Do you have a sister, a mother, a cousin who is suffering this fate?
Thanx 4 being my b-i-tch
(Poem # 18 on Advantages of Hating Love)
PS: (This is not a cartooning satire of an abusive mother-theresa-fucker, or any of those who live their romantic death behind closed doors with their beautiful women; it is a depiction of gratitude to tha so-called strong tough-loving woman who is minding her business all alone. I am as ready for censorship and criticism as you are not for facing domestic violence)
Thanx 4 being my b-i-tch
Self-marked with vows of unconditional allegiance
From our meeting 2 tha mortal parting
As our love at 1st sight suddenly dissolves into your last breath
Your weak heart screaming in holy silence
You, my one and only punching bag
Thanx a million fists
Thanx 4 being my b-i-tch
Without you my snake-leather shoe would only have air 2 kick
My foul mouth would have no face to spit at
Plastering your bio-oil moisturised skin with h-i-v + saliva
Redecorating your features with carefully/carelessly-laced bruises
My one and only punching bag
Thanx a million fists
Thanx 4 being my punked-up sacrificial b-i-tch
4 letting me break your firm limbs from your exquisite body
Welcoming my unjustified insults in your gracious ears
Contorting your spirit into a frog’s
Smudging the walls of respect with your blood
My one and only punching bag
Thanx a million fists
Thanx 4 being my self-less b-i-tch
4 tha late night kisses and make-up felatio
Without your considerate care my tantrums would go wasted
My manhood disqualified
And my daily apologies unaccepted
Dankie 4 your neck
Had I strangled another I’d be up 4 attempted murder
Facing fifteen 4 rape
Dankie 4 letting me waste your time with false promises
You are stuck with me, 4 if you go; bathobatlareng?
You, my one and only sexy opponent
Dankie 4 tha million faked orgasms
Dankie, 4 being my b-i-tch, etcetera, etcetera
4 I shall be your guide dog until you find your grave
-4kof Satan
2 comments:
Let us not be hypricrites people. It takes one to know one. To say, thanks for the million faked orgasms meant the poet knows something about faking it. Which reminds me of a friend of mine who told me that he managed to perform two and a half round with his chick. When I asked him how did he calculate the half he said 'during the third i felt my willy getting limp with every movement and decided 'fuck' i then faked that i was coming and stopped.
Thanks for Being my bitch? Pray that some chick, the ex you wrote about on the role model piece is not writing a closeted poem 'Thanks for being my DOg' on a bad light this time.
Sure sure
Bro, some might say you got serious issues! I read all your poems without a slightest flinch but really now.... Some poets say that they poems are inspired by something that has happened to them or a certain feeling that they've had and yara, yara! Now reading all that you've written so far, can't help wondering what that says about you?!?
Love, aids, death and abuse???????
Anyways someone very smart once said: "I write what I like"
Atleast you thanked her, right!? Right.
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