The Un-Sexy Poem

A painful kiss from chapped lips scathing my flesh

I didn’t know crust could turn into blades

I want to taste his lips, not my own blood

I groaned, not from being pleasured but from being literally stabbed with his crust

His skin was ashy and icky like sand paper

His beard un-kept and the hairs growing back on his face rubbed against my cheeks removed the top layer of my epidermis

His breath was death

And if he didn’t hurry up and cum

Surely I too was going to die.

 

Love doesn’t smell, feel or taste good all the damn time. Let’s be real about those moments when the butterflies in our stomach is replaced with nauseation and a strong urge to vomit. When inward screams yell with fury, “I wish this gargoyle would hurry up and get the fuck off of me.”

By Janell Hihi Copyright@2017

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