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ringnir Feb 2016
An indication.
Cotton mouth and a binding knot to the temple.
Warm exhales give reason to suspect
my tenure over this body fetal.

A reminder.
Halation and smothering darkness in the enclosure.
Crusted squints summon the gall to beg
my limbs to remember their master.

A disturbance.
Musky stench and fingers webbed to slime and yarn.
An arduous tug suggests a young female
gone for hours by the heat of her tongue.

The appeasement.
Correlation and tracing mind maps to its chorus.
A restful sigh confirms my furtive habit
of decapitating the women I love.
Àŧùl Feb 2016
So sensuous is this piece of clothing,
Barely covering her bare essentials.
If she lets it fall to the ground,
Visible are her melons so round.
And what to say of her crevices,
Up & down both are so smooth,
Juice-filled they are the milk booth.
I have marked it as explicit.
If you don't desire to read such pieces, kindly tick the 'Hide explicit poems' option in your account settings instead of telling me to not write such poems.

Lingerie is pronounced somewhat as \laundjzerie/.

My HP Poem #1023
©Atul Kaushal
Àŧùl Feb 2016
And the old ways are not satisfactory enough,
You feel like wanting to marry a petite girl.
A beautiful girl she should be who gives you a feeling pleasurable,
You start dreaming of her imparting satisfaction immeasurable,
Imagine her digging nails into your back as deeper you seep.
Not away from marriage you keep your desires ever,
And the imagination takes the better of your youth,
The volcano accumulates lava & erupts blissfully.
My HP Poem #1022
©Atul Kaushal
Edna Sweetlove Feb 2016
My sister boasted to me one night in a Liverpool pub
She had *** with a couple of coppers down the Mersey Tunnel.
'You're nothing bit a fat slapper' I scolded her,
As she examined the selfie I had taken
Just a few moments earlier of me
And her best friend up against the ladies' bog door.
"Good likeness, innit?" I commented and the
She farted stentoriously in surprise and,
The follow-through oozed down her dimpled thigh.
ARI Feb 2016
Because I am a man
Preferring men over women
I am often cursed and shunned
By the society we are lost in.

Because I am a young adult
Mere 20 years beneath my belt
The older generations claim
My fresh ideas could never help.

Because I am a woman
With no children in my arm
Others pull their kids from me
As though I'd bring them harm.

Because I am a Muslim
With a hijab on my head
Millions often blame me
For tears their brothers shed.

-ARI
I would love to see what others would add to this poem.
Dee Jan 2016
#9
I saw a long haired man
Smiling in delight
And I remember you
I saw a man with tattoos
I used to be scared of
But I smiled
Remembering the art
Painted on your body

I saw a white guy on the streets
Holding a lass
Smiling and whispering, a sweet sight
And I thought
Would it be sweeter
If it were you and I?

I think about you
In every story you told me
In everyone and everything
I hear your name
All the time
And I wonder;
Was it coincidence?
Or was I hearing that name for such a long time
But never cared
Until I knew you

Your name sounds sweet
To my ears.
That I can't help but smile
I would look back and search the soul
That owns that name
Hoping someday
I will see you.
Daniel
Alisha Isabell Jan 2016
Screams,
In the painfully sweet hours
When the child is no longer a part
Of the mother,
But one of his own.
From outside,
It was quiet.
The leaves piled on underground pathways.
Birds sliding from tree branches, escaping the thick green leaves
To swoop up and kiss the sky.
The outside was beautiful.
But the nervous taps
Of the father's leg on the hospital floor,
The tears of the woman,
Her strength,
It was beautiful as well.
--
Your innocence floods from your heart,
Its precious,
The way you pick
At the rocks in the snow,
The way you
Begin to cry because the colds bites you.
Do not worry,
It cannot steal your warmth.

I see you take the neighbors flowers,
They are a dull red against your eyes.
When you drop them,
You smile
Because you see the pollen
On your fingers.
--
I know it's hard at times,
When the leaves are no longer
Filled with tiny lady bugs and rich memories.
I apologize,
For those days
When you felt in your bones you had to
Crash down your home;
A small bed of grass
And walls of thin sticks
Just couldn't stay up any longer.
Yet those trees you cut down
Can still grow fruit,
Ripe and full.

I promise.
I see the bushes out front,
Berries once so ripe,
Now shriveled and dry.
You're no longer sifting through them.
I'm sorry,
You know.
For the men that hurt you,
*I hope you can one day find warmth in the sun,
As it soaks into your skin.
Samber Jan 2016
I want you to make art out of me.
Make me turn into brush strokes and texture.
Touch me and color melt me.
Paint me and smear me.
Turn this blank canvas into explosions of color.
Let me explode and create the best pieces of art in history.
The Mona Lisa has nothing on me.
I am a one time final draft in literature.
The words perfectly aligned with my lines.
Every word you speak falls into me and I'll be your first novel.
The only best seller you'll have.
Break my bindings, break my lips, with the words you force into them.
Write me down write me slow.
I am classic literature honey.
I've finally found my path. I've found out who i am. what's my weakness and my strengths. I've figured what I hold dear and what to let go. I've found my belief and became a true believer. I've found out who is worth calling a friend and who to call an acquaintance. I learned to accept what i see in the mirrior and to love the human bring that i am. This year is the year I take a deep breath and hold on the horns of the bull.
ARI Dec 2015
I
Don't have
Time for this.
I can not have
A meltdown. I am an adult, **** it!

-ARI
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