"undergarments" poems
My arms wrapped around you, yours around me.
We stand together in our now natural hug.
Although my height is sometimes a challenge
You feel warm; your back is straight and toned.
How does our hug feel from your side?
Does my back feel firm or yielding?
What is the sensation under your fingers?
Of the fabric next to my skin, my undergarments?
Our hug is just one
Of a striking variety we receive in a lifetime
From friends, lovers, family, near-strangers
An act seemingly simple but in truth, complex
The first hug you remember from childhood: your Mum
Warm and safe, and maybe a little squeezed
But her blouse is soft, and her arms reach around you nearly twice.
You are so small, and she is so big.
Your teen-age years, acquaintances: single arm hug
Air kisses, a quick pat, a gentle rub
It’s social hugging to keep up appearances
Feeling awkward, you’d rather shake hands
Your first true love – long, grasping, gasping embraces
That leave invisible marks on your clothing and skin underneath
A desire for another, the promise of more
Maybe in future, the touch of your fingertips on clothing-free skin.
Again a hug from your Mum, 40 years after her first
The alignment is different; somehow she has shrunk
Still warm and safe, yet with a different body tone
A kiss on her cheek is soft to your lips – a hug to last the ages.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
Horror speaks in silence
and Fear speaks in signs
it’s written on my face
and on the faces I see.
How did I end up here?
A masked man brought us food.
The smell of it drives us mad in hunger.
We eat like we're crazy.
Devouring it like messy animals.
I see the eyes of superiority
in the sight of the masked man.
I look at them with deep curiosity.
He looks back with a look of intent.
Deep blue eyes inspect the whole me.
then I realized, everyone, including me
wears nothing but just two pieces of
undergarments.
I quickly cover my well-being,
then he just walks away.
I felt ***** ,
Weary,
and Cold in this rusty dark place.
Where are we going?
Our future is uncertain.
I felt that our life is for sale,
like animals going to be slaughtered.
Sleep is taking my reality
Hoping that dreams will wash away
the fear, horror and uncertainty along the way.
© Pax
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
One is seemingly more impressed
by the less endowed or blessed
when somewhat incapacitated
and borderline inebriated;
the monstrous unconscious
disregards the likelihood
of fathomless undergarments
in other dubious departments.
Disregard the random blotches
or the involuntary discharges
instead revel in model tonsils
and almond shaped parcels
the comets of multi-notches
like a strange attraction
for disheveled carpets.
The blossoms of toxins
a libation ensemble
almost near horizontal
each movement a bent nozzle
like a prehistoric Narwhal
dancing like a jackhammer
with the elegance of a cement mixer
a broken leaking fissure
seeping vapid glamour
and indecipherable grammar.
The paraphrased clichés
and communiques of praise
like lost prophets put on display
caught in the ricochet of overplay
making an exit with the grace
of a stumbling ballet
down a poorly-lit
nightclub passageway.
Ultimately this can only lead to
the face-plant moment-of-tomorrow
the flooded memory of the-night-before
feeling utterly spent
hungover and hollow
with ill conceived consent.
The: Oh. My. God!
The: ***** is still here,
what do I say?
Hoping inexorably
they would just get up
and silently fade away.
Beer Goggles:
remember to drink sensibly,
or run the risk of
nasty STD's
or unwanted pregnancy
or breathless infidelity
or reckless insincerity
or if you're really lucky,
just another
session in therapy.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 9:17 AM UTC
Candle flicker
Keeps mosquitos away
The wind is picking up
No sound to be heard but paper crumpling rustle of aspens
A **** seagull squaks; only here
This is desert living
Desert loving
We have a porch
It kind of feels like heaven
Just the moon and lamplights
And pajamas with no undergarments
Citronella smell
Dry breeze
Skin no longer chapped
Weathered from my initiation
During the apex of summer when I read outside at midnight
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 2:21 AM UTC
I was about eight
and i could speak three
Nigerian languages,
especially pidgin.
Every sunday, i recall, my mother
would bless my stomach with nicely cooked native dishes.
Then, the Nigerian
football matches in the evening with my father was a sight too exhilarating to miss.
My school years was eventful
has i received a whole lot of flogging.
The only clothings i had
asides undergarments
were all native attires.
Some admired it, Others didnt.
I honestly was not bothered.
Now, i'm serving my country
in the army, which frankly is fulfilling for me.
No matter how bad Nigeria gets,
i'll always be proud of it.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC
I'd been trying to write a poem
Just one ******* poem
But he said
*Just **** around*
Swallow down a bowl full of squares
Let’s play games with each other’s minds
Spend a night lost in a house of cards
Where the joker cackles despite your begging
A reminder of what I could do without
Shouting at the world from the white pavilion
You suckers!
With your skirts hitched up and tongues hanging out
Gagging on a lover’s loneliness
All I see is your undergarments crying for attention
With a liquor solace barely down your throat
Eighteen silver blades
Smile at me with their perfect teeth
One to mark each year that past
A nineteenth will not be necessary
Ready to drag
Like the man trailing his head on a string
Across the surgeon’s winking knife
Tapping their toes on the bathroom counter
Anxious to mingle with my flesh
I’ve already scrubbed in
The survival rate looks dismal
The cotton reel loosens and my halo slips
Down - the noose around my neck
He sat across the room in plaid
Remarked upon the crosshatch of red
That drew the crooked red grin on the white of my thigh
Like loops of raspberry liquorice
Seeping out sticky tears
He misses handling the vegetables
Who ordered cocktails in lurid colours
Well, I’ve a mélange of my own
A collection of prescriptions from the doctor’s office
Stored in a heart shaped box
To swallow down like jelly beans
I’m waiting for that deadly sugar rush
Death’s been dancing on my doorstep
Absent minded as I sit at the dinner table
Head in hand, foot in grave
There’ll be no morning migraine
Perhaps a little mourning in the peripheral vision
Swept up from beneath the climbing frame
Under a soil blanket with a tomb stone mattress
Coughing up the sand in my throat
That I emptied from the egg-timer
Those darling quadrilateral crystals
Blissful in their ignorance
Disturbing my quiet complacency
Drowned in a glass of tomato juice
That I poured from my skull
Death holds my hand in the dark
And I whisper to pass on the message
Bury me with pyjama’s and a pillow
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 6:23 AM UTC
Creamy and pale skin
With those red rose lips
And those green as grass eye
And that bared breast of lush
With curled hair wrapped in silky
Flesh torn open to bare naked truths
Bleeding thick maroon feelings
With the occasional droplet of opinion
The skin sliced apart in ribbons of ruby confetti
And thin strings of other messages
So I stand here naked without you
And without my sheet of reposts
And without my undergarments of troubles
I
Am
Uncomfortable
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 9:41 PM UTC
Hanging at the end of
Strained rope
Swing my lost ambitions
And desires
My sanity swaying in the
Cruel winds of
Loveless night
Just a square peg
Confronted with
A round hole
Dropped anchor on
The shores of insanity
It seems so beautiful here.
I must create my own world
As my place in this one
Does not seem fitting
Genius is wasted
Upon the buffoonery
Of mass ignorance
Intelligence shunned
Brilliance and uniqueness
Frowned upon and cast aside
For the normality of uninteresting
****** zombies
The painfully intelligent
Forced into subversion
Hiding their gifts
For fear of being outcast
Men who cling to the faults
Of their fathers
And stories of stir crazy, house wives
Cabin fever was invented
To thin our stock
We all toy with the desire
Forcing blind eyes
Into the faces of
The gifted
Substance abuse is often a malady
Of the painfully intelligent and artistic
Drowning my will to be weird
My own underhandedness
Innately forcing my inner self
Beneath a cloak of politeness
This world
This living theater
Where we all assume
Our own role
Where our actions are
Transcribed
And cast upon us
Like stones on the river
I have grown tired
Of acting the fool
Prepare myself
For a new role
A starring role
Have you ever felt
The wonderment of déjà vécu?
And the sorrow of knowing
You belong to another time?
I need the exhilaration of a time
When life was simpler,
Yet more confusing
Was Judas the only one Christ trusted
To deliver him to his fate?
Is the human race too cowardly
To be welcomed in the arms of a deity?
Are we too ignorant to recognize
That is has already occurred?
Are we the last remnants
Of an experiment gone wrong?
The plague of the human race.
Devouring consciousness
Eliminating uniqueness
Evolving into our own demise
One too many mutations gone wrong
Retching in the soiled undergarments
Of our father's sins
Reveling in the untold lies
Of mother's milk
I have soured on this world long ago
Bounding for higher consciousness
Looking for the unseen
Searching for the undiscovered
Drug sideways
Through the sludge
Of society
Screaming wildly
Through the entirety
The gene pool would benefit
From a healthy dose of chlorine
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 12:52 PM UTC
Why is it that every night
I change into my pajamas
Only to remove them
Ten minutes later
As I climb into bed
In my undergarments?
I reckon it is the routine
That calms me from my day,
Shedding the skin of
One day to embrace another.
It is the preparation
For my seven hour
Sabbath where I rest
From my seventeen hours
Of work, play, and relationships -
Responsibilities that keep me
Too busy to take a moment
And enjoy the skin I live in.
So each night,
I must shed that skin
In reflection of the day
That is now gone,
And rest as I prepare
Myself for another day.
Another day of busyness,
Another day of striving,
Another day of trying my best
To be the man you have
Created me to be...
To embrace who I am
In every waking moment.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 1:30 AM UTC
Fermented undergarments
farmers markets, Targets, turn tarnish!
An angle of self-righteousness moves to left.
.
a group of cleft palates peel all the way back for the attic
after a thousand years of theft. (Arent you in awe?)
when hairless hands wrap and grab Tef – lon
get on one of the seven horses.
Hercules the matter seems urgent
Please
create morses.
.
Your Torsos show their bland position
portable valves, three of horse pistons.
so if they want violence, they certainly will achieve.
shout above the crowd and call for former foreigners – roll up sleeves.
in the white and black reality
we flee once we believe
.
but perfection is a perspective
the artist is just an elective and a given
IN GETTING BITTEN BY THE SOCIAL TAPE WORM –
we let the world squirm -
and turn
tighter in silky cob webs
the spider traps and they took laps
‘til the insect bled out
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC
It was always cold here.
Even when the green fingers of the earth pulled themselves out
into the glowing radiance
of an afternoon sun
and from the confines of the slop of mud
--and dust
--and dirt
that they were dormant in.
It was always cold here.
Even when the night was spewing of freedom and of color.
A world away from the routine that kept us
like the walking dead.
When others ran around in nothing but undergarments, I sat
--cross legged
--with a can in my hand
that was supposed to help me forget the cold.
But,
It was always cold here.
And colder now that you are gone.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 9:58 PM UTC
The naked truth about men is that they are ferocious creatures of the night, constantly preying on the lonely and the weak in hopes that they'll get laid and maybe rip a few hearts out in the process. They believe that if they consistently make the muscles in your face turn towards the sky that they can finally make your undergarments fall to the ground. The can stick their claws into the holes of your vertebrae and rip out the nerves wiring from your neck to your tailbone in one foul swoop. They will sink their teeth into your flesh and only tear at it inch by inch because they know you will become numb to them soon enough if they tear you apart too fast. But if they take their time to shred you to pieces inch by inch, the pain becomes almost as worse as the anticipation.
The naked truth about men is that once they've seen you naked they think they own you; body and soul. They begin to taunt you with things like love and dinners just to see you naked again. However, you must comprehend that once they see you naked, a part of them dies inside because there is nothing left to explore. Everything leading up to your nakedness is just the chase of getting you naked. Once the act is accomplished there is nothing else to chase, nothing else to acquire. The truth is that you will eventually become an old toy to the man that saw you naked. That man doesn't love you, he loves the sight of naked flesh against his own. That man doesn't love you, he loves the sound of tearing clothes. That man doesn't love you, he loves the taste of your soft skin in his mouth.
The naked truth about men is that this doesn't apply to every man, but a grand majority of them. The naked truth about men is that it is hard to figure out which man is a good one and which ones are there to throw you away in 4 months and 6 days. The naked truth about men is that only 1 out of 10 men look good naked. And the naked truth about men is that 10 out of 10 men will like you naked.
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 11:50 PM UTC
Do you find it
boring
to spell out the word
"subconscious"?
Not the way I spell it.
Many step onto the first "S"
as if it were
a ***** rain puddle,
but I'm sufficiently alert
and can see that one must dive
into the word's application,
nimbly rummage through the
annals of its history
before conducting one word
in or against its favor.
Glide downward
through the
rhythmically breathing curves
of the voluptuous prefix,
"sub-",
as you begin
dreaming
further
down
towards the comatose
of the rickety construction
that is your superego,
to the "you"
no one knows about
in clear daylight
(even the mirror).
Minor turbulence
may occur
within the rest,
"-conscious",
just a few jagged rocks
stirred into Cloud Nine
to alter your perceptions
like a face hit by a bus.
This is the meat of your matter,
the acidic ruptures
that only the most cunning
infiltrators
can identify and nudge
with their index fingers
using a painful precision,
the ***** band of undergarments
that always seem to loiter behind
in the town laundromat.
But a jagged rock
is a jagged rock,
never eternally bordering
the outline of the planet,
just lodged within the corners
of your comfort zone,
their presence
a necessary evil
for the times you must steer
through the swarms of cataracts
and endure the exrcuciating agony
of becoming a better human being.
You launch yourself
from your adolescent crutches
like the roots of teeth
erupting from the base of the jaw
and prevent single definition,
hack away the tentacles
of emotional paralysis,
by remembering to mend
the tear between
two polar halves,
"sub
conscious."
Under your false promises,
your Freudian timeline,
your ever-quivering Id...
every single one of you.
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:53 AM UTC
i told you to come here,
there's something important
i need to tell you.
You ignored me.
i told You i hate You,
that You are an *******
and that im breaking up with You.
You ignored me.
i told You
i loved You,
and wanted your love forever.
You ignored me.
i told You i needed You,
i wanted You,
and i stripped to my bare undergarments.
insecure, embarrassed, afraid, innocent
all foreign words to You.
You looked at me, caressed my cheek,
kissed me, molested me.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 9:29 PM UTC
hello veil over a trench coat, i’ve come here to recite a few breaths and hopefully get you to take those sunglasses off (for my pride’s sake). just drop them around your ankles like your most comfortable pair of undergarments, kick them onto the beige bedroom rug and make me feel like a day early welfare check in a bread line full of starvation. slide me a napkin with a phone number from across the church pew. smoke my mind like a cigarette in the recovery ward waiting room. i bet you could slap the what teh **** off my face as swiftly as the day is long,
and it’s long.
and as teh world economy comes to a screeching halt and married men jump out of windows because money is some sort of commodity i will never truly truly truly understand, crying babies and ****** good womens remind me of you. grandmothers and the aunt everyone loves to hear drunk at christmas is your smile. your scent isn’t like my ****** relatives. that would be gross. and luxury automobiles and the adromeda galaxies in one corner of the paint job you happened to look a little too closely at is just a speck of your complexity misdialed like a phone number in a crosseye white pages disaster-
say i was to rush to this decision.
say i bent, hands on knees, puffing.
say joe camel between my pointer and middle finger kept both of them occupied for once
say i was running up to tell you that i don’t know you
but i think i should
i should
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 11:39 PM UTC
Being blonde is overrated,
but I dye my hair anyways.
Dark eyeliner transforms girls into racoons,
but I pencil it on everyday.
A big chest is a man's dream,
but my ***** makes up for it.
Scarves should only be worn during winter,
but I sport them year round.
Nail polish is a girl's best friend,
but we have a love/hate relationship.
Thongs are the sexiest undergarments,
but boy shorts are so much more comfortable.
It is a fashion sin to wear black and blue together,
but those colors shouldn't only signify bruises.
Wearing heels all the time means you're a *****
Guess I'm the biggest ***** of all then.
Who cares what is in or out?
Break the norms
And just be you
Because I am me, and that's all I ever want to be.
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 11:24 PM UTC
Mirror, Mirror, Where is Delphi
i preferred it when you had your hair in a bun,
walking down Tweedy with ripped jeans and taylor gang chucks,
with your hair blazed bloodier and brighter than desolate Mars,
when you were just another girl i grew in war with,
i never dreamed, though i saw that one day you would leave,
and desert the dirt covered laces and kiss me goodbye,
tethered up in knots as you threw us in the sky,
i look down at you tangled on the line,
a saddened women posing in her in undergarments before the digital eye,
you are the baddest *****
i can see it on my screen as i scroll past in thirst,
you are the baddest *****
i acknowledge this to be true,
infantry ****** open fire, shooting explosive emojis that detonate your feed,
i know you wear bullet proof armored sweaters
but i also see the bruises on that solitary face,
leeches feeding lust into your neck,
you step into battle with black eyes on your chest,
swinging your “i don’t give a **** sword, beheading lascivious foes,
i preferred when we sat on the terrace during the decline of the sun,
softly voicing how we’d get out of this cage,
walking north of south gate with worn out tokens,
i left you unguarded
pardon me, lustful,crimson Helen of Troy
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 11:29 PM UTC
Conceived at night, tomorrow be mourn
Still and quiet, Wretch's babe be born
Hex for hex, curse for curse
The Witch's undoing shall be the worst
May my friend Aim pay a visit
May his screams be exquisite
Father of dog food, husband of a Harlot
Miraculous keeper of her loose undergarments
May his eyes boil and his organs char
Mere punishment for her promiscuous charm
Child and homeless, she'll wonder through the dark
Mere atonement for my aching heart
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 12:57 PM UTC
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Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 4:39 AM UTC
I stopped feeling anything almost a week ago,
you said that was normal for someone like me who always bites her nails
who doesn't like to shut up when people tell her to,
but I feel like you were just trying to make me feel something,
or maybe just feel better.
I still bite my nails so nothing's changed.
you eat equations as quick as you eat watermelon
and spit out the answers like seeds into neat rows and shapes,
trying to impress me because you think you can,
but I'm watching your sister and she's picking her nose
and she still looks like an angel.
you're trying too hard to get me to love you,
that's not how it works.
when I touch you I can hear your breathing;
it's disgusting.
(hold something in for once,
your thoughts, your breath, your laughter, your answers)
and when I woke up yesterday, you were silent.
I danced a little bit, until I thought you would wake up soon.
I wanted you to try and excuse your actions.
but you didn't wake up until noon and by then I was thirsty
and I was too gentle.
you told me that you felt something last night,
felt like I still loved you underneath my sarcastic skin
and you tried to prove it by touching me.
you only proved that you're gloriously stupid.
Aug 22, 2010
Aug 22, 2010 at 7:49 PM UTC
What did I do to deserve this?
I thought not being sexually active was a good thing?
Why am I being punished for not having a baby at such a young age?
My body remains untouched
But yet, every month you punish me with a ****** mess on my undergarments
God ****** I waste money on these ****** warmers
And you come, and cause me to waste even more money on a blood absorber,
which doesn't even work all the time
All I want is to not bleed once, sometimes twice a month
**** this.
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 8:59 PM UTC
The broncos won and I'm still at a dead end job
Didn't even watch the game, I was washing trash cans.
Heard about it through social media
About all the different things lady gaga looked like when she sang the national anthem.
Heatmiser, pizza rolls, dolly parton
Because one time dolly parton wore a red suit.
Which i thought was kind of a stretch
But i've read stupider things on the internet so i let it slide
I saw a commercial saying that tons of babies are born 9 months after the super bowl.
You know what else is right around that time in February?
Valentine's day
I don't think i've ever been less **** than during the super bowl.
Nobody looks at their man covered in nacho grease and beer stains and goes
"Oh yeah!" Its baby making time!
My girlfriend is in Florida working for Disney right now.
Thy have her doing laundry in a musty basement with middle aged Mexican woman.
It's apparently awful.
Ruins the magic she says.
Seeing cinderella scurrying around half naked doing her make up.
Wig cap and undergarments
Snow white with her nose up asking for kombucha.
Won't even make eye contact with the laundry vets.
Let alone my intern girlfriend.
I asked how the magic wasn't ruined before that.
After watching the play hairspray when they yell cut and
All the actors go back to their miserable lives, i figured it out pretty young.
This middle class manifesto
Where making 15 dollars an hour is a goal.
But she is the faithful type.
Loves her a good hoping.
That's why she hasn't cut me loose anyway.
She says she needs me around because i'm a taurus.
I have no idea what she means by that.
But i love hearing stories about mexican woman yelling in spanish at their iphone screens. And half naked princesses doing their makeup in hair nets. And her still believing in magic. I think it says a lot about her.
She gives me something to dream about while I wash these trash cans.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 3:43 PM UTC
I step out of the shower as
Steam rises off of my cold wet body.
Standing there. Naked.
I catch my own reflection in the mirror.
I feel shy, almost embarrassed.
This is who I am.
I dress in the soft white towel from the rack.
Feeling slightly warmer already.
Next are the undergarments.
Perhaps today is the day.
It will happen soon enough.
Just wishing I’d feel the same as before.
Jeans and a light cotton shirt today.
I laugh, remembering what he said
In class the other day.
Maybe I was that clever too.
Sweater.
Now I’m in the middle.
Directing the whole video now.
Still wanting to be in that towel.
Reach for the coat.
Now, I am untouchable.
No one can understand
The possibilities of my mind.
I can’t let them.
And out the door, I go dressed as such.
Jan 11, 2011
Jan 11, 2011 at 4:12 PM UTC