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 Sep 2014 Stripper Thoughts
Molly
I'd like to thank

*****
for giving me the confidence to ask her out

Drunk texts
for the brutal honesty

Flannel shirts
for hiding my scars

My cats
for always being the cover story

My brother
for never telling my parents

My best friend
for finally telling my parents

That girl in my art class
for calling me kind

That guy I dated
for calling me selfish

My counselor
for telling me to mind my own business

The boy who said he loved me
for teaching me what love isn't

My bedroom
for keeping my sobs concealed

My headphones
for keeping my **** private

My ****
for keeping me from ******* that guy

That guy
for ******* me anyways

Guilt
for killing me

Guilt
for keeping me alive
 Sep 2014 Stripper Thoughts
KJSC
What an honor to be touched with such soft gates
The secret keepers to your soul
Introduced to my own and secrets they are no longer
For with each shared breath the whispers of my stories flush out
Leaving more space for you settle into
Relying more on touch and sense than see
Leaving sight behind and letting go of fears
What will it be like
To kiss you?

Will it be
Romantic
Your soft lips
Pressed against mine
Our eyes closed
Savouring the moment
Arms wrapped around each other
The epitome of perfection.

Or will it be
Hot and passionate
My back against the wall
Our bodies pressed tightly against each other
Your tongue in my mouth,
And mine, in yours
As my hand gets entangled in your hair
And yours, stroking my skin.

Will I experience an eruption of
Emotions, feelings?
Will it leave me wanting more?

Well,
There's only one way to know.
I hereby apologise if I have shocked or disgusted you with a semi-accurate representation of the thoughts coming from a (not hormonal, I swear) 13-year-old's mind. A little too inappropriate, perhaps.
He was often a little shy round the opposite ***
His shyness caused so often his mates to be vexed
But this lady he decided he’d ask for a date
Though he fully expected a miserable fate.

So he asked her to dinner one summer long ago
And to his utter bewilderment she didn’t say no
They fell for each other and they talked all night long
And from that night on his heart filled with song.

Each Valentine’s Day he sends her a rose
He oft writes her poems or occasionally prose
His love no bounds nor does her love for him
Each feeling their hearts are filled to the brim.

No longer that shy like he was once before
They married and he carried her over the door
She bore him two children who they love oh so much
Their love so ethereal, bewildering to touch.

If ever you meet the person who makes your heart glow
And you’re both free to love, then perhaps let them know
You’ll both read the signs and then maybe it will be
That you too will have a life as happy as me.



©Joe Wilson – No longer shy…2014
 Sep 2014 Stripper Thoughts
ryn
Hold my heart for ransom
In exchange for your sweet whispers
Kisses and sighs in tandem
Along with moonlit midnight capers

Take my heart as hostage
A willing one it would be
Deep within its bony cage
Working up into a frenzy

Hold my heart at knifepoint
Incised upon I've already bled
Over cracked notions and disjoints
Chasing after hope that hasn't fled

Brand my heart with your seal
Press into and make your mark
Folded within is all I feel
Behind your insignia so stark

Choose my heart for blackmail
Ask of me whatever
Hope to accomplish without fail
Hopes of us do not sever

Play my heart like a toy
Adore me and hold me tight
Handle me with child-like joy
Share with me, squeals of delight

Mould my heart of clay
Wrap your fingers, twirl me round
Make me worthy of another day
To celebrate your sight and sound

Lace my heart and tug at it
Pull me closer so I could be near
Bind me tight so I would fit
Coveted spot beside you, dear

Enslave my heart on all fours
Lead me through your universe
Close behind us, lock all doors
Subject me to love's greatest murmurs

Place my heart next to yours
Let me be enamoured to the brink
In due time, and on laboured course
Perhaps we would finally beat in sync
I look into myself and see only an accumulation
of lost objects
Piles of beautiful, forgotten documents
unusable
but loved for what they are
I am the words on a tea-stained music sheet
that mean nothing
and yet
you turn them over eternally in your mind
because there's something about that
sequence of syllables
that makes them
irresistible.
Look at my shelves and see my soul
Repeat my words and learn my essence,
Home is knowing who you are.
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