Porn Scenario #4 (My First Time)

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Pornography warped my idea of sex long before I knew what penetration felt like
The awe of faded the moment the internet made it free.
Before high-speed bandwidth made finding a rhythm easier
I indirectly learned how to last longer by…
For the record, my favorite scenario:
Younger man, older woman
Porn gave me experience without trial and error
No embarrassment of sprinting in marathons
Or accidentally attempting to the wrong door.
Sex was like love in the hands of the insecure:
I faked it until I could make it.

This isn’t me bragging
Ok I’m not just bragging
But it was so good,
She who helped me misplace my virginity doesn’t know it fell between her legs.
So, my first time was…well…

It began like a fantasy teenage boys search for
A seasoned lady wanting me to fix her fountain of youth
I used every evasive angle since I wasn’t sure I could perform
But a hand in her panties
Testing the temperature of the river gave me liquid courage.

Her spine folded in servitude
To honor me as newly crowned pharaoh
Moans exited her body. Her skin breathed and molded to my caress.
I carved hieroglyphics into her walls
My name, repeated during release
Each orgasm labeled in my lineage then she swallowed my history for generations to come.

You’d think a scene that good is always worth sharing
She lay in a pile of her wetness.
Bathing in playful denial.
No matter how the sands of time blow
The erection of my sphinx will forever remain
My tomb will always have an artifact in her womb
My virginity
A sarcophagus buried beneath pyramids erected in lust
A valuable treasure I never want  dug up.

I offered my innocence like I had done it before
I knew she’d never know what I had just given to her
She picked up her fidelity from the coffee table
She did it like she’d done it before.
We knew our first time will never be discussed
It’s too awkward to talk about.

Writing Out Fear

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(This was written with writers in mind; but please use this if it applies.)

It’s okay to be afraid.
Just understand it is the first step to being courageous.
You will get there
I know it seems as far away as tunnel lights
I know every idea is a detour farther down that abyss of doubt.
But you are just making your home into a hideout.

I see you
Cowering in the corner of a room you decorated
Knees to your chest
You turned where you reside into Oz
Afraid of the dark
Swept up in a tornado of worries imagined.
Let me remind you that the fluorescence of your soul glows in this blackness
Shine like the neon colored constellation you are
When the light bulb clicks like ruby red heels
Then those nights will be highlights of triumphs you created.

Become the boogie monster.
Catch the rhythm of your increased heartbeat and dance through your fears
Be empowered by the bassline in your throat so your cadence jibes with the melody in the hearts of listeners

Be puppet and Geopetto
And you’ll never have to wish for realness.
Writer’s block is nothing more than your nose hitting the paper before your pen does.
The manifestation of believing something stops you from the very thing the Universe designed you to do
Be afraid
You have a right to be intimidated by what is not yet understood
But don’t you dare lie
Tug on your own strings and marvel at what you carved from fright

And when the tears fade
When their remnants blot the page and what you see would diagnose you as insane
Every thing.
Every memory.
Welcome every intrusive thought with open notebook
Until every dream and every nightmare is on paper
And how awesome you will be is all you might be scared of.

The Samson Poem

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You hold my hair like I wished you held my heart
Like a treasure
A secret collection of thoughts no one else can have
But you
Prize something that dies without me
How I wished you’d say you would die without me.

Just give me the shears
I have a head full of tears
And if I’m to be weak while my follicles heal
Then I’ll remove any split ends
Be bald and deal with being alone and unable to stand up

Shaved scalps don’t have dandruff
I won’t be scratching in confusion
Unsure if I’m trying to remember
Or trying to forget.
There is nothing to comb through
Nothing to shampoo
Because I’ve conditioned my roots to be rid of you

Soon, you’ll fade
I’ll taper what we have and brush against the grain
Until I can make an afro of love that people can’t avoid
I wished you wanted to display our love like that.
Instead, you took the best of me hoping I’d be destroyed.
Let that be a lesson
No matter what you do to someone’s love
If healthy, it can always grow back.

Mirror, Mirror

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Have you ever looked out and saw nothing?
Not even yourself?
This is my existence.
I only feel important when my eyes have someone else’s dreams in them.

I live vicariously through adjusted neckties
And jewelry clasps
Portraying a fabricated image of self-esteem
Like chins held high
Trying to make myself look better.

Smeared fingerprints adorn my forehead and cheek
I entrust another with something so fragile
Only to be bad luck if I break
How unfair is that?
Do you try to make it through catastrophes unscathed?

Has superstition insist you be doomed to years of misfortune,
Even though your wounds add facets to your vision?

My life is more nerve-wrecking than yours.
I’m so careful of shattering
The broken parts are so jagged
They cut helping hands that lift me off the floor
I don’t want to hurt anyone
Or be hurt again
What do I do to appear undamaged
Despite having a glass jaw?

Can your kiss infect loved ones with tetanus, too?
Do they need to be injected with medicine to heal themselves of viral strands of your essence?
Well, I need a cure, too
And if you need to tap my vein
There’s a blood-stained river of ego it runs through

Teach me cosmetics
I want to learn the techniques used fix me up even if I’m just by myself.
Guess that’s why I’m a writer
Because I’m really good at reflecting
But no one hear to answer my questions.

Rambling (2nd Revision)

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(Editor’s Note: The freewrite of this is in an earlier post. This is still not finished. I’m giving insight into how I polish up my pieces)

One of those days last year:

I died.
I think.
Whatever it was
Didn’t feel like the life I was supposed to have.
I had renounced the Declaration of Independence
Dead, enslaved, and content with being depressed
Freedom decayed because I was so wounded from losing
Her name doesn’t matter
That I confused a lesson for a soulmate.

I apologized to her
It was whispered into my bloodstream
So it would spill where I was bleeding
Before I realized I was healing
I started believing that message was for me
“I’m sorry” had a terrifying meaning

Rot sprouted from my veins
I took the gangrenous tissue and made a heart from egotistical seeds
So plainly terminal that Death was the only thing fertile like a black rose in barren concrete

I roamed love’s two-way street making it a personal Elm.
Then attacked women with good intentions who saw me when they’re dreaming.

Somewhere in my own nightmares
I wondered if anyone could love a haunted creature like me
He who disguised manipulation in collarbone kisses
And touches that would be loving if I hadn’t forgotten what love was.

Fear injected inside victims
Getting them to crave what I missed
The pusherman with that make em feel good.

But after ripping countless addicts’ minds to shreds
Still empty as I fled
I cleared my head until I could no longer see myself as a monster.
And all is peaceful in the neighborhood now that Freddy’s dead.

Eight weeks ago:

I tasted honey in the atmosphere.
There was this you.
A you so magnificent, I questioned if I deserved it.
You looked like the most beautiful lesson the Universe bestowed upon me
Forgive me for my assumption
But don’t you think it’s a little arrogant to believe I encountered a soulmate before I had your phone number?

I tucked those boasts someplace where love at first sight had to go look.
And stared at your contact picture as if you were a stranger.
I let my heart go on a search for your memory.
Leaving a trail of seasoned crumbs big enough to remember each morsel
And small enough that insecurity would starve trying to feed off them.

This space is reserved for the map it puts together.

Sometime tomorrow:

I don’t have the words for perfect
Let time have its moment of glory.
We know destiny is flawless.

Diamonds & Pearls (Give Them Back)

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Some people associate a person with a song
You embody an artist’s entire catalog.
I called you
But you didn’t answer your phone.
The main drag is knowing that
You still have my Prince records
And I want them back.

Back when I wanted to be your lover
I composed my image of you from his music.
You left
Sped off in your little red Corvette
With my most prized possession.
At the time, I laughed at how fast you were
But when forever became too far to travel together
It was a must to have my belongings returned

Since they were yours when I was your man
I want them back now that I’m no longer your best friend
I am incomplete without them
Not that I’m helpless
But sometimes
Those are the things recovering from love’s about.
Your voice
Sounds like the end of time
It was once what I adored
Now it’s an apocalyptic sign.

Instead of hearing what we used to be in your gorgeous eyes,
I’d rather imagine what silence looks like.
It’s the beautiful ones that hurt every time
Though there is no more pain,
The music’s absence is a reminder of unsuccessful salvation
For the sinner I would die


This isn’t vengeful.
I just want my stuff
In addition to my love
I need all my treasures reburied
Let’s pretend we’re married.
And we’re finalizing our divorce.
I hear you in my brain
Your words are thieves in my temples
Removing your falsetto is as simple
As bathing in purple rain.

Without The Artist’s music in my library,
Without those melodies near my chest,
I discovered how purple my heart is
Guess that’s the reward for the battle wounds it collected.

Vigilante Justice (The Batman Poem)

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I am not a crook.
I didn’t do it.
Whatever the hell it is.
You’ve given person of interest a suspicious connotation
Darling, we just met
Don’t put me at the scene of the crime just yet

I am not two-faced.
We have yet to make dent in anything substantial
Though, I speak in metaphors
Don’t mistake them for riddles you need to solve before your precious Gotham is robbed again

Your eyes are like cell blocks in Arkham.
You don’t realize the insanity in your focus.
Hiding your delusion behind makeup like a cowl
Disguising it in the daytime with a millionaire’s lifestyle
But to the rest of the civilians,
Trying to be near you is hopeless.

You built your foundation on so much darkness
You find solace there.
Darkness resides beneath superficial wealth.
But who saves those who needs to save themselves?

What do you do when you need help?
You don’t even have enough trust to employ a Robin.
Guess the last Dick gracing the underground cave between your hips was barely worthy of kicking it on the side.
And when he got sick of not being a full-time partner
He spread his wings and disappeared at night
You can relate, right?

There is no gadget on your utility belt
That isn’t crafted from your own insecurity.
You throw your pain at your adversaries like a Bat-a-rang
But it always returns to your hand
You drop accusations like smoke bombs
To see if I’ll cough and be distracted
Wishing you were gone.

But I am not the Joker
My smile isn’t hiding maniacal schemes
The chill in your spine is me warming what was freezing
My strength is not the bane of your existence
I am a good guy.
Not necessarily a hero
But not the villain you’re trying to make me become either, so.

Stop worrying about crime and
Put down the costume.
The city is safe
For now
Turn off the Batsignal.

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