I was gazing out of the window
when I felt a soft touch on my
shoulder, as gentle as a whisper.
When I turned to look, I saw your head
hovering over my skin. The tenderness of
that kiss shocked me profoundly, as if you
had touched some secret part of my being.
I blushed deeply at the obscenity of it.
Shitty Poetry | Poems that Suck
Shitty poetry
is cowardice.
It tries to beautify
the human condition
to either mask it
or find the beauty
in the awful.
–
It’s shit because
it doesn’t have
the courage
to capture
what’s is
disgusting,
wrong,
depraved,
obscene,
indecent,
traumatic,
and
heartbreaking.
–
It sanitizes life,
stripping it of
the bone and
sinew that
makes us
connect
with
each
other.
–
So go ahead,
write another
poem about
a beautiful
flower
graciously
farting out
pollen
or
some
other
bullshit.
–
I’ll stick to the underbelly.
The Shit You’ll See in Paris | Poems that Suck
I was walking along a narrow,
Parisian street; very posh,
the kind with neat hedgerows
that camouflage the iron gate
intended to keep
the riff raff
out.
–
I was having a pleasant
morning stroll, but
then a giant pile
of dog shit
came across
my
path.
–
I paused for a moment,
nibbling on my
chocolate croissant,
mulling over
the turd in
my way
before
continuing
on.
–
Not five steps away,
I beheld what was
very clearly a
skid mark
that repeated
every three
paces
or
so.
–
I quickly put the
pieces together,
some unfortunate
fellow had stepped
in that
shit
not
far
back
–
And had spent
half a mile
trying to
scuff it off
the bottom
of
his
shoe.
–
I gazed at the
last, short
skid shaking
my head.
Surely, this
was a
commentary
on
life.
Paris | Poems that Suck
I was in Paris, once,
just a few days.
I didn’t do all the
touristy shit;
the Arc du Triomph,
the Eiffel Tower,
the Louvre.
–
Instead, I went down
to Pigalle, where the
streets are a litany
of porno shops.
I bought myself
a vibrator
and
some lube.
–
Then went back to
my closet of
an apartment
and had a
good fuck
on the
lice
ridden
bed.
24/7 Motherfucker | Poems that Suck
If you’re not thinking
about the next verse,
constructing it in your head
while you take a
shit,
I’m not sure you
can call yourself
a poet.
Closer | Poems that Suck
Close was never
close enough.
Even if
I could hear you in my head,
visit you in my dreams,
feel you buried deep inside
me.
It was never enough.
Maybe if I could have
peeled back the fragile
layers
of your skin, cracked open
your ribs and found some
comfortable
place between your lungs
and spleen to burrow into,
I would've
been satisfied.
Summer’s Rain | Poems that Suck
I lift my face skyward so the rain can wash over me, kissing my brow, soothing the delicate flesh beneath my eyes, caressing my weary mouth. And for a moment, as fleeting as a heartbeat I feel perfect in my brokenness.
Passion Fruit | Poems that Suck
We bit into the tender,
pink flesh
of some exotic fruit.
Its thin, sweet juice dripping
from our
lips, and I wondered
what it would be like
if he
bit into me like that.
A Triptych: The Final | Poems that Suck
Lean back,”
he urged me,
cradling me
like a child
in the deep,
green, sea.
I obliged,
pushing my
hips heavenward,
and letting my
head sink into
the abyss.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,”
and for a moment,
I felt weightless
believing in my
own beauty
for the
first
time.
You Need Humor to Make it Out Alive | Poems that Suck
I shit my pants once - now, hear me out: I was eating Chinese, a greasy eggroll, so greasy I made a comment out loud about it. Against my better judgement I ate the thing anyway. Hours later, I left work not thinking about that fucking eggroll. I gambled and lost, as they say, and I began laughing hysterically because what else can you do with your pants full of shit and a 15 minute ride home?
