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Literature
Sex
Flesh is the new style
so bare some skin honey
wear it out
like all the trends
that cost so much money
this ones almost free
the only cost being
the rest of your dignity
so be a whore
forget your humility
A whore to fashion
sex sells
and you sold yourself
Flesh is the new style
so bare some skin
wear it out honey
like all the the other trendy sins
that cost so much money
remember this ones almost free
the only cost being
whatever is left of your dignity
sex sells
Ah honey show a little more
you sold yourself
your such a trendy whore
:iconshazzykinz:shazzykinz
:iconshazzykinz:shazzykinz 169 23
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Literature
+ When Boys Kiss Boys +
When Boys Kiss Boys
Eyes meeting,
Lips greeting,
Two hearts beating as one
while crosses burn atop churches
and choir boys lose their angelic voices;
while priests drop dead between their pulpits
and bishops choke on holy water droplets.
Here, I stand with them by my side,
watching the end of the world
when boys kiss boys.
Hands traveling,
Clothes unraveling,
Souls marveling at the sight
while the trumpets sound from ear to ear
and demons rise to make their steal;
while fire rains from the blackened sky
and the faithful fear we are out of time.
Here, I sit with a martini in hand,
watching the end of the world
when boys touch boys.
Head bobbing,
Flesh throbbing,
Sprits robbing themselves of life
while below the oceans run red with blood
and the moon turns crimson right above;
while churches lose their pious wealth
and hell's flames make statues melt.
Here, I lay in bed with them,
watching the end of the world
when boys suck boys.
Blood rushing,
Passion gushing,
Bodies pushin
:iconbrokenlolita:brokenlolita
:iconbrokenlolita:brokenlolita 202 109
Literature
How to Fix The World
How strange
This abomination...
an execution, while play
The howling strings
Of the cellos
Of the veins
Of the time
Of humanity.
To the discord
Are the who and what,
the how and the why
Ever lost to that
of the cords
of the strings
of the howling
of History.
"Fix this", they cry,
the masses whose
words fester and boil,
carried words, spoken indirect
of the leaders
of the struggles
of the home
of the brave
The final breath
of humanities dying words
"in ashes, from ashes"
She speaks, so melancholy
of the future
of the present
of the past
of Civilization.
"World!" She pleads
with a cry, so finishing
"Heed and listen!"
To them she speaks
Of the necessary
of the desired
of the curses
of their blessings...
:iconGrubbsWriting:GrubbsWriting
:icongrubbswriting:GrubbsWriting 433 34
Literature
War
a lonely heart
a lonely song
a lonely tear now that peace gone
a tortured soul
behind fearful eyes
having to be all that you despise
a dying hope
a raging hate
that you must fight while leaders debate
that you must die for other men's quarrels
the tears of a dying warrior's sorrows
:iconsaykha:saykha
:iconsaykha:saykha 119 99
Literature
FOR MONEY
FOR MONEY
Count your money!
Every day!
Count your money!
You must pay!
Count your money,
It's enough?
How much
You need to laugh?
Dreams of money,
You are rich,
You are sleeping
On the beach
No more work
And no more stress,
What a life,
Can you guess?
Yes,
You'll get a better job
Or
You'll do it! You will rob!!
Thoughts of money,
Thoughts of life,
Thoughts of honey
And a knife!!!
Blood for money!
Every day!
Blood for money!
You must pay!
Armies fight,
Every day!
People die!
They must pay!
Strike for money!
Watch the ball!!!
Wars for money!
Kill'em all!!!
:iconDraganTheMighty:DraganTheMighty
:icondraganthemighty:DraganTheMighty 110 70
Literature
Sunflower Flux
He played hard this month:                                      She played well this month:
Mortgages prefixed sales                                         Chlorophyll quotas left in the wake
and rows of steadfast hotels,                                    of cushioned lovers and tickling tiny noses
plastic monuments saluting a gaudy cannon             
:iconpsychodrive:psychodrive
:iconpsychodrive:psychodrive 51 136
Literature
Medusa, a Girl Violated and Used in Life and Death
You were not born a monster;
You were among the fairest of daughters,
Honey-tressed, a chaste priestess
Of Athena, a maiden goddess.
Unwisely, you boasted that you were fairer
Than even Athena, incurring her anger
And spite. Was it for such a petty deed
That she betrayed you in your hour of need?
Poseidon saw you and chased you,
Eager to enjoy your body. You fled to
Athena’s temple, praying for safety.
But he violated the shrine and your body.
You screamed for help, but none came.
Athena, instead of answering your prayer,
Was furious that her temple was befouled
And a priestess had broken her vow.
A priestess had broken her vow,
But you had not done it of your own
Will; Poseidon left you with no options
As a powerless mortal and as a maiden.
Athena, the Maiden Goddess of Wisdom,
Justice, and War Strategy dominions,
Who could easily have punished and shamed
Her uncle, strangely thought that you were to blame.
Instead of punishing her uncle for raping you,
Athena acted in spiteful
:icondiddles25:diddles25
:icondiddles25:diddles25 45 68
Literature
Lest we forget
In Flanders' fields, the poppies blow,
and we who walk among them know
that here men fought, and bravely died
with equal courage, side by side;
the lark has overcome the crow.
We touch the Dead in memory
embrace them through the century.
The earth enshrines their valiant hearts
in Flanders' fields.
The torch has guttered years ago;
the enemy has been laid low.
And though your names should slowly fade,
your blood a better world has made.
Rest you now where the poppies grow
in Flanders' fields.
:iconQuiEstInLiteris:QuiEstInLiteris
:iconquiestinliteris:QuiEstInLiteris 80 23
Literature
The Closet
The monsters aren't in the closet.
The monsters are outside.
When we grew up we realized
That in there's where we should hide.
They chased us in here with their knives
And framed us for our "crimes".
They point and say, "Beware the closet!
Monsters are inside!"
I hear them talk about "my kind"
Through cracks between the door.
All I ask is for respect,
How could I ask for more?
The hateful glares, those judging looks
And all the dreadful things
Assault my waking moments
and stalk me in my dreams.
I shake and shiver, whimper and stir,
Safe inside my closet.
But safeness seems so temporary
when outside foes appall it.
We've done no wrong but it's not safe
To expose my self and soul.
I lock it in a box to hide
Where no one else will go.
I know there's others out there
Who left to face the world
But some are not as brave as they
Who never did return.
The monsters aren't in the closet.
The monsters are outside.
But here I sit and here I wait
'till I can leave with PRIDE.
:iconmandalorianmedjai:mandalorianmedjai
:iconmandalorianmedjai:mandalorianmedjai 50 29
Literature
Respect is Dead
The people killed Respect today
They hung her from a tree
She swayed there all alone until
They killed poor Courtesy
Now I am a fugitive
Afraid to live and hide
Afraid to walk the streets alone
Afraid that I will die
They're seeking me, and hunting me
To make the dead ones three
They'll use some rope to make a noose
And hang me from the tree
I used to be so popular
Honored by society
I guess they have no use for me
No use for good ol' Empathy
:iconwriterwithasword:writerwithasword
:iconwriterwithasword:writerwithasword 56 65
Literature
Fuck What You Call Us
I am not a "total fag"
and don't call me a fairy
I dress in spikes and rock to metal
leaving your stereotype contrary.
I do not speak with a lisp
and fashion's ass I do not kiss
heavy lifting doesn't scare me
and I even call them tits.
Just because licking a lollipop
reminds me of throbbing dick
surely does not mean
I have the characteristics of a chick.
So shut up with your stupid shit,
what did I do to you?
I hate all this hostility,
but what else can I do?
You insult my very flesh
everything that I am.
You don't deserve to stay alive
but I really don't give a damn.
In the end I know you're wrong
and how that really matters.
Of your closed ideas I do not care,
your attention only flatters.
:iconGuy-Fawkes:Guy-Fawkes
:iconguy-fawkes:Guy-Fawkes 135 188
Literature
The Cutting Curse
Momma, see, I've got this curse,
I hurt myself; my God it hurts,
I tried to stop but it made me worse
I've cleaned more wounds than a full-time nurse.
I have this thing inside of me,
It just can't stomach me being me.
It turns and twists and I can't be free,
It burns,  it cuts, it scratches me.
Momma, see, it's at it's worst,
I've lost control and how it hurts.
I tried to cope but I made it worse.
I needed help to kill this curse.
These scars are now a part of me,
These wounds a tragic diary.
I hope, I pray, I beg, I plead,
I cry, I scream, I bite, I bleed.
Momma, see, I'm all alone.
It doesn't matter if you're at home.
It doesn't matter if you care,
Soon enough I won't be there.
:iconRomancedWithWhispers:RomancedWithWhispers
:iconromancedwithwhispers:RomancedWithWhispers 287 69
Literature
Masks
Why should I trust you?
In this human masquerade,
Where no one shows the truth,
And everyone's afraid.
Another mask for different times,
Another mask for a different place.
Showing the truth seems such a crime.
The truth is I can't trust you,
Nor can you trust me.
For I have seen too many masks,
So let's just dance, shall we?
:iconAgnostoTheo:AgnostoTheo
:iconagnostotheo:AgnostoTheo 27 15
Literature
The Rose
At a desk, coffee sachets rest.
Long-life milk harbours
white dreams of expiry.
Shuffling in his forgetful nest
a grey man blinks
at the intruding light.
Americo, do you remember
your antique power,
that opened like a rose
on the walls of Hiroshima?
:iconPenessence:Penessence
:iconpenessence:Penessence 41 17
Literature
Rainbow Butterflies
All men are created the same
But you're different, a shame!
Can't you just try to fit in?
Hide your wish for it's a sin!  
Walk in line, keep the order
Don't you dare to cross that border!
Butterfly, the lesson's bitter:
Hate is what love's preachers twitter.
Scared of the unknown they fight
Against it and for "What is right".
To reconvert you is their goal
Anxious by your lucent rainbow soul
All humans have the right to be free
To choose the person we want to be.
Why should the carnal shell stay a male
When each look in the mirror does ail?
What's the crime of love between adults
With the same gender? So why the insults?
Yet, a lot of the rainbow butterflies
Have to pretend, to hide and to disguise.
Only artists are allowed to astound
While the others dance in the underground.
So they won't corrupt normality
Even at the cost of human dignity.
Still I love to see the butterflies around
And watching them fly high above the ground.
High above the minds too small to grasp
Rainbow sou
:iconDiluculi:Diluculi
:icondiluculi:Diluculi 39 33
Literature
Don't Write About This
Hell, it's been done before. Fuck
Is the word everyone uses,
A song sheet the muses
Transcribe through heart and tongue,
Soul and lung. A canal bursts
Like a vein and buries a mother,
Two kids in mud. But don't even bother
With another poem about hurts,
Another poem, roses, the sun.
Love is ubiquitous as stars
Strewn across the sky -- yellow cars
Frozen on asphalt. It's all overdone.
Write about benthic shells. Forgo
The ones that tottle onto shore
That anyone can find. Fucking boring
How a child loses footprints to show
You a conch. Waves crash and erase
Everything -- time, age, more poetry.
Write about dying and you've failed to see
Through the eyes of a true poet -- a maze
Of academia, an allusion to Biblical verse,
Some hidden message found in Mona Lisa's
Smile or a missing constellation: Pisa's
Tower, pointing to something clandestine, worse
Than adultery (don't write about that either),
Worse than Mayans predicting our demise:
The great asteroid of the uncouth, the unwise --
It'l
:iconfllnthblnk:fllnthblnk
:iconfllnthblnk:fllnthblnk 34 36
Literature
Uncle Sir
Uncle Sir...
Once the boy said to the man
On a hot summer's day,
"Uncle will you tell me please,
Why can't I go play?
The other boys all laugh outside,
And all are having fun,
Why must I sit here with you,
As they play in the sun?"
Staring daggers at his child,
The man's eyes grew from calm to wild,
And as he stroked the poor boy's head,
The man looked at the boy and said,
"I'm the one to hold you tight,
The one to make your world all right,
No matter who you search to see,
The only one for you is me."
"Yes Uncle Sir I know you're right,
But don't you think that they,
Might not truly be that bad,
Maybe they want to play?"
Reaching for the young boy's hand,
The man observed him briefly and
(forcing the boy to welcome his speech),
Holding him tight he started to preach:
"They are the ones who want you dead,
The ones with evil in their heads,
Their sole intent is to abuse you,
To bite you, scratch you, and to bruise you.
They are the ones who'll make you hurt,
But don't you try to stay al
:iconSuperiorflowerpower:Superiorflowerpower
:iconsuperiorflowerpower:Superiorflowerpower 51 17
Literature
Memory
Memory flows through the veins of this land;
the earth does not forget the blood that was lost:
it nourished the roots of trees that still stand.
Memory flows through the veins of this land;
whispering past monuments to man,
ghosts roam the fields that armies once crossed.
Memory flows through the veins of this land.
the earth does not forget the blood that was lost.
:iconLadyofGaerdon:LadyofGaerdon
:iconladyofgaerdon:LadyofGaerdon 28 33
Literature
8th April, 1973
Avignon knows that April has arrived;
a week has passed, and perfection closed -
who has seen the crazy life inside?
The Man recants, his life deformed, perhaps,
should shelter become intensified
and an easier existence found for tortured Art.
When War came, and open flowed expense,
can curling pleasure hurt the Earth
now that pain is documented?
In Heart's true strength the burden passed
into quiet ceasing moments; years;
fragrant pastures blaze in golden light.
She is softness, your Renaissance, old man;
ninety famous stretches, fulsome workaholic -
pretty Jacqueline, clothed at last; your love.
:iconjahg:jahg
:iconjahg:jahg 78 160
Literature
War
Guns firing
Shells hit the ground
Bombs blasting
Why isn't there sound?
Bodies falling
Lives drift away
Tanks rolling
And so ends the day
Another day of fear
Another day of loss
For months they march here
For months they cross
A never-ending conflict
A bewildering cause
Commanders remain strict
If only it could pause
The morals of men disappear
Their fears temporarily lost
Through blood and sweat they persevere
But at what price?  What cost?
In the name of their nation
They embarked on this crusade
The fee of this journey:
A sin that cannot be repaid
Families at home can only pray
For those who boarded
And that they will live another day
Rather than die and be rewarded
Why is there war?
Must we always fight?
Is talking so useless,
To end this plight?
:iconSamara-chan:Samara-chan
:iconsamara-chan:Samara-chan 43 22
Literature
Manifesto (Villanelle)
the uniforms of our revolution
will be our naked skin and we
will embrace our execution
we will not need absolution
we will put onto and into our trainees
the uniforms of our revolution
and after our skin-on-skin elocutions
on their beds of contraceptive debris
they too will embrace our execution
they will be envoys of a new evolution
initiating the uninitiated at afternoon teas
in the uniforms of our revolution
and in their post-fuck diminution
the messages they erect on church marquees
will embrace their own execution
then with our tongues bequeathed to the prosecution
and our sweetbreads bequeathed to the mediterranean sea
in the uniforms of our revolution
we will embrace our execution
:iconoverdebated:overdebated
:iconoverdebated:overdebated 45 12
Literature
Lullaby for the Dead
Her mother passed her AIDS
            But at least she wasn't aborted
Her father passed his rage
            But at least she wasn't aborted
Poverty and drugs passed as living
            But at least she wasn't aborted
Sorrow passed as happines
            But at least she wasn't aborted
Abandonment passed as love
            But at least she wasn't aborted
Desparity passed as hope
            But at least she wasn't aborted
The DCFS passed their condolences
            But at least she wasn't aborted
Her parents passed by at the funeral
     
:iconbiketheif:biketheif
:iconbiketheif:biketheif 22 12