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| Little Purple Book Poems |
I have been writing bad poetry since fifth grade. I have to carry around notebooks and stuff to pour out my creative juices (otherwise it would be really messy), and the best collection that I ever had was in my little velvet purple book that I had all throughout high school. There is so much shit that goes down during high school that there is probably a little something for everybody. (Unless you are a tap-dancing, dyslexic Martian from the planet Zorbon, sorry!) So here is what I have to offer (poetically speaking anyway!) and I hope that you find something to carry with you for the rest of your pathetic little life! Yay!
Oh, and, uh, if you're offended by gratuitous sex scenes in movies, blatant profanity, homosexuality, or just anything liberal in general, you might wanna stop while you're ahead. (Or a tail! Ha, ha! I couldn't resist!)
Like Pages of a Storybook
If you love something, let it go...
But someone? I think not.
Clichés are such a bore,
And so are "sayings."
Poetry in motion just doesn't move anymore,
Pages no longer come alive,
And there is no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
Sorrow and depression reign supreme,
And the silver lining on every cloud has turned a putrid shade of gray.
"Someday my prince will come," she said.
But he left her with those vertically challenged little men forever.
The glass slipper broke,
She pricked her finger on the spindle and never woke again,
And nobody lived happily ever after.
So, when you imagine your storybook ending,
Just keep in mind that some of the pages could be ripped.
Devil Worshipper
You tease me and taunt me,
With false hopes and
Empty promises.
Come hither my dear
And make good on your word.
Your seniority tears me,
It rips me,
It mocks me.
You fuck me to my knees
As you put me in my place.
Control me, abuse me,
But please don't forget me.
Use me
And seize me,
Make me your dirty whore.
So take me and break me,
Confuse me,
Belittle me.
Do whate're you want,
But please dear come now.
Freud Said It Best
Everything is sexual:
Your mother,
Your father,
Your dog,
Your cat,
And the list goes on from there.
We were built foolishly,
With the desire to procreate.
Any and everything that we do
Relates back to one simple word.
Sex.
Some blush to say it.
Some attempt to sensor it.
But you cannot hide from it.
To do so would be godly.
None of us are.
So we must...
Fuck.
Immaculate Deception
Biologically impossible.
Could never happen.
Ridden hard and put away wet, she was.
It was stuck in her somewhere,
But the son of "God" couldn't be born
Through pleasures of the flesh.
Thou aren't so holy Mary.
An excuse for wedlock and a bit of luck
Was all "He" was.
Lie.
Deceive.
I won't play your game.
Hail Mary,
Hail Jane,
Hail Sue,
Hail me.
Don't Think I Didn't See You
Scary seduction,
Peering eyes,
You'd think by now
I'd be more wise.
Visual rape,
Eyes made of hands,
Searing me hot
With their cornea brands.
Staring and prying,
Not forgotten or gone.
They see me as they
Turn their memories on.
Brazen 'cross minds
And through centuries past,
My imperfect image
Unfortunately lasts.
What Shall I Do?
Shall I put you away?
Parade you around?
Take you for granted?
Throw you aground?
Shall I lay o're your lips?
Caress you real well?
Bask in your glory?
Burn in your hell?
Shall I sleep in your heaven?
Lay claim to your mind?
Throw myself upon you?
Pretend to be kind?
Shall I pretty your poison?
Bewilder your thought?
Perhaps maybe you'll love me...
Then again, maybe not.
Don't Push Your Luck
Don't try to control me,
I might buckle over.
Don't think of abuse,
You're sure not my lover...
Nor master,
Nor mistress,
Nor significant other.
Don't play with my head,
I'm sure not your toy.
Don't picture me nude,
For I'm not your playboy...
Nor poser,
Nor player,
Nor realistic McCoy.
Don't love me and leave me,
I'm not yet your whore.
Don't baffle or beat me,
Wait - on that I'm not sure...
Nor certain,
Nor decided,
Nor wanting much more.
Don't try to confuse me,
Sorry dear, not today.
Don't get cocky with me,
Or I'll blow you away...
Or ride you,
Or screw you,
I'm on top either way.
Sexual Predator
Sexual predator
Come and abuse me.
Fuck me and suck me
And recklessly use me.
Sexual predator
Take innocence away.
Waste me and taste me
Do all that you may.
Sexual predator
Make me lose myself.
Lick me and stick me
Abhor my body's wealth.
Sexual predator
Fuck out my brains.
Thrill me and drill me
And all that remains.
Sexual predator
Take me right now.
Tease me and please me
I'll show you how.
What I Have to Offer
With one touch I can make you moan,
Make you scream,
Make you show,
How my lips can caress you in ways unimaginable,
How my fingers can whisper with words unintelligible,
How my mind licks your chest,
And my tongue thinks illegible.
All that to show you my lust.
Watch and See
I bet you thought you'd never see
An ugly person on TV;
Like you and you and you and me.
I'm sorry that I cannot be,
Like all those plastics on TV;
The ones in real life you never see.
But give me a year or two baby,
I'll be famous,
I'll be who you are:
A real life ugly superstar!
And then we'll rise, you and me,
And they will see
That we can be,
The talented, hideous majority!
C'est la vie!
By C.M.P.
Why For?
You are an awful, horrid man,
Who inspires me to write melancholy masterpieces.
Your voice would have me to my knees,
Your touch would send shivers down my spine,
Your every command would be obeyed tenfold.
If you held me in your arms,
I would never, ever leave.
I would show you what I was good for...
Good enough for...
Am I good enough for you?
No?
Well then...
Things will have to change...now.
I will have you,
You'll see...
Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice
Cursing, yelling,
Pursing lips.
Gliding, sliding,
Velvet hips.
Sniveling, whining,
Sour tears.
Wrinkling, crumbling,
Bitter years.
Wasting, rotting,
Desolate graves.
Burning, turning,
Satan's slaves.
The Meaning of Life
"I am better than you.
Every single one of you! Do you hear me?"
That is what his tie, suit, and patent leather briefcase seem to screech at me.
His strategically placed pencil reeks of perfection,
Seeing as how it is directly adjacent to his envelope opener,
And exactly perpendicular to his "World's Greatest Dad" mug.
I bet the sleazy bastard bought it for himself,
Because his son couldn't find just the right gift
For the fourth year anniversary of fixing the toaster which just needed to be plugged in.
Ha.
"Ha, ha, ha! Indeed! Such nonsense!"
Screams the dirty look the old bat just shot at me.
Thirty-six and doesn't look a day past sixty-five.
What she really needs is a good hard fuck.
That oughta put an end to her bitching.
I've never seen anyone complain so much in my life.
"And I haven't seen anyone wear the color since the '80's!"
She yelled with her candy red lips,
Arching her prim and plucked eyebrows ever so slightly.
She takes a pretentious sip from her Diet Coke,
Then sets it down nearest her emergency nail repair kit.
Everything's an emergency to her-
A fashion emergency.
Yet she still makes more money than me!
You know who else makes more money than me?
My boss.
What an ass.
Daddy's little boy.
Work is so political.
Do you know who else is political?
The president.
I hear he fucked her well.
I hear she sucked him well.
Sucked.
Sucking.
Sucks.
Suck.
People suck.
Not just some - all people suck.
And that's the cold hard truth.
Bastards.
Ya Don't Say... (On A Farewell to Arms)
Now that was depressing...
Oh, wasn't it just?
He said that he loved her
Then killed her through lust.
And wasn't that charming?
That thing that he said?
Oh yes, but it's such a damn
Shame that she's dead.
But oh, it was lovely...
How do you figure you ass?
Oh, I just meant the good times,
No need to be crass.
But what of the heartache it caused?
Yeah, that's true...
You're just fucking lucky
That it wasn't you.
Not-So-Subliminal Messages
If you knew what I was thinking,
You'd make me wash my mind out with soap
Because it's oh so dirty.
And maybe my perversion would inspire
You to do all those horrible, naughty things
That my body is begging for you to
Do.
Me,
I would tease you with my hips,
Taunt you with my lips,
And
Run my fingertips down your chest.
I'm not asking for anything in return;
Not a commitment or a relationship or
Love.
It
All depends on one thing though:
Can you take me on?
Anywhere but Here
My life is a mess and I want to die,
I don't have anytime for those shitheaded rhymes.
I need to explode -
Like a gun to my head,
Like a bottle of pills,
Like a knife stained in red,
Like a noose,
Like a dagger - hid under my bed.
Or a whore from the corner -
Yes, that's what I said.
'Cause I feel like a whore after all I've been though,
And you just wouldn't get it unless it was you
I'm not a damn Catholic, so suicide's fine,
I'm not Christian or Buddhist - so where's your next line?
The point is this that I can't go to hell
If it doesn't exist to me - so, oh well [isn't that the best rhyme?]
And if killing me sends me to hell
Don't you fear,
Because hell is much better -
So is anywhere but here.
No Need to Be Blunt
My lovelife has flatlined
Like a thousand DNRs
Like a DOA trauma
Like a run on with cars.
And my sexlife's not moving:
Like a body that's dead,
Like a large windless sail,
Like a virgin in bed.
And my social life's faster:
Than a cheerleader teen,
Than the Indy 500
Than the homecoming queen.
And my life is depressing:
Like a sad country song,
Like a sunken in pothole,
Like this poem - it's all wrong.
Shall E're She See the Next?
She deceitfully reached for a butterscotch candy,
Filling the small, yellow bag wrist deep with her hand.
She - the lowly Cinderella -
Would finally taste revenge.
She examines the golden wrapper -
Tightly surrounding the candy,
Waiting to be released.
She could give it the freedom it craved.
This inanimate object longing for liberation,
As once she had.
But alas, broken and whipped she had fallen,
Desired nothing but what she deserved...
Pulling both ends rigid she felt her locks release
And with the shedding of the wrapper came the shedding of her chains.
The discarded wrapper glided to the floor as the
Morsel melted past her lips.
Whoever decreed that revenge isn't sweet
Is terribly mistaken.
A Bit of This and That
Silver corded promises
And flowery retorts.
You leave me hanging by a golden thread,
Dangling,
Waiting to be sheared by your jagged tin snips.
Don't tease me with your lucky charms,
For it is neither polite
Nor wanted.
Make up your mind.
Don't tell me that you find me unattractive
If you want to get in my pants.
Flattery is the way to a woman's heart,
Not your cock.
Deflate my ego and get a slap in the face.
Like it and you're mine.
Sugar coat my everything and
Rose tint my horn-rimmed glasses.
Everything could be perfect
But not nearly as much
With you.
The Sun in Cali Shines Mainly on the Valley (Central that is!)
Oh how I hate the winters here,
No more jeans cut off from the knees.
With it's blistering cold,
It won't snow I am told,
For it won't surpass fifty degrees.
And how I hate the springtime here
For all it does is pour.
And the pollen around
Sends me allergy bound
Make it stop I can't take anymore!
Don't start me on the summers here
For an understatement is hot.
'Cause the sidewalk fries eggs,
All around you are legs,
And some A/C you better have got.
And then there comes the autumn's here
Streets filled with golden red
But what I hate
Is autumn's fate,
For winter kills everything dead.
A and B and Possible See
Irrational mutterings that she called numbers,
Equations, distractions,
Screwing with my head.
She sits there so poised and casual,
Knowing what she speaks of,
Jabbering away,
Searching for the words to describe her madness.
Millions of pauses,
A myriad of penstrokes,
Symbols,
Things that I keep telling myself I know.
Confusion runs rampant thoughout the room.
A bell can be heard in the distance,
All is well.
Cone of Silence
When I cry,
You can't hear it.
You put up your shield of denial
And hide behind your immature lover.
I have no where to go and no one to turn to.
No place of solitude, nor a friend in which to confide.
I feel desperate and lonely and dangerously suicidal.
And as I sit and cry
He leers at me from outside my window.
I'm not his side show geek
And I'm sure as hell not yours.
He leans up against the car that you promised me,
Takes out his cheap neon lighter
And with fat digits lights one up.
Sometimes my crying ceases for a bit and I hear him -
He laughs between puffs.
The bastard thinks it's all a game.
And you -
You sit in the family room
Worshipping the damn computer screen,
Acting totally oblivious to all that falls around you.
You care when it makes you the hero,
When it will give you some redemption for all the wrong
You have caused.
You don't give a flying fuck or a rolling donut whether or not
I'm happy.
So use your crippled lover as a crutch,
Your children as your pity chip,
Your own crappy decisions as sympathy,
But someone will soon piece it all together,
And then -
Checkmate.
Tell Me What You Want, What You Really, Really Want
It's fun to be hideous,
A ball to be blunt,
It's nice to be scary,
And fabulous to -
be curt...
It's cool to be bulimic
Spiffy to be slick,
It's wonderful to be blonde,
And great to -
be diabolical...
It's peachy to be stupid,
And good to find some luck,
It's horrid to be popular,
So what the hell, let's -
fuck!
Social Liability
Is it so wrong to have such a distaste for life?
When our eyes meet it is nearly impossible
To not see your distaste for me.
Never your equal,
Flailing wildly about, hoping ne're to make a sound.
Being pushed to the back
In your sad attempt to conceal.
I profusely apologize for not being
Bland and normal.
Shoot me if you must,
But I won't tote your gun
And I won't wear your armband.
Your discrimination screams louder than my apparel.
Tomorrow may take me in my entirety,
But you shall still remain -
Incomplete.
Wanna see more? Click here for More Little Purple Book Poems