Tag: Love

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Sometimes | Poems that Suck

We were toxic as fuck,

and there are times I wonder

if our connection was more a sickness

of spirit, rather than something cosmic —

But sometimes,

when the moon looks just right,

and the night air is a certain humidity,

I miss you —

The scathe of your fingers nails on my scalp,

sharp enough for me to wince beneath them,

the low rumble of your voice, which always caused

me to lean into your mouth,

the sound of your laugh, which is etched inside my brain,

the curve of your fingers, and the impossible largeness of your hands,

the deep, earthy smell of you that always made me feel like I was at home,

and the feeling of when our heads touched – like it was always us, had always

been us, and would always be us.

Even if it was a sickness,

at least it was shared.

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(A)Mused | Poems that Suck

Hold me close and kiss me –

 – then text her from ‘our’ bed.

Call me by the names that only you know –

– as you simp for her half naked photos.

Blow smoke, talking about keys, growing old,  meeting your mama and babies –

-while you plan to take couple photos with her.

‘Make love’ – never fuck – me –

 – while visions of her dance in your head.

Use me when you want to cum –

-then talk to her for hours, lying to me by omission.

Just say the truth –

I’m the Bargain Basement clearance rack version

of what you always wanted, but could never get.

Tell me –

You’re not in love, but

love my attention

and

will keep cumming in me

’til something better

comes along.

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Fourteen | Poems that Suck

I wonder what I'd be like
had you not smelled my
daddy issues like, like a
shark scents blood in 
                                         the water.

What kind of life I'd have
if you never whispered
obscenities down the 
phone line into my fourteen
                                                 year old ears.

What I'd think about 
love, and sex had I not
given up my virginity 
in a one night stand 
                                    so you wouldn't
                                    be disappointed.

Or even if I hadn't learned
from you that love, sex, and
the person you're fucking are
of no consequence so long as
                                                         I get mine. 

It's no wonder that I
am terrified by love and
find sex to be hollow, and
have an overwhelming fear 
                                                 of abandonment.
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Corpus | Poems that Suck

This is my body. 

36.
33.
36.

Cellulite on the backs of my thighs, 
a highway of broken capillaries,  
mapping the pot holes of cottage cheese.

This is my body.

Tits beginning to sag with age as
the years stretch out longer with
nipples scarred by youthful piercings
when we all believed we were indestructible. 

This is my body.

With a belly that is no longer flat, 
but mushes like soft bread;
an effect of diminishing estrogen. 

This is my body.

Criss-crossed with scars, tattoos
and crows feet which whisper the
secrets that I've forgotten long ago.

This is my body. 

As I stand naked before a mirror
and will myself to love it though
it juxtaposes what mass media dictates.

This is my body.

Mine to love, 
hate, 
exploit, 
destroy, 
sanctify.

This flesh and bone. 
This is home. 
This is where I live.

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A Love Poem Told in Hair | Poems that Suck

I want you to find
 my hair in your bed;
  a rainbow of reds, pinks,
   browns, blues, greens, blonde 
     and maybe even a little bit of gray.

I want you to find
 it wrapped around the
  base of your cock when
   you take a shower, and

between your ass cheeks, in
 your mouth when you eat lunch,
  scattered across your favorite 
   clothes and clinging to your cat's tail,

plastered on your shower 
 curtain, and in thin, curling 
  esses around the drain of your bathtub.
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Biology | Poems that Suck

I want you to cum
inside of me
and say 'fuck it'
to the consequences
because the idea of your
biology and my own - 

of cell and tissue,
swirling strands of
DNA co-mingling inside
my body has become
the height
of romance.
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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.
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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
            anymore.
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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.