I've got a **** right there between my legs
It hangs and grows like another ***** might
It's a shame the reality goes over your head
I **** sometimes like a **** truck punching
On all cylinders, I **** sometimes lying
With legs open wanting and exposed
I've got a **** right there between my legs
It hangs and grows like any **** does
It's a shame reality goes right over your head
I altered my consciousness.
I altered my brain.
I altered my hormones.
My testosterone's gone.
My estrogen's over ******* full.
Call me what you want but
My experience is beyond.
Beyond.

I know from my past, gym class
From locker rooms, I learned fast
That lots of guys have winners
But my sausage is from Vienna.
I got a little bump, a tiny little lump,
Like a hamster has taken a dump.
Nothing bulges my shorts at the crotch.
Not much there for anyone to watch.

But our society puts the emphasis
On just how big your business is.
If you have a tiny peter, my friend
Many kinds of applause will end.
Go read the writing on the walls,
Because you will inherit the catcalls
And no matter how much you moan
They come through no fault of your own.

Regarded as less than a man; sick
Or perverted to have a small ****.
As too often I have been told
Since as a kid and not very old
Amid laughter and cruel jests
I have learned a big **** is best.
No matter it’s something I can’t change,
Apparently a small ***** is strange.

In time I left behind those taunts
As I left behind adolescent haunts.
The pain has become only a taint;
The scars of bullies with no restraint,
But I am sure I never will fully be
Free of their thoughtless bigotry
As I reach the age of an old codger
Dealing with life with a not so jolly roger.

The guy bangs awful, horrid creatures:
    To touch these things you wouldn't dare:
And undeterred by beastly features,
    He'll stick his slimer anywhere.

O.O

You have been with me from the start soft
Hard, never bothered which one you were
When I was young at heart.

I used to pull you my second brain, little soft
Then long and hard,as I grew, you grew with  
Me a friend that never left. Only in the cold I
Wondered where you are.

The years did pass and hair you grew, where
Once I had pulled, now you just went hard.
Embarrassed I was as always hard around
The girls, some laughed while others played
With it spitting at them when excitedly hard.

Age moved on my friend for life still with me
Still getting hard but when I wanted you no
More embarrassment on my face at random hard.

My second brain, getting wasted each day, never
Unclean as cheesy smell I do not want as girls would
Run a far.

We played in the wetness we have come so far letting
The children out in the damp park. My wife screamed
Harder deeper my god your big I love your hardness
Up me and the children were excited out of the umbrella
They went a bit to far.

You have been with me through the soft and the
Hard, got me in trouble, now three children later
I must end your spitting but you can still go hard.

***** your my friend to the end when we had no
One a palm and a video was are night in, then softly
You went as to sleep in my palm, from the beginning
Through the soft and the hard.

Isn't it awfully nice to have a *****?
Isn't it frightfully good to have a ****?
It's swell to have a ******.
It's divine to own a ****,
From the tiniest little tadger
To the world's biggest *****.
So, three cheers for your ***** or John Thomas.
Hooray for your one-eyed trouser snake,
Your piece of pork, your wife's best friend,
Your Percy, or your ****.
You can wrap it up in ribbons.
You can slip it in your sock,
But don't take it out in public,
Or they will stick you in the dock,
And you won't come back.

Poetry is like a *****
in its wobbly, dangly freeness
(This poems not the cleanest so stop reading if you're a little squeamish)

Some have it, some don't
some use it, some won't
some like it awkward with a twist at the end
like a shakespearean couplet but on the person it depends

for others its merely secondary
(oh but always necessary)
to the holder - their Mars or Venus
So, as god is my witness,
poetry is a *****

Rage against the sadness
***** it if your poetry is badness
Hello! Poetry isn't for your complaints!
beep boop beep boop paints

Just remember - When the situation is dire,
(and this is from the king of the mire)
'What matters most is how well you walk through the fire'

I am a duck
And I like to quack
But I don't give a ****
Thats why I do crack

Quack, Quack, go **** yourself