Poetry competition CLOSED 17th February 2021 8:19pm
WINNER
LunaGreyhawk
LunaGreyhawk
angry women
Anonymous
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Related submission no longer exists.
Anonymous
What Men Want
I'll now tell a little story
About a young lad named John
He could trick you into sex
He was one hell of a con
But when you'd wake up
Well, he'd already be gone
To him you meant nothing
You were nothing but a pawn
Only one thing you could do
To keep John's attention on you
A hammer fist to his sack
Not one but a few
Bully his package, you need to be cruel
Your bat and his sword. now begin the duel
If you emerge victorious and leave his cock aching
Your hand in marriage John will be taking
About a young lad named John
He could trick you into sex
He was one hell of a con
But when you'd wake up
Well, he'd already be gone
To him you meant nothing
You were nothing but a pawn
Only one thing you could do
To keep John's attention on you
A hammer fist to his sack
Not one but a few
Bully his package, you need to be cruel
Your bat and his sword. now begin the duel
If you emerge victorious and leave his cock aching
Your hand in marriage John will be taking
Written by Girthquake
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Related submission no longer exists.
In Your Face
What you say to a poet should be
carefully measured, not edited.
Do not mistake caramel
and the sweetness
of silence for censorship.
If she is blind, she will still peel
one good layer of your laugh,
she will have an analyst come
to your window in the night
and scrape the breath
from your pane to ensure
you are not sneaking a secret --
if she is not blind she will
poke holes through the air,
a pocket to insert your 7th
grade fear of mundane,
you're exquisite talent
for evasion as a child,
your distaste for girls
with a pierced agenda.
You will have to entertain
her by translating
something once
and only once,
so long ago it was
an ancestor to a formula
for the very sound of speech.
She will give you the entire
chocolate cake.
But, if you don't think
of offering her the farm
your leather jacket
a strange plot of land by the lake
the DNA of your first skinned knee
lobbed off in hesitation of wholeness,
then don't offer a poet an excuse,
an orb of onion rotating, sweltering
in its own sweaty juice, because
she will lob it back in your face.
~
Written by Ahavati
(Tams)
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