Erotica, R-18+
I’m
a word slut,
the thoughts come
so I write smut.
Sometimes tasteful
often not,
would you look at that
I’m a rhyme thot.
Puns
intended,
verbs
bended.
Always
offending,
to give
a happy ending.
I’m
top tier,
a
sexy Shakespeare.
Writing
erotica
for
the lot of ya!
This poem is from the book, Kink, Volume 3.
Read more from the collection, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.
Erotica, R-18+
If you thick,
You my pick.
I want you quick,
I want to lick,
I want you slick
I want to stick.
Let’s make a flick,
Show me that trick,
I want your lipstick,
All over my dick.
You be hot chick.
Angelic.
Come,
Be my picnic.
This poem is from the book, ‘Kink, Volume 2’
Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.
This is freestyle improve poem, you can watch the video on Instagram, listen to the audio here
i feel stuck inside my brain
the anxiety is gone
but the pain still remains
my childhood on repeat
embodying the shame
fear
loneliness
self-blame
what remains but tears?
what remains but fears?
what remains but me staring into my own soul?
trying to fill my own
i'm not whole
i'm wanting to see
i'm wanting to be
i'm wanting to move
i'm wanting to be free
but the pain she has me
maybe it's the past
the past me that she had
she grabbed me
held me
hurt me
i don't know me
all those things
are they a memory or they of false lie?
you know gaslighting myself
through the past memories of me?
trauma comes trauma goes
what am i left with?
nobody knows just fucking rhymes
just me speaking to myself
counting through times
saving time
stopping time
because right now i want to be here in this time
now
here
now
right now
what is it about now that feels so unsafe?
nothing's wrong
this thing this place is fine
i am safe
but my mind it feels like a wafe
i'm weak
i feel unable to speak
unless i'm alone
unless i'm holding this phone
unless i'm looking into my own eyes
unless i'm remembering what i despise
a lot of the time
it's myself the ways that i responded to things well beyond me
her eyes who could see through me
i don't even know me
the things that i like
the things that i do
do i actually like them or are they a response to you?
to what you did?
to what you said?
to what you made me feel?
my life will work is just to heal
what sort of life is that?
what sort of a life is one in response
reactive instead of proactive
responding to triggers inside my body?
i feel that i want to heal
not lie dead or turn over and keel
but it's fucking hard to keep going
to keep on showing up
to keep moving
to keep hoping
stop myself from blowing up
i put these words out there
and wonder they’ll corrupt another person like me
into thinking differently
into speaking out
into seeking help
into understanding what it's all about
that they're not alone
that they can find a home
i say all of these things
but it's all a fucking lie
because my body and my brain seem to want to fucking die
waking up in tears
reverberating in fear
it seems clear that this battle is ongoing
that have to keep on showing up
that i have to keep on moving
but it's just hard
it's hard to keep on grooving when the music is playing
sounds like a funeral march
starch words
my mouth is parched
shouldn't go to alcohol
shouldn't drink
because then i'd be unable to think
vomit those words down the sink
with the food
with what i eat
with the souls of my feet
i walk across broken glass
across jagged rocks
raw skin no socks
let alone shoes let alone
support or help
who would break the news?
who would share such blues?
thank god that i have children to keep me here
i have to remain to help them
to show them
to teach them how to tie their shoes
to hold them hand in hand
to walk them across the land
to carry them on my shoulders
to say
‘hey look at life it can be grand!’
i'm blessed with the baggage of life
weighed down by love
despite all of the inner strife
i'm weighed down but i wonder whether my father was also
he had me
he had my brother
yet he fell
to another
to himself
to the trauma he had
generational it’s cyclic
so that i wonder
i hold my kids up
i walk with them
i show them the way
but the way is blocked
by my own dismay
they see it in my eyes
they see it in my tears
they see me suffering
they see my fears
and they know that they are part me
genetically
environmentally
are they cursed like me?
are they cursed to see the world bleakly?
are they cursed to walk meekly
in fear of themselves
and how they respond to every little thing?
people say i'm brave for speaking out thusly
to put my thoughts here
to share what's in here
but it's not brave
it’s all i can do to save myself
to express the inner mess
from the safety of a screen
when really i can't handle being seen
what would it mean for you to see my soul?
to see me
actually
to see my whole?
my whole self
these words
my words
the pain it needs to become my wealth because i can't handle doing anything else
take a breath
drop all expectations
be here now
you are safe
good thoughts
bad thoughts
it's ok to have all thoughts
these are the words i say to myself
daily
let it go and just feel
take some time
take a breath
heal
it's okay
it's okay to look to not know your way
i say these words to myself every day
i say them in my head when i'm watching my kids play
when he's over there and i'm here and we're just a metre away
but i can't seem to breach that inner gap
i can't seem to take that step to have him and hold him and put him in my lap and hug him and say him it's okay to say that it's just a day
that daddy will be okay
because i don't know
and yet i persist
i keep going
i keep trying to find my way
i keep trying to see the truth
so if you're listened all of this way
10 minutes
turn this video off
sit in the sun
speak
find a way to play to make this day go your way
to slay
to play
or at least just to allay
some of the negativity
keeping your brain at bay
see you next time
hey
This poem is inspired by the book, ‘How To Write Evocative Poetry’.
You can read some chapters from the book, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.
I’m not feeling good today,
All good feelings gone away,
I don’t think I’ve the energy to play,
All I can do is sit and say:
That,
Words flow through my mind in verses, like curses that highlight the evidence for the nurses writing obituaries for those travelling in hearses. The words disperse paragraphs of mental inverses that coerces when it traverses then immerses. It changes and corrupts into mental cutpurses taking it all as it reimburses. The words are a game, a versus, life and death on the field of internal universes.
The worst is, that this verse is, my only respite from the inner curses. When the pen traverses the page it disperses my universes and reimburses, but only while it immerses.
I can feel it ending now,
The brief respite is gone somehow.
What can I do but allow?
Cause the curse has trapped me in this vow.
This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.
Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.
How do I explain this feeling?
The one that comes unwilling,
The kind that divides my mind,
And puts my words into a bind?
How do I explain this feeling?
The one that sends me reeling,
The kind that crushes my hope,
And leads me straight to dope?
How do I explain this feeling?
The one that is not appealing,
The kind that drags on all night,
And makes my personalities fight?
How do I explain this feeling?
The one that wants concealing,
The kind that highlights my shame,
And forces me to take the blame?
How do I explain this feeling?
The one that reminds me of squealing,
The kind that is on repeat,
And reminds me of my defeat?
How do I explain this feeling?
The one that leaves me milling,
The kind that takes away my aim,
And leaves my full of pain?
How do I explain this feeling?
This poem is from the book, ‘Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly’.
Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.
I over thought it and hurt my own feelings.
Ruminated and created some tearlings.
Them’s are tears that represent fears.
Them’s are shame and toxic self-blame.
I internalised it and took it out on you.
Rebelling and yelling that somethings ado.
‘Twas an attack that needs an unpack.
‘Twas a interrogation like presentation.
I blocked the world off and hurt myself.
Bashed and slashed at my body wealth.
That’s a knife leading to strife.
That’s a pile of pills causing ills.
I broke down and lost it all.
Cried and tried to take the last fall.
I was insane and overflowing with pain.
I was at rock bottom feeling forgotten.
I survived and came back to you wearily.
Apologising and explaining myself tearily.
The same story just more gory.
The trauma trick that I always stick.
I recovered and returned to my normal.
Flirting and fucking and acting all formal.
You said it’s okay, it was just a bad day.
You let me back in, despite all my sin.
This poem is inspired by the book, ‘How To Write Evocative Poetry’.
You can read some chapters from the book, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.
