is all I find
All we have seen, the sweet smell of lovely dreams still dancing feverously like visions of my mind
Darkness lies beside me, wanting you, cannot be unseen: the ****** features being without a face
What’s gotten is what’s to be deserved: deliberations of the disease that festers the fabric of my thoughts, I pay no mind
At this point, my reality sinks in, run-on sentences roles across the virtual plane called your screen.
Unable to break away from the unrecognizable creature that lies before me, I lose contact with the senses, my nerves have no feeling
The beauty of it all is the art, the science, I love the way how it consumes me, growing over me, light glinting off its fangs still bared
I remember now, I know it, we’ve talked about it before, it calls itself Sherman, our sleep paralysis demon, still I feel the need to be scared
My lovely dreams, he feeds off of, the hunger within, in him, is never satisfied, no matter how many times he tried, he didn’t stop, just enough to make me void, light blinds me, my soul is fleeing.
On the morn,
At the surpassed night
My heartbeat pends
Eternally I sleep, at peace
Those who know me weep
For my plotless reality never ends
Feb 11, 2020
Feb 11, 2020 at 6:57 AM UTC
I am writing this poem as a letter of reference for my uncultured heart,
Unedited and uncensored and
Unlike the affections I so willingly gave you.
You read me your poems
As if I were the first girl to receive them,
And boy,
Did I receive them.
I took them and their delicate lettering that traced
My name written boldly and profoundly in the center
As if the world was handing itself over to me.
To: Olivia
From: Jupiter
No return address.
I kept your smooth words and slipped them into my coffee,
Tucked them underneath my pillow case,
And folded them into a book I virginally scribbled in.
I found them scattered across the night's sky
And sewn into the shirt you loved on me.
I planted them in good soil waiting for spring.
My good, rich soil.
Untouched and unused.
I Watered them carefully and buried them with a warmth
That the sun itself couldn't radiate.
You lit me up and I was burning so wildly for you.
For you, Jupiter.
My garden was beautiful, full.
Plentiful.
Abundant.
Good, rich.
Untouched and unused.
And little white lilies began to sprout and dot the I's of your
I love yous,
I miss yous,
I was thinking about you,
I love you,
I miss you.
I was thinking about you.
I love you.
I miss you.
I was thinking about you, Jupi.
But drier than your recycled sentiments,
My soil
Became parched and emaciated
As more of your lilies grew.
My coffee became bitter,
My pillow case as soft as sand paper.
The small, black journal I carefully pressed flowers with
Now stained and sopping wet with Your cheap ink
That ran down my skin and into
Creases you left your finger prints.
Your lilies, though small and sweet,
Were deadlier than any poison ivy
I'd ever touched previously.
The little plot of earth I saved for myself
Was now a pile of your cigarette ash
And venomous weeds.
I burned so wildly for you,
But without you.
For you,
Not with you.
I was another one of your American Spirits,
Smoked, put out and
Tossed into the grave of another fruitless harvest.
Taken, left, and used.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 12:46 AM UTC