I cannot write about it anymore-
the shame,
the fear…
How can I tell anyone when my secret lays
crudely hidden inside
the trunk at the foot of
my bed, camouflaged by music
sheets and the dusty Playboys
that my brother passed down to me.

I never asked for them anyway.

I hide
in self-isolation
safe from the unknowing uncaring
judgmental bloodthirsty oblivious
eyes of Mechanicsville,
Maryland.
Maybe I could catch a horse ‘n buggy
and work my worries away—

No—
they would sense my disease
and throw me to the wild dogs;
more like Labs and Puggles
but who’s keeping track.

I can’t even walk the halls anymore.
Ostentatious girls smiling, winking, tossing
their hair back—
pathetic.
I keep my eyes to the floor.
If I allow myself the luxury
of looking up I might
see their arms…

Firm, rigid with muscle
and that just leads to the shoulders
and neck-
broad and thick,
trembling with laughter—fear
skin so smooth—kissable—no
the face…

eyes back on the floor.
Building Service Workers missed a spot
I say to myself as the
ache below my waist
slowly dulls away.

Isolated. Home.
kickin' back, watchin’ TV with the bro.
Innocent stuff till he channel surfs
and gets called into the kitchen to wash
his dishes just as the vile remote decides
to land on MTV.
His lazy *** better wash
those dishes, cause I am not
about to dry my hands out
for him; lotion’s getting expensive these days.

***.
That man on the screen has a nice one.
No shirt—
shoulders muscle back ****
calves fingers hands arms
neck hair face –

I’m aching again,
Gotta get out of here before my
brother sees me and calls me
a girl for the way I run.

I need to get out of this life—
this isolation…

College.
I requested a single.
Living with another man would be
the death of me.
I spend my weekends with my
iPod in my ears, drowning out
the masculine shouts and laughter
of frat boys playing Ultimate
Frisbee on the Hill.
however—
I do not allow myself the
        luxury of looking…
        broad necks rippling shoulders
sweaty shirts toned legs
beautiful faces –
I can’t stare or they might
invite me to play.

There are support groups—
safe havens and potential
friends who will understand.
Maybe.
Just maybe.

First meeting.
So many men –
understanding smiling beautiful—
I think I’m gonna come back.

He welcomes me.
asks how my first year is going –
I’m not afraid to look at his face.
our fingers touch as we walk back to
our dorms—
—and I don’t feel so isolated.

I can finally throw out those dusty
Playboys now.

1.) tizzop introduced gangsta poetry february 2021
     no man ever before created a poetry genre alike
     gangsta poetry, robust melting *** of languages
     and ethnicities, as it reflects the united states

2.) the idols of gangsta poetry are rooted in the
      underworld, blacks, hispanics, italo- and irish-
      americans, asians, arabs, germans, kurds,
      yugos, albanians, afghans, northern-africans...

3.) multilingual are the core, heart and soul of
     a gangsta poem: glockz, rubix cubies, 31er
     salam, jebeš igru, habibis, brüder, fo' sho':
     rapid months, frozen silverfruit, whole ones

4.) every letter of gangsta poetry becomes the
     side effects of our brand's real-life greed and fury
      mourning the end of beloved baby mommas
      deaths caused by strayed bullets that vamoose

5.) gangsta poetry aims to be published among
      all ethnic communities of the 50 united states
      deadline 08/16/21 stresses american willpower
      gangsta poetry scandalously hits us's curriculas

6.) each of the 194 remaining countries is urged
     to promote and govern gangsta poetry for
     the neglected, weighted with glacial contempt
     these males and females discover their kind in us

7.) tizzop established a saying: "treat every being  
     with an open mind, but fight back, baby, if anyone
     disrespects you, the gps, or our hangarounds"
     at war, we remember our families before we blast

8.) bar none, each gangsta poet is free to connect
      affiliate and distribute with and for the gp's
      brothas and sistas -- gps create examples of
      social diversity and historical dimensions

9.) female gangsta poets are a quarter of us
      some keep it gal, united sisterhood, astute flow
      in memory of leery leyla, chalondra, kateyy,
      mountainbird, ivanka cociç, ashima abraham

10.) genderfree, gangsta poets are chosen
        undertakings composed by thugs & artists
        the spirit of a few meets strife of hood speech
        gp evolved from a movement to an own identity

11.) restrictions do not apply for written creation
        strategic outgrowth and unshaken cash flow
        gp embraces brainy ones, and our soldiers
        narrators in conspiracy, art nouveau trips

12.) gangsta poetry admires the following people:
        jeezy, killa cam, toni der assi, iron sal, dmx
        anton chigurh, sigmund freud, rashid stoogie
        larry hoover, elliot york hp, kevin of allpoetry

13.) taktloss, luis fonsi, blockmonsta, all bolivian
        and peruvian farmers, te amamos, our brothers
        187 strassenbande, senion mogilevich, nirvana
        john murphy, dem dudes alpha hotel frankfurt

14.) much love to all global units, poets, thieves
        traffic architects, hackers, true skippos
        german bakeries, all-black betting shops
        jews from brighton beach, hispanic halos

15.) benny da bandit, tony tarantula, gambino, brate
        hamza al-mighty, fat **** frank, jens, das brain
        fred merciless, familia escorpio, ruben and levi
        ali firefists, kimbo slice, scarface, oleksiy, dejan

16.) daim, loomit, dns 1up, **** my **** crew
        berlin kreuzberg 36ers, playboys hannover
        yard bird 1955, taki 183 n.y.c., basquiat, level
        dbl ffm-skychildren, bomber, city mission
    
17.) gangsta poetry overwhelmingly shaped by
       our ancestors who boosted the poetry of ages
       train bombers, rappers, trappers, taggers, cutters
       we descent from them, honor their names

18.) gangsta poets die for poems that struck
        gps, fans and critics in a possessive way
        limits of real talk and boasting are in flux
        trance batters the face of reason, at dusk


                                          *


Once upon a time at March 22nd, 2021
Kreuzberg SO 36, Berlin, Germany...
Dedicated to all Gangsta Poets Worldwide

Heaven and hell yeah, disciples outpace seconds
Greetings from Wondaland, a.k.a. The Magic City

"Your father wants to talk to you"
"He said he'll meet you at the club"
I thought, I haven't done much wrong
And therin lies the rub
Sixteen years old, the time had come
For the old many to do his duty
He was gonna tell me just the things
To help me land some ******
I changed my shirt, got showered quick
And drove off to meet my dad
I always wondered what this'd be like
You know, it made me kind of glad
Most things I knew, I got from friends
And most I guess was wrong
My mum said, "He'll buy dinner"
So, I guessed the talk was long
I'd seen Playboys, Penthouse, Hustler babes
they all set my mind ablaze
I think I saw a **** girl once
Not sure though, there was haze
I parked the car and grabbed my clubs
Met my dad on the first tee
He said "Boy, I'm glad to see you're here"
"I'll be back, I've got to ***"
I said that Mom informed me that
It was time to have the "talk"
He said "I guess we'll take a cart"
"We can't have the chat and walk"
I waited for the first big point
Information that I'd need
You see, the stuff I'd heard till then
Was nothing good or that I'd heed
"Son"....he said and cleared his breath
Here it comes, the talk had started
"Remember to excuse yourself"
"so no one knows you've farted!"
What the hell was that I thought
Maybe he was warming up
He took another sip of beer
But, he would not put down the cup
"Son, this is not easy..."
"There's alot I want to say"
I thought OK here goes
Today will be the day
"Never...never leave de-icer"
"In the car on an icy winter day"
"It won't help you inside the car"
"And you;ll still need triple A"
What? I thought...that's not the talk
This would not help me get laid
"Son, always put some cash aside"
"Every week when you get paid"
"Dad, are you sure this is the talk"
"The one we're supposed to do"
"I thought this was about having ***"
"That's what I had thought...did you?"
"Son, you have to give me time"
"I'm new at this you know"
"I'm sorry Dad, It's just....I thought"
"We'd talk of strippers and of hoes"
"We'll get there son, just give me time"
Then he hit me with a thought
"you can use an old banana peel"
"to clean shoes stained with salt"
salt stains, savings, locked doors, farts
This was not what I expected
But, at least he was here, out with me
And his duty was not neglected
"Dad, I know most of this stuff"
"And I know this is quite tough"
"But, I thought we'd speak of other things
"Like treating women soft or rough"
"****, son....I can't tell you that"
"Your mum would have my nuts"
"I can tell you lots of other things"
"If I did, she'd whip our butts"
"Now, listen close I've more to say"
"It's how to remove a broken light"
"You can use an raw potato"
"Stab it then you turn it right"
"Thanks, dad....but, I'm gonna go"
"As soon as we're done nine"
"I'm gonna go out to the mall"
"You can go and drink some wine"
"I appreciate your candor"
"And Dad, thanks for the advice"
"But, most of this you've said before"
"And now I've heard it twice"
"I'm sorry son, I tried my best"
"But if it's the *** talk that you want"
"I guess I'll have to do it"
"It's just not knowledge that I flaunt"
"Listen close, I'll not say this again"
So, I pulled the golf cart off  to the side
It was finally gonna happen
I hope the talk was worth the ride
He took a breath and stared at me
Then in one almighty rush
Came a word barrage like none I'd heard
It was an awful aural crush
"NEVER DATE TIJUANA HOOKERS
THEY WILL MAKE YOUR THING GO GREEN
THEY DO NOT ALWAYS SHOWER
AND MOST ARE REALLY MEAN
WEAR A ****** WHEN YOU DO IT
ALWAYS CLEAN UP WHEN YOU'RE DONE
NEVER TELL A GIRL YOU LOVE THEM
UNTIL YOU'RE SURE THAT THEY'RE THE ONE
YOU'LL NEVER UNDERSTAND EMOTIONS
I'M 52 AND I DON'T YET
AND IT'S EASIER TO ENTER
WITH FOREPLAY TO GET HER WET
NEVER TELL YOUR GIRLFRIEND
EXACTLY WHAT YOU WANT TO DO
AND ALWAYS  ASK "CAN WE MAKE LOVE?"
AND DON'T SAY "WANNA *****?"
The Old man, sat, exhausted
I just sat there, stunned as well
He got the talk done in one big sentence
It was something that I would not tell
We'd bonded at that moment
Father, Son had reached a stage
Where we both could not return from
We both had turned the page
I hugged him close and shook his hand
I thought, this talk could not be nicer
"Dad" I said...."Please tell me more"
"Where should I store the lock de-icer?"

The Avenger from Oklahoma

she was a doll faced little lady
looking so demure looking so sweet
she would bat her eyes and smile
and then knock you off your feet

you see she was the avenger
looking for men who had done wrong
she carried a snub-nosed 38
and she would blow you away for a song

seems her sister had been slighted
left all alone and broken hearted
threw herself out of the window
and Annie finished what she started

she found the ******* who slighted her sis
made him fall for her with her magic lips
she shot him in his own bedroom
and walked away swinging her hips

but that wasn't the end of her journey
she decided revenge her life's passion
making heart breakers pay the price
working as a model in design and fashion

she would lure in all the playboys
make them melt with her charms
and just when they were ready to cash in
she'd put a bullet in each of his arms

she would disappear into the night
keeping the cops off her trail
her legend went on for over 20 years
most swearing it was just a fantasy tale

Gomer Lepoet...

King America,
my King,
King America,
whom i live under,
King America,
who freed me of tryanny,
replaced only with illusions of security,
King America,
you tell me I'm free,
but all that can be seen,
you and me,
suffering with no means,
King America,
to no avail,
King America,
you abolished slaves,
but with your dictionaries,
created a word,
King America,
this is the wage im suppose to make?
come on my back hurts and I'm feeling the pain,
King America,
I'll feed and support you,
sew the clothes on your back,
make the beds you sleep in,
and even scratch your ***,
but as soon as the sun sets,
your nowhere to be found,
King America,
your a royal pain in the behind,
King America,
I'll give you this,
your good with your lies,
you talk with your mouth,
making me believe your eyes,
your face might even think its telling the truth,
but all along i can see your hands,
slidding the pawns,
your think your sneaky,
King America,
you use your religions and fears,
mark the masses,
I hope they easily scare,
King America,
you think your god,
King America,
if anythings the truth,
we shouldn't question,
we wouldn't search,
we couldn't know the answer,
it's all buried beneath the earth,
King America,
I'm sick of your ****,
you **** me off,
and you know what *******,
King America,
your looking to fight,
pawns,
batallions,
war heroes and crimes,
black hawks night vision goggles,
might as well throw in a b2,
tanks,
mortars,
and soldiers,
a few million,
why not?
King America,
as you stand there behind your game,
King America,
im just one man,
holding tight my hands,
King America,
look down your sights,
King America,
he's just one man,
who cares about his views?
King America,
I won't tell you "not" to shoot,
thats up to you,
King America,
I'd be your friend but your a bit of a ******,
King America,
you say your so great,
but look at the people who have no food,
King America,
the thirty plus percent,
that have no shoes,
King America,
look at the poor and tell me,
your happy with your thrown,
playboys  and penthouses,
yachts and jets,
5 irons and 3 woods,
business deals and synergy,
banks and loans,
monopoly and mafia,
but besides that mrs. lincoln how was the show?
King America,
you make me laugh,
or at least the fact,
that so many would rather see black,
King America,
you've colored your flag,
white for purity and innocence,
red for the valor of war,
blue for the chief,
had to get fancier and had a star,
a symbol of the heavens,
the divine goal to which man,
hath aspired from time immemorial,
dont forget the stripe,
symbolic of the rays of light,
King America,
too bad thats a lie.

hammock and a stack of playboys.
first emerged,
boy.

feature trees and teens and punch drunk lovers.
chalk murals,
girl.

into the quiet density of love.
quiet city.
dance party, usa.

we end up making movies about our fathers
whether we know it or not.
home videos.

we double down on arcade tickets
& spin for a kite to tangle.
climb the town hill and bury our warmth.

kiss to forget or remember this bliss
& strange language.
strange sprawl of lights seen.

the homeowner’s association melt a pile of plastic flamingos
into an idol osiris.
dead god.
& wait,
wait for halloween.

our parentals diligently sweat.
they are conjurors of snacks and supper.
they are creatures of the ritual routine.

we ritual.
we homework.
we breathe easy, waiting for nothing.

   (except for more holidays)

Don't tell me to smile
Exhortations to "cheer up" will be ignored
You don't know how far you're stretching me, do you?
Your head still in the clouds of safety where imbeciles call out to each other
Listen. Listen, do
We're exploring the heaviest things in the world
Too heavy for Sysyphyus to haul
I'm that kid you can kind of see through
The one on the left corner
With the cool bootleg Pink Floyd t shirt wrapping his thin torso
He's got a box of Playboys beneath his nightstand and he's barely 14 years old
He reads and incorporates that garbage into his pre-adolescence behavior
With dreams of visiting Plato's
Retreat
Picking up some bunnies using some of the better Party Jokes
His expertise at 'lingus and 'latio are as well perfected as can be without having actually performed them
But he could sure bust out the ******* Philosophy and would have held his own with the old geezer who wrote it
But he was only 14 and nobody seemed impressed with the amount of ******* culture he'd consumed
They weren't letting him in the cluuuub
Your ****** right he didn't feel like smiling
But he wasn't bored
And he didn't feel too serious
He'd let it slide this time

*to be continued

Closed eyes
to the fountain of youth,
to higher hopes
and new reality.
I claim spirit,
but give mind,
in fact give all
my scattered self,
in the hope some poor *******
sorts through.

Winter's guise,
I flicker off-white images
of galaxy and twine,
of breath mints and wine,
of sorry dancers
with broken heels,
reinvented wheels,
and augmented rhyme.

Light comes
and I storm it with cold,
I storm it with pens
and whiskey lies.
I storm it with science,
and I storm it with God,
I storm it with the golfers
and playboys,
about to tee-off.
I storm it with hate,
with the promise of pay,
my unrequited love
of Saturday.

And with wind came age,
came the steady hand
and furrowed brow
of sleet-strewn rain
and growing pain.
Of doubt. A bout
of flu,
a touch of death
and funds withdrew.
No more the kiddie
in the window,
aww-ing at sound,
the colour of air,
the steam of kettle,
forgiving snare,
life's poison-treats
and poison-poisons.
Un poisson hors de l'eau,
still - I'll thank you
for your time
and bad French,
old guru.

Still to shift in
this physical prison.
A prism of light,
of partial solidity,
of unending uncertainty;
a multitude misunderstanding itself.
It claims to the borders
and it clings to the bed,
it holds true to thought,
and all the worries
in my troubled head.
They descend,
never end,
in a crescendo,
a caterwaul
of mistreated sound,
dog in the pound,
and waistlines round.

Thigh gaps
and mind-the-gaps,
signposts and brochures
for the short-lived living.
They pester my mind,
interference, crackle,
prattle and rattle
of mediocre wisdoms,
of borrowed idioms
for bulimic bones
and broken homes.
They tailor my mind,
cuts and seams
of needless pleas,
for order in chaos
and blueprints
for blind entries.
All to settle the stomach,
to settle the plot
to settle this fever
that burns so hot.

Old-film stills
to the fountain of youth,
belligerent fist of tears,
for forgotten woes,
for sweaty prose
and swollen leaves.
Yellow birds and
old lime trees,
dear Suzanne
and her poetry,
about thorns in the side
and turning tides
of tambourine men,
and helter-skelter girls
turning empires
of simple love
and worthy sin,
to English tea
and to profit again.

She turns the tide
in a lover's brawl,
in winter's shawl
and Hollywood ball.
Sings Hallelujah
to the wonderful world,
to the shot girl's tips
and crazy catcalls.
To the Pink Moons
and old jazz tunes,
to the orange peel
and plastic sand dunes.
To Parisian men
and Las Vegas girls,
to twirls of meat,
and ballet shoes,
to the smoking student
and his heavy blues,
to the loss of art
in the modern street,
to busker beats
and sausage meats,
of coffee fumes
and white man dreams.

And we're entertained.
Oh boy, we're entertained!
Entertained at a rate of knots,
tangled headphones,
tangled minds,
tangled tales
of truth confined.
Television makes everything real,
it flavours life,
spices the story,
feel, kneel, heal the plight
of the Navy Seal,
invading land,
invading minds,
invading dreams
of love unconfined.
We're entertained
at the point of feeling sick,
of parrot-joy
and marketing intent.

We speak in circles
and we speak in phrase,
we speak in unending drivel,
of quote, motto and haze.
Haze of meaning,
and haze of depth,
of fortressed country
and insoluble debt.
We speak in telephones,
they speak on the bus,
they speak in the ghettos,
the nightclubs,
the churches,
the underpass
and they spill from the gut.
Whilst we torture ourselves
in the new-found freedom,
of living within
and not to the kingdom.

The kingdom of choice,
of self-salvation,
of astral self,
and meditation.
Of origin's tale,
of Earth-life passed,
of intelligence squared,
and foolishness fable.
Of infinity realised,
of time altogether,
of solidity-illusion
and falseness of summer.
Of warmth in the winter,
of red in the sky,
of collective catharsis,
a universal sigh.
A sigh for relief,
and a sign of mercy,
a plea for conception,
a gift for the future,
and humanity's redemption.

I have laid claim to the Tyne Bridge - it is my home.
You can keep the streets, the shops, the bars
Share them between you
But please
Let me have the bridge for myself.

The bottle green arch of Newcastle,
And the stew of water that runs beneath
The sheer drop of air between them,
Lightly salted by the sea.

It is but the only childish affectation
To follow me and hold true
Through the contaminant of temporality.
Just please, let me keep it.

I shed the skin of adolescence
And left my school tie at home
When I made the journey North.

I arrived expecting transcendence
But instead I received the unwanted gift of the present.
From the clamour of Manhattan,
To the desolation of New Mexico and Peru,
The present will forever be the most effective ammunition
In shattering the stained glass of the world’s wonders.

I know this from the beauty of memories.
Those wonderful fragmented images of childhood
That so efficiently cut out the hours of exceeding boredom,
And the tedium inflicted by the men in suits.

And the future,
The future of flying ships,
The mining of the moon
And downloadable pizza.
But we know in truth, when we arrive
There will still be lawyers
And adverts,
Beggars on the street
And apostrophe’s used incorrectly.

I digress.

Let me return to the Tyne Bridge
My bridge on the Quayside.
For despite the bird ****
And the playboys that trundle over it day after day,
It stands defiant over deep waters,
Daring to cheat death
Or vice versa.

Every era that has ever been
Has engaged in the auto-dissection
Of their yellowing underbellys.

Yes, every generation has predicted
that the end is nigh,
That god is on their side;
But the devil has a crowbar
And is busting out of the basement.

Each decade is a mimicry of the last.
Different fashions, same trends
And always, with a fool on the hill.

A lonely steel harmonica can pierce the airwaves
Across space and time,
Through the grooves and crackles
To enthral an audience,
And to beguile that every generation
Into believing in their autonomy,
Their solitude,
With a fate independent of all those centuries past.

Through every disembodied spew of Dylan lyrics,
Or the corporeal and common alienation
Sympathised in every Wilde reference,
Comes the same fury at the chaos of a world
That is no more than indifferent at the plight of the people it houses.

Indeed,
Every generation has sought to either
Cure the ills of the Earth;
Or else set lighter fluid to the lot.

This stretches back to the first blood-spattered edition of the Bible,
And further, much further.
To all of the captains,
The heroes,
The anti-heroes,
The road gritter,
The malevolent dictator,
The schoolteacher,
The emancipated woman
And the borderline feminist.
To every young child who is reluctant to take the spotlight,
Or look you in the eye,
Ask questions, or speak out.
For every one of those who at some point were labelled
‘maladjusted’.

And so the Pharaohs and Caesars are all but gone now,
Replaced by the big-wigs,
The fat-cats,
The purple hearted,
The playboys -
The men in suits.
But they are all the same.

The same behind the decadence of
A solid gold sarcophagus
Or an Armani pair of shades.
They all built their empire on shifting sands.

And so we will all kick and scream
To our own tone and our own time
At the indignity of the world.
At our bespoke knowledge
To deal with all inconvenience
But that which privates the preclusion
Of any and all major slaughters of justice.

As for that young child,
With the lack of eye contact -
And all that he will become:
He will sit. And he will type.

He will type until his words fall beyond that
Of the spiralling noises inside his mind
And blossom into something pure and ugly and beautiful.
He will sit and he will write

To forget.

Parents are the weirdest - of God's creation.

I mean, who on Earth would desire the responsibility of another human being from the time they **** in their pants to the time they leave saying 'what have you ever done for me?' ?

Who would, of all the things in the world, like their homeroom stuffed with stupid CDs and stuffed racoons, waterguns and Legos, dried acrylics and miniature utensil sets, ugly pyjamas and strange half-knit sweaters?

I need to know why parents don't object to their kids pooping everywhere.
It's either the kids are super cute or the parents are super crazy.
I'm sure it isn't the former.

A certain lack of imaginative faculties, in parents, is evident to me,quite frankly.

Think of it this way- if it weren't for us - kids, our parents would have been carefree playboys and playgirls, and 'living their lives' - cliché.

What weirdos really!

Their standards of children's safety too possess a particular oddity.
It's only the exact moment of physical contact during a hug that our parents feel we're safe.

Their sense of economy and finance is oxymoronic.
They love discounts. But they'll pay extra for whatever their kids wish.

I wonder how they resist TV shows of most sorts just because they won't have their kids watch remotely explicit content, visual or auditory.

I bet their sense of direction is most unnaturally affected too.
Why do they even follow their kids, when they know kids don't have a working GPS?

Do you have any idea, to what lengths parents go to make veggies seem delicious?
Veggies, Really?

Parents will have you take disgusting syrups and painful **** injections,
And claim they love you.

Parents will have you hit the books,
And claim they love you.

Parents will ground you because you do something they don't like (but they too did it when they were kids),
And claim they love you.

Parents will stop you every time you say a swear word (but they swear all the time),
And claim they love you.

Parents will claim they love you,
Maybe, because they really love you.
Oh, their weirdness never ends.

Parents may seem eccentric,
Their ways might seem a bit too bizarre,
Maybe that's how the people who really love us behave!
Yet, we're always rushing away from them.

If you have ever traveled in a bus, you'll know how absurdly keen the passengers are, to get off, when it stops.
That's how keen the kids are, to leave the laps of their mothers, quite literally the most comfortable place in the world.

Parents really are - the weirdest of God's creation.
And the loveliest too.

Spent the evening walking nowhere streets
dodging horns and sirens of hungry motorbike taxis.
It was a parade of street-food vendors,
security guards half asleep by bottles of whiskey.
Every woman I passed was beautiful,
laid their *** on the numbered tables
as off-hand as their mobile phone, their purse;
their bored men. Each one had their toenails painted,
wore short skirts and vest tops in the stifling heat.
The best of them wore tight dresses of black or red
and ate their food in the same studious manner
I imagined they would take to the zip of my jeans.

Could feel the sweat roll down my back
kicking gravel out my sandals every ten strides.
The playboys rev their motorbikes
as if it were a talent they had been working on,
a kind of siren song to tempt the free women.
Each one is on the lookout for a bargain.
Each one streaks past to some indiscernible point
where they will bury themselves amongst
the massage parlours, karaoke bars, and short-stay hotels;
Each one a straight-up brothel once you make it through the doors.
I feel too awkward in this ******* town to order a sandwich
let alone try out my second language to ask for a cheap *******.

Every foreigner here had some kind of breakdown.
Some kind of complex that drew them like a moth to flame
to some place where white skin is enough to feign riches,
stimulate desire and place you amongst better men.
We steal a living for a year or two of forever blue skies.
We eat good food and toast ourselves every evening
with cold lager and palm leaf cigarettes.
We cannot read a word in these humid streets
where every single building holds a portrait of the King.
Spent the evening with my shadow, both alive in the night
beneath the heady aroma of cooking oil and street-food spice,
both hurting to become, both slipping out of sight.

childhood
is full of once in a lifetime experiences.
it is full of smiling,
living in the moment,
not worrying about bills or mortgages,
or gas money or grocery shopping.
childhood
is something we always wanted to grow out of
moving away from our barbies and bionicles
and trading them in for make up and playboys.
even though, sometimes,
when heads were turned away,
we dug up our favorite plastic friends
just to see how they were doing in the darkness.
childhood
is something we always wanted to leave behind when we were children
become big adults
with our fancy clothing
happy homes
and lack of vegetables.
and yet we forget
that childhood
is, simply,
full of laughing.
and fully grown
i now live on the memory
of my sandbox sidekicks
and their laughter.

I'm tired of feeling all this pain, I feel so num
I wan't to go back to when I was young
To the time where nothing matter
No worrying, No jealousy, No guys
Just friends
I wan't to go back to the time where depression didn't exit
instead of cutting wrists
we cut paper snowflakes
The time where boys had cooties not hormones
The time where all I wanted was to be a princess
The time where I cried over broken crayons not over boys
The time where *** didn't matter
It's so different now
instead of looking like a princess, you have to look like barbie
And guys expectation are just so high
And even if they say we are perfect
we aren't
because it's the same thing ever day
they still look at the naked chicks on the front of those playboys  
It's so painful
Now I wait to get hurt
I'm just expecting it
It's an every day thing
Worrying that another girl will take my place
You say that they are just friends
But you use to like them at one point so it's not that simple
I'm a girl my mind over thinks
I've been hurt so many times by you and other guys
I just don't trust anymore
You've lied to me
once you lie you lose all my trust
now I'm laying here while my mascara runs.

outrageously funny
the matters of the heart
makes clowns of us
when we play the part

the cast keeps changing
with the part

from stalkers to streakers
charmers to weepers
lovers to cheaters
playboys to loners

the cast keep changing
with the part

walking out of the theatre
of dead spectators
i think i played
each part

the cast was nothing
but only my past
and my heart
it plays no more parts

Never Forget Your Pills

Pretending to be normal,
its so hard when you're immortal.
In bed I'm called a god,
stand up for me and applaud.
Me more happy than a clam,
I'm more American than Uncle Sam.
I make your dreams come true,
I'm more famous than Playboys Hugh.
I love to flirt, I love to tease,
my goal is to always please.
I love being in the ****,
I'm just that kind of dude.
A few times I've almost died,
I get emotional and have cried.
Some say that I'm delusional,
I find that to be kind of disputable.
You try being so **** perfect,
coming from me, what do you expect.
Not my fault, I'm the best,
I live by the power of suggest.
I open so many closed minds,
if somethings lost, I give it a finds.
I make magic with my pen,
I'm smarter than the three wise men.
I have no more competition,
everyone failed the last audition.
Everywhere I go, I get praised,
happening so long, I don't get phased.
Some say i suffer from schizophrenia,
all I read is the newest encyclopedia.
Can't help having god like features,
back in school, I taught the teachers.
Today I forgot to take my medicine,
everything just written was irrelevant.

Right captain, in people we cannot trust?
What Is that smell?

Cut the crap this is planet hell.
Dogs sniff butts of girl dogs men sniff butts of girl dogs also...

He would do a ****** donkey if no one watched then cheat on his wife take off to Reno with the bosses wife.

Run with the money let's go to south America. Cheat steal lie **** up the system before some dope does

Leave nothing left for the children of tommorow. Let them suffer in land fills of sorrow.
Toss more trash around puking bums ****** young girls uptown

The Catholic priest hates the cannon law of 1982 when the Pope was ashamed of me and you...

The nuns play bingo in the hall
While alter boys ******* in the bathroom stall

Emancipation proclamation was the quest of Playboys centerfold
Hue Hefner is still the hero some hate to say... Now most have grown old and gone astray...

Now internet ***** has taken hold?
These times will pass unto a stranger day...

The golden rule has rusted away...

D. Clare

sometimes I feel too easy to play.

is that even a thing?

is it possible to be so open minded, that these playboys just run up on you,

and leave you blindsided?  

it must be,

because for every girl like me,

there's about 10 playboys
running free.

And man,
are they good at the game

of keeping us women sane,

long enough, to watch them

walk

away.

Wally and I would race
Fulfilling our childhood task
Collecting office papers for fire.

One of us: your office.
Grabbing your wastebasket first—
Looking for fobidden pleasure treasure.

Around the fire pit,
Forms 623-A and 506-D were flames.
Miss July? We claimed!

Up in the hay-loft,
Buried in the way-back,
*** caches established.

Thanks to Amazon,
A thought I think upon:
My dad read SERIOUS SOCIAL ****!

It wasn't always all about ***.

The fun I had at my new school




You see as I entered my new school, I was given the red carpet
By a friend who grabbed me by the neck and gave me tickle torture
And some of the older girls were saying keep away from me Brian Allan
And just muck with the boys, and then after that I listened to the 70s and 80s
Music on the boom box and I really wanted to hear it, he played songs from
AC/DC, and also from the red hot chilli peppers, and even the best from Billy
Ray Cyrus, and then some of the other boys spoke to me about going bowling
And others spoke to me about getting playboys, and also after that the girls
Were teasing me because I went to bed early, but I wanted to function
Well, so I can feel good and also some of the other families picked on me
Just because I was playing outside with my brother, especially when I was having fun
Playing football, you see back in my previous life, I played in the SANFL and
I don't have to worry about not playing footy in this life and I hear everybody treating
Me like an old fucken fogie, just because I want to go to bed abd get ready for work,
You see my friends are saying to me, through houses, things like, imagine what I would say
If I,,,, and he was so determined to treat me like a koomarri man,,even if I am still cool
And I know if he is still trying to tease me like that, he is living in 1987, where he is looking like a total ****** fucken ******, even if he ain't really saying it, but if he is, it just goes to show, that he is still living back in 1987, where he was actually very hip, but as a natural
Fact, dudes, I don't ever see him out, so I don't want to worry about lasers like him anymore, because, really, yes we had fun times, but, I mean, I have to move on, and if I don't see him again, well, dudes, so be it, he was fun, but I ain't jittering for him, no fucken way, I see visions of him trying to contact my brother through houses, and saying the kinds of things he said to me, he said, mate, don't be like Brian lately, I don't want to teaee Brian really, it just that he is unaware of the kind of old fogie, we treated him like, and also, I ain't a yeah mate yeah kid either, cause if he doesn't answer the phone, which I won't, it's his choice, you see, sometimes when he was young, he was too shy, and I wouldn't mind him hanging with me, but, he seemed to enjoy the family life better, but I never realised he didn't like Lyle, but, no, I don't think he is like Lyle, I want him to go to bed, because, if he works, he needs to sleep, to get rid of any sign of tiredness to face the day at work, you see, sometimes I hear my father and mother teasing me, because I am obsessed with evercise, and also I am obsessed with arty things, and I know dad isn't into art, but also Pat wasn't into art either, but I only want to muck with adults with an interest in art and not the rich ones, I am very interested in having art exhibitions showing off al, my art, and also I know what all my art is about, and a lot if it, is the fun times I had with my friends at school, I love art and I love to put on an art exhibition, and I want people to understand me for the artist I am now, and not the ****** I was in the past. I am aware that people are teasing me, but you can teaee me all you like, but who gives a flying ****, oh yeah, dudes, get ******, mate, get ****** mate yeah man, as you go down the dunny can, and that girl says, we're not mucking with you Brian Allan, no Brian Allan, we're not mucking with you, and the Canberra crowd says, your still like the kids, man,,don't try and be like us, I don't wanna do that again, neh, your still like us, ya ****** buddy, Bri,  urn, so sit there Bri,    Urn and do your stories, you see mate, your still not like us, mate, you are still an old fogie, cause you keep leaving me on my lonesome , and I will say, come on, you poor little baby, I am leaving you on your own, what's wrong little Patty, are you worried that I am not mucking with you, I went to pubs and danced with the chicks, I am still a ******, dude but I don't care, come on Patty, call me a loser, come on mate, call me a loser, come on mate, call me a loser, and then Pat says, I might kidnap him in a minute, but It was only Pats voice, in fact, it was Steven Bradley, who
Noticed my last life, Graham Thorne, jittering for his sister like a boy, and Steven Bradley has kept me in, so I wouldn't be a young dude, you see he went, trying to be a young dude, trying to be a young dude,,trying to be a young dude, cause you are still a ****** man,
So sit there, Bri.   Urn and don't move a muscle, you ain't a young dude anymore, so u don't want to tease you Bri. Urn, I just want you to lighten up a bit, because, get ****** buddy, yeah yer mate, your like us, but I might yell out get ****** Brian every time he jitters from now on, especially at work, but he is allowed to have music on, but, you know, mate, we ain't really teasing him, and  don't want to tease him, by ringing him up, cause I have a hunch that he gathers it might have been me, who rang him up, but, mate he wasn't like Lyle then,,but I was treating him like a mummys boy, because he is too shy to leave him home, but I heard that he might've moved out when I rang him up,,  I the hell would I know, we don't see much of each other much, you see, jt's nice to live on our own, but you should still go to bed when your tired, and you should make new friends,, and yes, you should talk about cooler things than just about people, but really, we just don't really want you to tell us your life story, but if you a creative keep it up, we're adults now, your cool


Sent from my iPhone

The Venus Callipyge, also known as the Aphrodite Kallipygos
or Callipygian Venus,                                                    literal­ly:
                      "Venus of the beautiful buttocks";
an Ancient                       Roman marble statue
thought to be a copy of an older Greek original...
                           sneaking a peek at mommy coming
out of her bath   |  stepping  wetly into the  bedroom
                                                   to   slip on her
underwear, |                    a generation of moms
                                                       of glittering  
pulchritude &    
callipygean                                     in black       stockings
& functional                     garter belt;        stiff bullet bra
snaps             in front
                                   to twist the material
around to cup pert                      mommy-*******;
forever     brunette;
later sneaking into strip
clubs;           getting                                   ­              an eyeful of
naked women everywhere
u look              &  it began,       what
were we looking for;                 there
had  to be a secret; [    ] how
does it even to occur to look
in dad's sock drawer to find
a stack of Playboys right          where
mom puts daddy's clean socks;
      [she knew       the naked  women were there;
     & now      I knew,          she was one of them:
    if u're big enough to wear daddy's socks,       u can see mommy naked]

Dreaming Bob Wills

Bob Wills and His Texas Playboys performed
my life in a six song set in Tulsa
in late forty-seven.  Only a dream but they swung
through San Antonio Rose and Don't Be Ashamed of Your Age,
Tiny, Kelso, Smokey, Johnny and Herb playing it
*****, *****, Tommy crooning
my ups and downs and Bob,
who put a fine point
on an uneven performance
with his running commentary of high “ahh ha's”.

Oh, don't get mad or upset.
When you hear these words  one of many.
Playboys operate this way.

And many women volunteer freely to play a role.
And its of titles , we all know.
Doctors, businessmen, politicians and policemen and others.

Some ladies living under this belief that physical desires will hooked them.
While never understanding they are just a thrill to them.
Because they one of many.

One leaves and another comes.
A thirsty man just hungry for more.

A fool lives blindly in this world.
Especially if they don't comprehend they are one of many of his girls.

He loved me
and that set me free
In account of my flaws
he embraced my claws
I attacked and I fought
all in response to gifts he brought
He loved me
but I didn't love him

We fought and we had silence
while trying to build resilience
But the world is cruel
and a lot like high school
I wanted to give you more
but I had nothing more in store

There's always new stock in the market
Beautiful men have always ben on my docket
I thought wed have a chance at forever
but the inevitable is never

Playboys and drinks
spinning in cycle like the roller rink
I've let you go now
but I'm not sure I know how
I wanted this to last
but our feelings were vast

that's the girl
that makes playboys fall in love
and committers think twice

I'd swear on a stack of Playboys
for u to the cringe-worthy tunes
of Nirvana; Kurt crying in desperation;
Courtney diving into an ocean of *****,
groping hands; if only they didn't have baby
Frances who grew up hating her mother but
not the money from her father's estate; fine,
let her be that way; string bikini-less &
shaved down there but is it Brazilian  
or Swedish; I've sworn on less:
Penthouse, High Society Gallery,
Titter, Wink & Club all used to publish good
pulp fiction as filler until following Hustler's
lead naked tail in close-up detail became
so all-important there was no room
for literature; it wasn't just sly winks
& side-**** anymore, black bars & disheveled
zonked-out hippies or maidenly housewives;
when free love & women's lib collided
in a ***** coup d'état to overthrow
the rule of tiny penises; it was never twelve inches,
not the big ones or the red ones;
the pink ones or the brown ones, not the green ones
or the yellow ones; u've probably
seen them all in a cop show line-up looking innocent
as baby mice; I swear I'd swear
on a stack of Playboys for u or Playbots,
whichever ur pining for to the stranger
than strange melodious strains of
straining in pain Kurt Cobain
while Courtney spins high on
a pole at upscale galas in Vera ****
& Anna Sui; sweet & I don't even
want to know what I'm swearing to;
holding curse words
in reserve for when I really need
to shout for blood thinking what u
might do to me if u caught me out
after dark in ur neighborhood