Posts Tagged ‘Anger poems’


Tom Hardy you’re my Hero

your cream colored tattered flesh

my milky white tattooed breasts

you are as delusional

as you are prostitutional.

if I zip down your mancunt

and spread your iron ego lips wide

will that inglorious slit clit

squirt fortunes of cum juice?

will it tell me my future

and all the brutal things

that are yet to come, not cum

with you or in you?

Yes, I’m feeling peculiar.

Yes, I’m feeling inferior.

Yes, I’m feeling extra-curricular.

your “ooh” and “ah” and “yes” and “yum’s”

mangle me in the dark

pulling me to the bottom

of post-lesbianism-nymphomatic-barrel-psychosis

and I ask what do I do

with all this inhumane addiction?

I bet Tom Hardy

never had to go through this shit!

You hand me a current issue of Esquire

and tell me to shut the fuck up

and grow some balls!

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MY ANGER

 

 

 

 

I shove my anger in a drawer.

I stroll through fields, wallow in anthemis.

Sun gleams with fresh light.

You can do that when you’re not mad at anything.

 

My anger breathes better when it’s stowed away.

Though it’s far from me, in dark, it doesn’t know that

Underwear and socks, meet the stain on my heart.

Though it makes itself comfortable, it is still anger.

 

My anger is a fire in a cold, cold place.

It kills what comes close, mostly itself.

It becomes nostalgic, hasn’t seen a bruise in years.

 

I return home and let it out.

It joins me in restless sleep.

My body’s tanned a little.

My dreams have claws.