Justin Bressack



Men
"Each time you have sex with a girl
you give her a little bit more of your balls.



As the nights pass more bits and pieces of your manhood can be seen on her nightstand.

You fuck to remind her who has balls and who doesn't.

She tells you that's the spot.

But the short five minutes end
you don't seem too convinced.

When she has sex with someone else she gives him your balls as a gift.

They laugh at the size and then fuck on top of them.

When she has sex with someone else
you have lost your balls.

You have lost your mind.

Sex is power.

When you are not fucking
she has all of it.

When you are fucking
you can pretend that you have some too.

You don't.

This is the stuff
that lost OJ his freedom.

This is the stuff
that Cleopatra made her kingdom from.

This is the stuff
that orphans will wonder about
for the rest of their lives.

This is the stuff
that makes me lonely.

But you know
you can always do something about it.

You can always leave her.

Leave her standing there
with a pair of hairy balls

as you walk away laughing,

because
little did she know,

all you had to do
was grow a new pair."


Strange Poems Are Not For Strangers

I can see her look at me
from across the room.

I only notice now
because no one used to do so.

She is wondering when the creature
will pull off my skin and reveal itself.

I wish I could warn her
there is no one else in there
but me.

It would save her the disappointment
from finding out for herself.

I can see her look at me
from across the room.

She wants to become a poem.

But she doesn't know
where poems come from.

She doesn't know
that poems come from places
of regret.

She has not asked me
how many people I have slept with

only to regret asking me
how many people I have slept with.

I have not asked her
if he was bigger in bed

only to regret asking her
if he was bigger in bed.

She has not asked me
who is the most gorgeous girl in the room

only to regret asking me
who is the most gorgeous girl in the room.

I have not asked her
if she has slept with anyone else since we have taken our break

only to regret asking her
if she has slept with anyone else since we have taken our break.

She doesn't understand
that the price of a poem

is a soul and a kiss.

She doesn't realize
for me to give her a poem

would be for me to also give myself.

She doesn't recognize
that I am not worth

the poems I write.

I can see her look at me
from across the room.

She wants to become a poem.
and if she is not careful

I will make her regret that
for the rest of her life."


A Fight For Territory

She had a boyfriend.

I knew that didn't matter
to me or to her.

I wanted to take her just for the night.

Don't worry I'll have her back by morning
I told him as we left the bar.

He was too busy drinking
to give me his blessing.

I took that as a yes.

So we went back to my place
and I tugged at her hand.

She understood
and began to tug at my belt.

Then I had her
by the hair.

Then I had her
by the hips.

Then I had her
right where I wanted her.

I took my time.

There wasn't going to be seconds.

I licked beneath her ears
and bit her bottom lip.

My fingers circled her stomach
playfully teasing her upper thigh.

She enjoyed that.

I took my time.

She was beginning
to become impatient.

She was so horny
her body began to shake
demanding for me to just do her already.

Not yet.
She wasn't getting off that easy.

She would try and take command
and get on top.

I thwarted the rebellion.

Shh.
Don't move.
Relax.
Just enjoy.

Her breathing got heavier
and her grip got tighter.

Emotion that had lived in her vulva
could be heard running from my tongue.

We both knew
I was good.

Real good.

She put her hands over her mouth
and began to cum.

That's it baby.

Finally I allowed her
to take me.

She did so with passion.
Time was the enemy.

When it was all over
it was like a war zone.

Not a soul left breathing.
All was quiet.

Finally reality settled
like the dust.

The battle had ended
and their had been casualties.

Her boyfriend had been wounded
and she had to tend to him.

I told her to tell him
I said hi.

Poor guy.
I hope he's going to make it.


About the Author

Justin Bressack, from Woodstock, NY is a graduate student at the Albany College of Pharmacy and Health Sciences in Albany, NY. For several years, he has been writing very intense personal, social and political poetry and has recorded some of those poems accompanying himself with a guitar. Justin will be published for the first time in the upcoming issue of Heyday and in The Literary Magazine of ACPHS. He is a member of The Woodstock Poetry Society and Calling All Poets and has been a featured reader at several venues in the Mid-Hudson Valley. His poetry appears on those web sites and regularly on his Facebook page.

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