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.

Olivewood | Poems that Suck

We snuck into the church's gift shop in
 hopes of escaping the oppressive summer heat.
  They had an air conditioner, which felt delicious
   on our sweaty skin and sunburnt shoulder blades.

Trying to look inconspicuous, we pretended
 to shop, so the clerk wouldn't catch on and
  throw us out. You were looking at something intently
   and when I came to see, you extended your hand to me.

In the bowl of your palm was a perfectly carved,
 polished olivewood heart. I turned my palm skyward
  to see if you would offer it; you dropped it into
   my waiting hand without hesitation. 

Ain’t That Somethin’ | Poems that Suck

When I was 19 I had this 
 boyfriend and he was a little
  strange; a little too in to women's
   silky panties, a little too intellectual.
                                          ya dig?

Anyway, this one time when we
 were fucking, he jumped up on my
  chest and swung his little ass around
   and wanted me to blow him from the back. 

Now, I've seen and done a lot of
 weird and kinky shit since then but, 
  you never forget the first time you see
    the back of someone's ball bag. Magnificent. 

Dope Fiend | Poems that Suck

All poets experience it, 
  that one mother fucker you
    can't stop writing about.

Try as you might to
  fight it, that witch got
    under your skin, jacked themselves
     into your veins and became a god damned
      firestorm in your circulatory system. 

Here's to you, 
  you little bastard. 
   Thanks for all the material. 

Nostalgia | Poems that Suck

 There's one addiction I have
   and that's living in the
                         past.

 I like to go back in time and
    replay scenes in my head;
      good ones, bad ones,
        they're all the same.

 I like to relive them in great detail,
   slowing down time to capture the specifics
    I missed in those moments the first
                              time around.

 I imagine that they are photographs,
    and imagine the condition they'd be in.
      Some edges worn from constant replay,
        other sticky with the aftermath of love making,
          still others, ripped and pasted together again, their
                             edges burnt in fury. 

To Swallow the Sun | Poems that Suck

 Your long, thin finger crept
                       like a spider
           up my inner thigh.
 
 "Stop," I hissed through my teeth;
                 a warning. 
 "No one's looking, no one cares."
                and you continued
 your journey up the pale length of my skin.
 
 The pads of your fingertips reached their
                   intended destination
 and I sighed with the delicious feel of them,
 
 as I gazed, heavy lidded, at the sea,
                    head tilted back,
 as if I were swallowing the sun. 

Worn Soft | Poems that Suck

There's something soothing 
about running my fingertips
along the edges of a well-loved
                              book. 

Something gratifying in the
softness of something once so precise.

I hope, that in my old age, 
I find the same sweet softness
in myself that I find so valuable
                           in a book.

The Unexpected | Poems that Suck

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.