Best Molester Poems
Why would a 12-year girl want to die?
What would make a 12-year-old girl end her life?
Why would a 12-year-old girl want to say goodbye?
Now I lay here with an empty bottle of pills by my side.
It was just too much to hide.
My little brother found me on my bathroom floor.
He went screaming out the door.
The ambulance came and I heard voices fading away.
I can still make out what they say.
Why would a 12-year girl want to die?
What would make a 12-year-old girl end her life?
Why would a 12-year-old girl want to say goodbye?
Now I lay in a hospital bed.
He can’t hurt you anymore the nurse said.
Thank god the gun box was locked.
Now theirs a knock.
The cops came in and said my sister talked.
They said after what my father did he will never walk.
Why would a 12-year girl want to die?
What would make a 12-year-old girl end her life?
Why would a 12-year-old girl want to say goodbye?
He came in my room at night.
Something’s a child just cant fight.
Tired of living with this dirty feeling.
Tired of all together feeling.
Why Daddy Why?
Why would you make me cry, lie, and all-together die?
Why would a 12-year girl want to die?
What would make a 12-year-old girl end her life?
Why would a 12-year-old girl want to say goodbye?
Mom didn’t know.
She said it wasn’t my fault and beyond my control.
They said there were more.
They just were scared to come forward before.
Now I’m on the stand facing a child molester.
The lawyer asks my father.
Why would a 12-year girl want to die?
What would make a 12-year-old girl end her life?
Why would a 12-year-old girl want to say goodbye?
What did you do that was so bad that your daughter wanted to die?
JESTER *''(] :-)
The best days come round and round
Follow the around the world
A Jester you are the crown
A Jester among the crowd
Searching for life from pole to pole!
A professional when it comes to clown
You got the soul to let it roll
Your too clever to hold a frown
Your parole has lost your control
A smile is all you know how to expand
You run - you play - you dance
Implanting a moment, so grand
Lifting the spirit with just one glance.
You are like a substance in high demand
You are the Queen to a blind romance
You stole the heart of a Nobel man
Jester we are at the feet of your command
Parted from the King, who does not understand
The crowd eating from the palm of your hand
No one knows what jokes you got planned
LADY QUEEN YOU HOLD THE SOUL OF A JESTER
Suited up in pinkish - purple - green polyester
Everyone bowing to you where you stand
Excitement towards the Queen, who plays the Jester
Jerking the kingdom of her land
Jester you play the role of the best mind molester!!
*''(]:-)
SKAT
Note: This is a sequel to the previous poem "Idiot" with the imagination of what if..................
Angel
I have awoken from my nightmares
I have grown up from my screams
The years have been kind to me
Except the first few of terrorizing fear
I am a big girl now
Why I shall soon be fourteen
The boys chase me for that magical kiss
They have no idea how they all miss
For I have had only one love
He is the only one buried deep within my heart
It’s him I must have
And have him I will
The prison doors will open
He will walk right into my arms
My letters show him my pure devotion
He smiles knowing I am there, his potion
He was away for ten years
For family issues he doesn’t like to say
I will take care of you daddy
Each and every day
In the half way house, I fix his first dinner
A pill you see will make him somewhat dimmer
Off to slumber he falls
Soon he will wish hell was his first call
Awake now daddy?
How does it feel?
Tied up tight, must feel bloody good, right?
Don’t worry daddy, I am sure to bite
Now daddy used to have fingers
He even used to have toes
Now he has no manners
He throws up as I go
I toss his eyeball against the wall
Like marbles, such games are fun even when we tall
His other eye seems not to believe
His daughter in his footsteps weaves
So he misses a tooth or two
With no feet he needs no shoes
His legs are soaked in his bloody pain
Yet I must discipline him, at his own game
I am such an angel at my high school dance
The inside of me I don’t show, there is no chance
Let them see my angelic eyes
My daddy sees my pleasures has he cries
I read the bible when I was nine
Eye for an eye, now that’s so fine
The molester is being punished for his crime
I am may be fourteen, but I drink the punishers’ wine
My daddy hasn’t much breath in his lung
Why soon his story will be the last sung
He paid in full his debt to me
I made sure of that, the devil did see
The world is one happy merry go round
Think twice if you wish to screw
This four year old child shall return it to you
For flesh and blood, I shall collect every pound
Bye bye daddy
Upon these humid shores,
Mosquitoes now bite more;
Dread and fever seek shores
As disease moot galore.
Stray echoes tell odd tales,
Reason sighs sans avail;
Logic primes visual sales
As fatal signs prevail.
Humid heat makes clusters,
Bites no laughing matter;
Jest will not sequester
The dengue molester!
Leon Enriquez
21 September 2017
Singapore
by: Poet destroyer
I investigated many poems today
Friendly people on this (Love Boat)
Everybody different in their own way
The evidence I found is hidden in every poetry line
Mysteriously, one poet comes from (Fantasy Island)
I am filing charges on the lady
Who welcomes you to the soup
Leaves you a comment, without reading your identity
Today I read a report on the supernatural.
Billies demons vs' (Charlies Angels.)
Investigating a woman who poets you advise, gee's how nice
I will give her a ticket, for making me feel guilty as can be
How about the clown who does not wear a rubber nose.
He puts on a show with his pen and paper (THAT IS TALENT)
He is using his ego another way
He makes us laugh, with one whip of his Belt
I will not release the name on the depressing poem I read
For her, I will stop traffic, and move everyone out of her rain
Her words made my heart bleed
A warrant goes out to the girl who used too much imagination.
I actually got to see tongues to tongue vividly.
I will never ticket the poet queen
Murder she wrote and got away,
I do not know who is the John Doe I found today.
I will be reading his poetry file.
To make sure, he is not misleading this investigation.
I also confiscated an old antique or two
Unique skills found in their retired war shoes
I did my undercover work on a serial killer case on the soup.
That is one report I did not want to picture
I hope the writer will bargain for a life sentence
In a paradise so Green.
I will soon end my file, and turn in my report about Big Foot
After I arrest them ladies who write about butterflies
It is against the law to lead us on a goose chase
We are nowhere near (A highway to heaven)
I have to go join a (S.W.A.T.) team.
To raid the aliens who invade (The little house on the prairie)
I call this group the (A team)
You know A-liens team who you are.
Someone just posted bail
For the girl who blinded us all
She wore her neon converse a straight ticket to jail
I am on a manhunt locating a molester
Every time she is spotted in a pick out line
She comes back and deletes her trade
Erasing her only profile, just to edit all over again
This coming from a crooked cop, (Magnum)P D
Reporting live on the poetry soup
No more this verdant sight no more the sound
No more the heart of mist at nature’s dawn
No more victims of constant pressure found
No more the fool of man’s enactment borne.
To worship a foundation so ancient
The last bastion of one’s ancestor
Then one bears scars of prudence so poignant
When complied to appease the molester.
Our Fathers who wove within nature’s loom
So soon eras of memories destroyed
When at the mercy of Europe’s new broom
Leaving many dreams retrenched redeployed.
Hearts and minds linger still at Purple Haze
Ghostly cascades of falling tears amaze!
For all the farmers systematically force from their lands
in a orchestrated albeit subtle way
after the UK joined the European common market 1970's
A Poem about of one of those farms "Purple Haze"
© Harry J Horsman 2011
There was young “lady" of Chester
Who not only dated a jester
But also and baker n' smith
whom she all liked to kiss
she's known as the great man-molester
A devil in three-piece polyester
Sweaty jowls hanging over starched collar
Worker’s bane, savings account molester
Stalking your front door, try not to holler
Huntin’ for your cash; not all he will do
Piles of workers’ scalps under his front seat
Lambs to the slaughter for our Darthie-poo
Laundering funds for government elites
Business buys Washington, who buys the vote
Our tax dollars, the machine’s power source
IRS laws cut the middle class’ throat
Wall Street’s equal opportunity whores
Puts the “fun” in “fundraising” for the Man
Darthie’s knocking and he’s not here to beg
One measly pound of flesh, that’s not his plan
By law, he’s due at least one arm and leg
4/20/16
Questions run through my head with never an answer,
like Lord why can't we just cure cancer
I mean it's not like we aren't trying
Billions of dollars raised, prayers said and people are still dying
Why are there people who choose to kill,
people who cheat, lie and steal
How can a person beat their own child
when others on earth are so meek and mild
Why is there so much hatred all around
and not nearly as much love to be found
Some people cant have children and I try to understand
but what I don't is why an evil child molester can
Why are there places where millions are starving to death
Why are there babies born addicted to meth
I know it's wrong to question God this way
I try to stop but my mind is plagued
I ask for forgiveness each and every night
Still it continues...it's a constant fight
These questions and thoughts torture my mind
I look for answers that are impossible to find
We think we have a friend in someone just to find we were wrong
finding out they were against us all along
There is so much wrong in this world we live in
We may not be the culprit but it causes us to sin
I pray a lot every day and night,
praying for others to win the fight
Whatever their troubles are,
I pray from God they will never stray far
It seems to me that evil is winning
These thoughts in my head are constantly spinning
It wears me out to worry so,
sometimes to the point that I can barely go
I try to put all these questions to rest
The answers are nowhere so I know it's best
She brags about everything she has
With childish hyperbole, arrogance, hubris
No humility, no empattthy, no conscience
That's why full of s**t rhymes with narci666tic
Her celebration - - - expecting wedding presents
Blessings and gifts for a child molester?
What would be apropos?
Perhaps a bridal bouquet - - -
Hmmmm - - - how about - - -
A circle of vienna sausages on sticks
Surrounded by an array of baby's breath?
Little girl tell the world why you cry.
Is it that your father is the molester and your mother hides his lies?
So why should I believe you, when the world has it your spoiled?
All over the community running wild
But no one would believe her all they see is the outside.
She's trap; she hates, she loves, she love, she hates the ones that gave her birth.
she despise the love she's given for it lets her feel like dirt.
She speaks but no one hears, she cries still no one cares,
yet whenever she runs away to be free like the wind,
they see, they criticize, they say all kind of things.
She sleep, she wakes, she wakes, she sleep just to confirm she's dreaming
but the reality is too perfect for the neighbors so they ignore the screaming.
"So why should I be different from my neighbors it's not like being concern
will get me any favours?
Furthermore I only show compassion when I am in the mood,
I would prefer to draw my assumption and say that girl is rude".
She has loving parents is what they see.
They see the house, the car and say "that should be me".
They say "she's ungrateful what else could she want, the things they would do if they had the chance"
but the perfect world is in our minds, her reality is crappy though everything looks fine
but no one would believe her so she's learning how to adjust one day at a time.
She's locked in her room with nowhere to hide.
She entertains herself for her imagination is wide.
She brace herself for the nightmare hoping it would slide
and anticipate the second she goes back outside.
I cannot find my cheesecloth; where did my cheesecloth go?
Where is it at this moment? I would dearly like to know.
It isn't in the shoe shine kit where oft times I would tuck it,
Nor in the corner by the stove where casually I'd chuck it.
It isn't in the dresser drawer curled up amongst the socks,
My cheesecloth never goes outside, t'is not amidst the phlox!
It isn't over yonder, It can't be over there!
I stare in slack jawed wonder, it isn't anywhere!
How tragically I mourn this cloth, I'll not recover easily.
Where will I find another that comports itself so cheesily?
Oh I'll make do with linen, or wool perhaps or cotton,
But this dear cheesecloth staunch and true can never be forgotten.
So if you have a cheesecloth so soft and strong and sprightly,
You must guard it through the days long hours and keep it by you nightly.
Hold it safe from wolverine, and goat and cloth molester,
For once your cheesecloth's gone for good, you're stuck with polyester!
Jimmy Savile liked to touch boys and girls
he'd visit them in their hospital room.
And used to run his fingers through their curls,
mere buds, they barely started to bloom.
England's Queen made this pedophile a Knight
a prolific sexual predator.
And though his sick behavior wasn’t right
'twas overlooked by his fans and editor.
Sir Jimmy raped boys and girls young as five
getting caught on camera at least once.
Yet, his enablers helped his career thrive
he acted like a clown, but was no dunce.
Jimmy Savile, was a child molester
that abused little kids in Manchester.
(Sonnet)
Written Feb.19, 2018
For - Operation Yewtree - Poetry Contest
By: Catie Lindsey
when she talks about the past,
she does so with a numbness
that has been developed over
years of trying to push it behind
her---these are the mechanisms
of endurance that had been taught
during years of therapy &
she is suspicious about them having
done a bit of good, because
when she is alone & closes her
eyes, she can still remember
the events that have torn apart her
psyche &
in the most unfortunate moments,
she can still make out the face.
how many men have been sitting with
a new acquaintance & the talking,
be it flirtatious or otherwise,
seems to take a serious turn quickly &
suddenly, so unexpected, she lets
him in on what has happened to her in
the past, no matter how recent that past is?
&
she confides, she tells the stories like
she was reading them from a book,
showing almost nothing left, until the
man reacts & then she might very well
try & blame herself for where, when &
how the abuse came to be---
but there are the statistics &
even if one is so misogynistic
as to believe that all the women polled are
in fact lying,
such colors are shown quickly &
quite often they are exhibited on the side of
the molester, the rapist or the abuser, be him
of the physical or the psychological.
a savage truth exists,
for when she confides, she can never be sure,
even if all her senses tell her that this one is
ok,
she has the torture of the past to remind her &
so there are always walls, always barbed wire
fences bunched up &
a lack of trust that could outweigh
anyone’s.
to think that there are still men living,
who have never had a conversation about
hitting with a woman who has been tormented
& violated,
to think that there are men alive who ignore the
statistics, think they are all lies or just
don’t give a ****,
makes one wonder if this really is the
21st century.
Like the rapist
and the molester,
a nose-cutter with
chilling impulses
emerges from
mind’s murky nook.
He always drops
atrocities
in his wife-bin.
Male chauvinism
creates a
concentration camp
in her kitchen
and bed-room.
He’s her gadget
producing
hypertension.
Her nose ring
is not
merely a metal,
but a
charm-multiplier.
Alas!
Teeth of his machete
take off the tip
of her nose,
demanding
the dowry due,
disfiguring…
Red woman sap
oozes,
staining...
First published in The Literary Hatchet