Tag: Sexuality

#PoeticAnswers 83 – Do You Have Any Kinks?

I have a threesome every day
And I’ve been having threesomes
Every day for what seems like
My entire life.
I don’t expect you to know
What that feels like but
Let me tell you,
It’s exhausting.

It’s a constant barrage of
Twisting and tossing and turning
And pushing and pulling
And burning and biting
And clawing and cutting
In a never-ending search
For happiness.

A happiness that never comes,
Much like myself because
I am too generous,
I am on the receiving end of
Two toxic partners working
In discord and out of rhythm and harmony
To give me the best worst fucking
Of my life.

Partner A:
Definitely built for speed and not comfort
And when I say speed,
I don’t just mean in terms of firing rate.
I mean the drug, because
He lives at a million miles an hour,
Never slowing, taking me by the hand,
Taking me to the brink,
Taking me on a rollercoaster ride
Where there’s no safety bars,
Where there’s no speed limit,
Where there’s no means of self-preservation,
Only self-destruction and sado-masochism

Partner B:
They like to take it slow,
Painstakingly, mind numbingly slow.
And it’s not so much sensual
As it is sensory, with a blend of
Substance and pain,
Blood play and asphyxiation,
Everything is a threat and a challenge,
Like waking up or doing literally
Anything because she leaves a mark on me
Brandings of bites and bruises
And cuts and cigarette burns.
Like I’m her property.

My bedroom is a BDSM dungeon,
A Bipolar Disorder and Sadomasochism Dungeon,
Where I’m locked in my bed and my head
With two lovers who love to fuck me
At every given opportunity.
And it would be fine to
Take them one at a time,
Treat each of them with the right
Time, dedication and medication
But unfortunately, I often find
I’m locked in a situation where
They’re both fucking me at the same time,
Tearing my body and mind apart
With thoughts that cut like a knife
And fingernails that run
Over and under my skin.

I have a threesome every day
And I’ve been having threesomes
Every day for what seems like
My entire life.
I don’t expect you to know
What that feels like but
Let me tell you,
It’s exhausting.

Question from Michael Clark from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 73 – When Was The Last Time You Realised You Were Happy?

My memory isn’t quite what it used to be,
It was never perfect because
Nothing ever is
Nothing ever was
I was never perfect.
I am still not perfect.

I am still the bespectacled spectacle of
Unkempt hair and perpetual clumsiness
That I was when I was small.
When I thought I knew it all and
I was the circus clown that didn’t care.
Blissfully ignorant and unaware of
Labels and diagnoses that would
Shake and shape my life.

It was a time when right and wrong
Was trial and error and
The only terror was make-believe monsters
In the closet and under my bed.
In a time where we talked to our friends
Rather than sending a text and being ignored instead and
People were just people and colour and gender was something we would accept.

I miss when coolness was measured in
Pokémon cards and personalities instead of
Drugs and alcohol and dodging STDs
And police cars.

It was a time before the internet.
Before external guilt started to
Carve my body with ideals and abuse.
Before my clothes, my hair, my body
Could be called right or wrong and
People hunted for reasons to
Drag us down to their level because
If they can’t be happy then neither should we.

Now, the trolls have moved out from the closet
And I’ve been forced to move in because
Freedom and expression are only for
Normal people and not circus clowns
Demoted to freak status because
They stood out from the crowd even though
They took steps both back and in.
Because society is a gang that
Only the cool and beautiful people are allowed in,
Like my friends.

My memory isn’t quite what it used to be,
And maybe at it wasn’t the best of times
All of the time but
It was when I was happy.
Because I could be me without
Punishment or discrimination.
It’s only just now that I’m beginning to realise
It was better than this.

Question from Madison N. from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 57 – Why Am I Sticky?

It could be all matter of obscenities
And extremities
Which could be the source
Of my stickiness.

It could be the beer,
Sweet and sticky
And definitely
The wrong choice for this party.

It could be their breath,
So close it leaves condensation on your eardrums
And so heavy it drowns out the techno.

It could be the sweat,
Dripping, glistening and refracting
Looking like a perverse fancy dress
Where everyone wears glass.

Realistically,
It’s all of the above but
It’s mostly semen.

Question from my favourite li’l pervert, Arzoo.