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.
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.