"There's showers here,"
I didn't think much of this information
until I watched you walk toward the building -
each step lingering - hope in every footprint.
You stopped one last time,
at the doors of your destination
and I could feel the glee of your
mischievous grin from across the field.
I found you there, stripped
bare and radiant in your beauty,
waiting for me...
Judas | Poems that Suck
I'm tired -- tired of being tired, of feeling like my body is held down by anchors sunk to unfathomable depths, leaving me struggling for air, for energy. I'm tired -- of waking up to feel like going back to sleep, where my body is whole and full of life. I'm tired -- of running interference with exhaustion, and mitigating it with so much coffee that my piss stinks of it. I'm fucking tired -- the spirit is willing, is full of fire and passion, but this Judas of a body is weak.
1-800-Dial a Piece | Poems that Suck
My new lover called today,
purring obscenities in my ear
like a fat cat about to get its fill
on something juicy.
In my excitement to get
it in, I decided to Nair,
rather than shave my thick,
auburn, pubic hair.
We were naked an hour later,
when he recoiled in horror.
I turned my head to look, then
had to explain that it was a chemical
burn and not, in fact, Herpes.
Crayola Crayons | Poems that Suck
There’s always something whimsical,
nostalgic, reassuring, even,
about the smell of
Crayola Crayons.
.
It brings me back to a time
of pure joy, and innocence.
.
It’s also the reason why
I liked to fuck
in his car
so often.
A Promise | Poems that Suck
You were asleep,
laying face down
on top of the tangled
bed clothes.
A Harvest moon hung
low in the sky, peeking
through the window shades
and stretching its golden fingers
of light up the length of your glorious,
nude body. The moment hung in the salty, humid
air, like a promise of what was yet to come.
Untitled | Poems that Suck
"I love you," you called to my retreating back. I wondered if it was exquisite cruelty, or reassurance. Maybe it was a measure of relief for you, Since now, you never have to see me again. Either way, it was a javelin to my (already fragile) heart.
All I Want for X Mas | Poems that Suck
Dear Santa,
All I want for Christmas is
The Collected Works of Charles Bukowski,
A Jesus Christ Superstar tank top
(preferably in Medium)
and a guy that will let me fuck him up the ass.
(also, preferably in Medium)
The Untraveled Path | Poems that Suck
I have a photo of a place I love, took it before I even knew you existed; a pathway drenched in the golden, afternoon light which lead to a small cluster of fragrant orange trees. We stood at that very spot once, many years later and took a photo together. It's long gone but I remember it; you arms were wrapped around my hips Holding me delicately, as if I were a treasure. I was turned slightly, curled in the warmth of your shoulder, eyes closed as you kissed the side of my head, on the temple, so sweetly. Every time I look at that photo, I imagine us there - ghosts of love that never blossomed, but had always stayed sweet - and I smile at what could've been.
Edison Bulbs | Poems that Suck
I like to write in the hazy, golden glow of my Edison bulbs. It makes me feel like a real artist. In reality, I'm just some middle aged white bitch with a threadbare blanket for a heart.
Shhh… | Poems that Suck
The best thing about
a hot shower is the sound.
No on can hear you
think, or
fuck, or
cry, or
jerk off, or
cry and jerk off
(if that’s your thing).
It’s just a wall of white noise.
.
I like to shower in
the dark,
lie down in the basin
with a washcloth
over my
eyes.
.
I feel the water droplets –
some fine as mist,
others like fat tears –
on my lips,
my nipples,
my thighs.
.
And somewhere in that
wall of sound,
I dissolve
between
the
droplets.
Poems that Suck 