A Poem About You Doesn’t Deserve a Name | Poems that Suck

They say you can't get 
blood from a stone, but 
you tried to get milk from
my bones to nourish your 

anorexic heart that weighs
love and control in equal
measure on the rigged
scales of parenthood. 

I've grown up in the 
shadow of your buzz
words and catch phrases
for women:


Pronouncing with a 
fascist authority what
women can and can't, 
shouldn't, be or do  

And me trying valiantly
to mould myself to the 
exact form for what you
consider the ideal man -

because women, in your
eyes, ain't shit - so 
that I could garner a
single scrap of affection

or respect from you.
But after 38 years, 
I've finally caught 
on to your game - 

better late than never! - 
and I'd rather char my
bones to cinders in the 
crematorium of my own

righteous fury and indignation
than ever let you back in
the door that I slammed in 
your face last April. 

Dangerous | Poems that Suck

The problem with
calling yourself the
muse of a girl 
with daddy issues,

and a habit of
using men's bodies
to masturbate with is
that the love may

be fabricated, and
when she's used 
you up and the well

of inspiration has
run dry, you'll be
thrown away like a 
                   shitty diaper. 

Trash | Poems that Suck

Who the fuck 
are you anyway, 
that my blood 
should turn from
rust to fire
at the mere 
closeness of you?

And who the fuck
am I becoming
with the shiver
of every orgasm, 
under the pressure
of your lips 
on my own?

Who am I?
Because I seem
to have lost
track - seemed to
have forgotten that
I'm only a: 

broken girl,
a fast girl, 
a foul-mouthed girl.

Who the fuck
am I? Because
when I look
in your eye,
and see myself
reflected there, 
I'm not trash

Oh Shit | Poems that Suck

I forgot I called the
plumber because the 
sinks weren't draining
properly in my house. 

After a strong cup of
coffee, and about twenty
menthol cigarettes, I felt
the tell-tale rattling in

my guts that I have to
take a monstrous shit.
So I ambled to the bathroom, 
produced a bowl-buster, 

marveled at its length
like a proud parent, and
then - without a thought -
flushed my shit baby away. 

About ten seconds later I
heard a horrified scream
from the basement, and 
immediately remembered....

                      Oh shit. The plumber.

Pinpricks | Poems that Suck

You were drunk on fine spirits,
on the precipice of belligerence,
trapping me between your body
and the door - its knob in my back.

"What the fuck are you doing?"
I asked calmly cautious, but 
could see that your pupils
were pinpricks, even in the dim.

"Tell me all about it. Every 
little detail. I need to know
the who, what, why, how, when
of that stupid video."

And I realized I was being
mocked; for talking too much, 
for needing someone to share
stream of consciousness with.

It confirmed what I'd suspected
for so long; that I'm not human
to you - just a possession that 
you can molest whenever you want. 

Unraveled | Poems that Suck

There's a flap of flesh
 along side my thumbnail.
  I wonder what would happen
   if I pulled at it?

I imagine it would cleave
 the skin, running all the 
  way to the bone, like some
   wayward thread.

And what would I find, there,
 hidden beneath the flesh? A 
  lifetime of regret, lies, doubt
    and self loathing.

Best to leave it alone.

Tending Bar | Poems that Suck

Don't come to me if you
don't want a straight answer.

Don't come to me if you
want to be coddled.

Don't come to me if you
don't want practical advice.

Don't come to me if you
just want me to agree with you.

Don't come to me if you
can't take it raw. 

I'm not your fucking bartender, baby.
I'm not serving you a chaser after this shit.

Silence | Poems that Suck

Maybe I don't like the silence
 because it reminds me of an ex
  who used to disappear for days at
   a time, saying that the aliens had
    abducted him. 

Every time he'd reappear it was
 with some new girl, hanging off his
  dick - and I knew he'd slept with her
   so that he'd have a place to sleep, and 
     food to eat. 

I could never understand why
 he wouldn't come to me to ask
  for these things, knowing that 
   he'd never have to pay for them
    with sex. 

The last time he disappeared
 for months, turning up on the 
  opposite coast so that he could 
   "make it," but came back home with
     a pregnant fiancé.

Busted | Poems that Suck

I weave these ribbons
between the hollows 
of my bones,

sewing together the
frayed flesh that
you stripped bare
in my pursuit of you.

If I replace my heart
with a Cuckoo clock,
and my mind with a 
mocking bird,

then maybe I'll 
sleep during these
fitful nights 
of uncertainty.