Long Stds Poems
Long Stds Poems. Below are the most popular long Stds by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stds poems by poem length and keyword.
Companion Poetry is about Eternal God
The Divines which are Mother Mary and the Saints
Written words are based on Jac’s Poetrysoup Corner & 517Jacqueline in poetrysoup.com
To explore the world of mental illness through Poetry
To gain a deeper understanding of the world around us
“Do not be carried away with all Kinds of teaching
We have an altar and a Church that is yours
Return home with us and follow Me, you will get 100x in return”
It is a connection with others going through the same struggles
Struggles of getting Divine Toys for sexless marriage
To lessen Abortion, Rape, AIDS or STDs
Where society’s support is necessary
Get your pen and paper, Laptop, Alpha Smart or yourTablet
Start thinking of a Theme or a Topic 3052024
Fatema beloved special daughter of the Holy prophet
In an age and place which treated daughters so brutally
our prophet stood up to welcome Fatima
whenever she entered
and kissed her honourably, fondly.
Known as the Lady of light , Fatema our lady of light
Oh my luminous luminary with a halo so bright
Our guiding star lady however dark may be the night
You embody the symbology of sacred femininity in reality
A role model for the feminine, noble Queen of luminosity
Much have we learnt from your auspicious short 18 years of life
You were the greatest lady mother and wife
You showed the world what is sacred about the feminine
And how every woman is and can be a sacred pure feminine
The quest for her holiness is a grand ritual of life
She taught women how to respect their bodies
And make others respect them too
For chastity is vital to physical health
And helps to prevent the various dangerous STDs
She was Fatimah the most pure and the chaste
Without her values womanhood would be spent, laid waste
She is our empress who impressed us without material crowns
She was an angel without wings and bid every woman dress
In flowing regal gowns
And Fatema's name and fame has spread to the farthest towns
Her own piety and chastity an epitome example brilliantly forever shines
She's our lamp post, her luminosity more than diamonds from mines
Oh in Fatemah the whole womanhood ought to take pride
Stand up and salute her to eternity
The best woman the best daughter, sister the best women's guide
She's the best role model celebrity.
Leftism is depraved,
will excuse any sin,
you all remember Epstein?
They were in bed with him.
If it moves they’ll bang it,
and think there is no cost,
wetting their wick matters more
than all the good things lost.
They break down the family,
all that resists the state,
fifty years of this crap
people aren’t doing great.
Thirteen-year olds aren’t virgins,
nineteen-years olds ran through,
and the leftist scum-bags say
it’s “empowering you.”
A woman who can’t pair-bond,
that’s ‘good’ in their sick eyes,
a man who thinks he’s toxic,
because of all their lies,
lost children seeking parents
since their homes were shattered,
no guidance to help them,
that’s why they're so disturbed.
What is the great end result
of this sexual crusade?
The STDs are rampant,
**** now is everyday.
Marriages are not lasting,
if they happen at all,
sexes at each other’s throat,
our children doomed to fall,
All because these damn leftists
said screw without regard,
now lasting misery
is spread out wide and far.
No more sleazy temptress,
no more groupies,
you’re lock-stock out of luck
if you think you’ll
get you claws in me.
No more easy riders,
no more floozies,
you’re down-out in the dark
if you want to
take a piece of me.
No more black-out nights,
no more STDs,
played with fire too many times
to think that it’s
good for me.
No more endless nightfall,
no more moneyed hearts,
it’s rock-bottom taking toll
on a man who’s
already pushed too far.
No more fake award shows,
no more bastard art
it’s rot-gut soulless stuff
fully deserving
of those single stars.
No more mindless chatter,
no more watching charts
it’s fool’s gold draining soul
from a man
with little left to start.
It’s time to go.
The Storm
Lily disappeared in one hardened season,
Her innocence drugged inside a container from Lagos to America,
Dumped into a whore plantation
Where the hugs of men are colder than the bottom of Antarctica.
Neighbours mutter in their sleep:
Daisy disappeared too, for the same reason.
Coming like rain, soft and lush,
These maidens returned wearing seductive smiles,
To refresh men who rarely eat vegetables,
Flooding their fantasies with foreign fakegasm.
Good girls gone wild, selling death through their outlets,
Infectious love cloned into emotional tablets,
Where immune systems surrender to colonies of STDs,
Leaving our ancestors rummaging through thicker forests of herbs.
Obituaries are no longer a shock.
They could not find a cure,
But they found timber for coffins.
Uche Chidozie Okorie
There was man named Garrison,
and he lived the good life,
flush with that big trust-fund money,
he hungered for the night,
for booze and bodies tight,
the finest clubs were his domain,
his bar tabs were truly insane,
his one-night stands were numerous,
the affairs always light.
He was technically a lawyer
in his father’s old firm,
was kept on mostly for his name,
got more money to burn,
deserved not what he ‘earned,’
his condo was a bachelor pad,
wis many friends thought it was rad,
the women came and women went,
an ever-constant churn.
But Garry saw no problem here,
he was ‘living the dream,’
ladies and drugs, mountains of cash,
the dreams of quiet teens,
a hit in every scene…
but his father just sighed and said,
“Keep it up and you’ll end up dead.”
Still Garry saw no issue with
enjoying his own green.
Though as he went through his twenties
he noticed a strange thing,
every time he lived it on up,
less pleasure did it bring,
less fun in every fling,
it was fun but not as intense,
at fist this did not make much sense,
he’d always so enjoyed this life,
now it wasn’t working…
And worse still was the growing pain
that he’d feel the next day,
sometimes it made him stop to ask
if he wanted to play,
Or at home should he stay?
He had achieved what most men want,
a wild life that he could flaunt,
so then why, when being honest,
did he no longer crave?
And then one day at twenty-eight
his friends wanted to drink,
the thought of it made his bones hurt,
so away he did slink,
depressed, needing to think...
looked at his life, what did he see?
Pregnancy scares and STDs,
and a handful of nights he’d slept
off his drunk in the clink.
Nothing to show for all his fun,
nothing that could impress,
the world did not care that he had
dropped many a tight dress,
everything seemed a mess,
and worst of all, he’d no savings,
he’d always blown through everything,
while his brother had made partner,
Garry himself felt less.
He would soon drift far from his friends,
far from the debauchery,
felt like a stranger in his own life,
some sort of refugee,
his path he could not see…
What was life now? He couldn’t say,
what once was clear now seemed so gray,
he wondered if this was adulthood,
searching for what to be…