. . .and these s(t)ick fucks don`t have nothing to do with it!
Happy Belated Birthday BoySlut!
Posts Tagged ‘BoySlut Magazine’
BoySlut is Officially 9
Posted: July 16, 2020 in Musing, UncategorizedTags: 9 years, Birthday, BoySlut Magazine, stick people
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1 Poem – Devlin De La Chapa
Posted: July 2, 2020 in Fiction, Poetry, UncategorizedTags: BoySlut Magazine
Cry`baby
a guy`s weakness
is a tough girl,
she said,
tuning her iPod
to sex type thing,
she is kryptonite
to his soul,
cupid`s arrow
to his heart,
las vegas
to his sins,
and
when he is stripped
of all that
he gets
drunk,
writes
cry`baby poetry,
jacks off
and
speaks through a voice
that tortures
the ocean
1 Poem – John D. Robinson
Posted: July 1, 2020 in Poetry, Prose, UncategorizedTags: BoySlut Magazine
Raising
I came too, sat upright,
and vomited over my
legs: I was shocked,
like the four other
people in the room:
‘Wow!’ I said, raising
myself and gingerly
waddled to the
bathroom as silence
shrouded me,
giving me the will
to carry on with it
all and then reappear
minutes later,
minus my jeans
and a lust
for wine.
1 Poem – Devlin De La Chapa
Posted: April 21, 2020 in Fiction, Musing, Poetry, Prose, Stuff, Uncategorized, UpdateTags: BoySlut Magazine
6 feet from sobriety
perhaps, bitches
when the sun
has risen
6 feet
from our
sobriety &the
bottle
of
whiskey
has been emptied
into
the “essential“
of norm …
like i said,
perhaps
until then,
where the fuck
is my mask?
1 Poem – Devlin De La Chapa
Posted: April 15, 2020 in Fiction, Musing, Poetry, Stuff, Uncategorized, UpdateTags: BoySlut Magazine
a man and his pizza
you visit again
6 feet apart
from my balcony
to yours
bitching again
about the pandemic
about how you need
genuine and emotional
physical contact,
bars
to pick up women in,
friends
to take road trips
and head trips with,
places
to lounge, drink coffee
and plug`in to
and how
you`re liable
to cut off your own arm
just to hear
yourself scream;
your cell pings
dominos pizza is sitting
outside your door
you light up
with giddiness
‘cause even you realized
that things
weren’t really that bad
so long as
no one fucks
with pizza
1 Flash – Yash Seyedbagheri
Posted: April 8, 2020 in Fiction, Flash, Musing, Stuff, Uncategorized, UpdateTags: BoySlut Magazine
Choosing Nicknames
My name’s Nicholas Romanov. I give myself the nickname, “tsar.” I print it on cards for my piano school. Nicholas “Tsar” Romanov, Instructor.
Pupils question me. Who gave you that right? Nicknames are earned, they proclaim with righteousness. Nicknames are predicated on allergies. Tics. Quirks.
I tell them people ought to assign their own nicknames. It’s demeaning to have others label on an arbitrary basis. They used to nickname me freak and nerd because I preferred Tchaikovsky over pogs.
I print up more cards, TSAR emblazoned in largest letters.
I lose business, stand firm. I dispense more cards.
I’m a tsar.
1 Poem – Devlin De La Chapa
Posted: April 8, 2020 in Fiction, Poetry, Prose, Stuff, Uncategorized, UpdateTags: BoySlut Magazine
river Lily
your
whiskey drinking
is handless,
he said
ripping my panties
off
my hips,
it`s like a river
that doesn`t
flow
straight
1 Poem – Devlin De La Chapa
Posted: March 30, 2020 in Poetry, Prose, Stuff, Uncategorized, UpdateTags: BoySlut Magazine
one death at a time
i have
onion breath
and
a scar
that says
`wake the dead`.
no more
street vending
hot dogs,
or parkour`ing
around the world
in search of laughter,
in search of love,
when i see my world
diminishing
every hour,
one death at a time.
tell me
how do i tell
my unborn child
that i`m not ready
to die
yet?
1 Poem – Devlin De La Chapa
Posted: March 27, 2020 in Poetry, Prose, Stuff, Uncategorized, UpdateTags: BoySlut Magazine
an Observation
i wish
i could tell you
that everything
is going to be
alright, babe,
he said
through an inhale
of
vigilant smoke
we were sitting
on a furloughed
porch stoop
on a thursday morning
dragging
on cigarettes, watching
our shallow graves
wade
in timeless
waters
1 Poem – Devlin De La Chapa
Posted: March 24, 2020 in Musing, Poetry, Stuff, Uncategorized, UpdateTags: BoySlut Magazine
regret&sometimes loathing
he wasn`t much
for my emotions, `cause
he`d spew insults like
`your poetry
is a prison
with your verses
on death row`
and
`your insecurities
are like
temporary flowers
wilting
in white padded rooms
with black curtains
and no windows`
personally, i think
he just missed
partying with strippers
named barbie
and quoting bukowski
to his cat
