Shitty Poems

Here you will find an assortment of terrible poetry by Sean. Hi! That’s me. When I climb Mount Internet and wrestle the fearsome WordPress daemon into submission, there will be subsections for different kinds of poetry – I’m thinking: Sonnets, Haiku, Free Verse, and Dumb.

I bet Dumb will be the category with the most poems.

Here are some terrible poems to sate your presumably voracious appetite for literary masochism.

 

“fuck you cat”

i see a cat playing
with a box
cardboard
and i think, i am so much smarter
than you, cat.
but everyone
loves you
more

__________

“terrified loneliness”

the stars are dim and far away
you make sure to keep them that way

__________

“I dream of hairy women”

I dream of hairy women
taking off their clothes
Hairy arms extended
as shirts lift over heads

Hairy armpits visible
on chests are hairy breasts.
belly buttons over-thatched,
yet faces are smooth and clear
of eyebrows they have none

all as one they turn about
hairy backs tilt forward now
and hairy shoulders flex;
pants slide down hairy hips
past hairy knee and calf
and hairy feet appear

each woman’s hair is different
tangled coarse soft well-kempt;
some with short tough bristles
some with long silken strands
and some patchy, mangy, clumpy
they’re turning all about and I can
see their hairy fronts again

the hairy curves of their hairy breasts
with knots of hairy nipples
hairy necks all shimmering
hairy pelvises as well, and tufts
all about their hairy vaginas,
cascading down in hairy waves

these women now begin to smile
and I see hair in their teeth,
with hairy tongues rasping
over hairless lips in thirst
hair clogs their throats and lungs

these are not hairy women,
these women who are hairy
they are instead hair-that-is-women
or women made of hair.

I dream of hairy women
and then I’m waking up;
I dream of hairy women.

__________

<no title>

Waking up at 4 a.m.
just to take a piss.
I really should stop drinking,
I’m just so tired of this.

__________

“I can only approach serious subjects unseriously”

1. I miss the way we touched
But more, I miss
how we – smurfed.

Smurfing in the dark,
or in bulb-lit rooms
of your apartment.

Smurfing on a bed
or the floor
or the couch after a film.

My smurf in
your smurfette
when it was right (once), we’d
smurf
together.

2. My tongue still remembers
the shape of your mouth;
your teeth.

3. After smurfing, I’d
lose the smurfing flame
and suddenly
we were both

repulsive

lying together,
post-smurf,
we had become Gargamels.

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