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Ainsley May 8
Hope my hope on hoping
my trust trusting your trust
Makes me wonder ......
why are you delaying??
Mommy you promised me
An ice cream if i cleaned my room...
Do you love ice creams?? What's your favourite flavour??
Torin Mar 27
From the grand expanse of the sky
To the unreached depth of the sea
Every stone, every tree
Every bone, every seed
That I know is hard to fathom
But somehow you must believe

Pathways right through the middle of town
Lead directly to an open door
But we were not worried that the rain was falling
No we were not worried if the rain was falling

Sometimes dealing with the truth is painful
But in the truth there is love
Every word despite the world
Every word and each heart beat
That I know is not so simple
But somehow you must believe

Arrow shot forth in a million different ways
Aimed directly at your heart
And a moment you could feel that the rain was falling
Take a moment we can feel the way the rain is falling
The rain is falling
felt cute, why not?
Mystic Mar 23
I was always told my hair texture was bad.
So here comes the white cream.
The white cream is chemical hell.
I can smell it as I write this.
As I got older I realized the white cream took out more than my curls and coils that the Man upstairs scribbled for me.
It took away my temple hairs. It took my chances of having hair past my shoulders.
But the white cream never took my curiosity.
My never ending curiosity of what I would look like if the white cream never took my real hair from me.
My real hair, which was, is, and never will be “bad.”
Apple juice Feb 27
𝖯lain, generic, and, sweet.
𝖲omething that just can’t be beat.
𝖳he irony of so many.
𝖵anilla is not of any.
Godly silk of milky white and an Understatement of unrequited
Separation.
𝖲he lies supine waiting for vanilla to pick a side.
𝖩ust above the rim of the cup,
vanilla built all the way to the top, with No mix-ins, an overscoop just for you, and a smile on the side too.
𝖲even o’three is what is going to be.
𝖲even o’three and a firm grip on me.
𝖸es the irony of choosing originality when its the exact opposite of what you preach
𝖤specially in between the sheets.
𝖨ndeed nothing to write home about
just a medium cup of soupy iced cream.
𝖠 flavor so **** sweet that’s sadly not for me.
𝖲weet memories in time.
𝖨’ll continue on
with vanilla on my mind.
Medium vanilla with no toppings.
How ordinary yet you aren’t like of any.
vanilla is you but vanilla isn’t what you are. Vanilla isn’t how you play vanilla is what you taste.
cupid Feb 7
sweet
delectable
beautiful
delicious
crave-worthy
crazy good
day brightening
not very nutritious
all words that can describe
me
but also
ice cream

here is my proposal
"yazzle dazzle"
the ice cream
hear me out
let me explain
a bite of sweet cream
named after me
made to brighten your day

this ice cream would be big, loud, and bubbly
it would be all the colors of the pastel and sunset pallets
every bite tasting like sunshine after spending so long in a storm
a best friend who is very kind
in a lick, listening to all the secrets you can tell it

simultaneously

being a cool pillow and a soothing song to fall asleep to
after crying or just after an extremely long day
like a twirl of your hair or a kiss on the forehead
like the quiet whisper of the right words when you can't find the right words to say

a mix of the loud city and
the whistle of palm trees on the small island rock
marshmallows that melt in your mouth, a hand on your cheek
words written neat, grass so green
a fluffy small puppy that your mom will actually let you keep
a blue sky, fluffy socks

the best thing that you have ever seen
the best thing that you have ever tasted
if i were to make this ice cream
it would be a mix of a milk shake, some yellow cake, some chocolate fudge, a christmas morning where you get all your favorite things with a smile
never opening one gift where you have to fake it

gratitude and a pinch of punchy
some sassy and a sprinkle of being always and never hungry
a love for all things beautiful in life
a naivety that makes you see all the good things all the time...

if i were to make this ice cream
it would have curly shards of milk chocolate on top
it would taste like a love you can't ignore
a laugh that crawls out from deep within your chest
giggles that shake you, even when you are being scolded by naysayers
a green light even when you try your best to stop

it would taste like being sad instead of mad
but getting over it after watching the stars creep behind the trees
it would taste like the biggest, softest, most loving heart
soft hands, good hugs, and how it feels to watch the fall of autumn leaves

it would taste like cuddles after a car wreck of a day
like hand holding and really good bubble tea
like rain on your face after burning in the sun
like going back to those past locked doors, finally having a key
like a big open ocean
nothing but us
a picnic
you, me, and a water ski

if i were to make this ice cream
"yazzle dazzle"
served with heart waffle cones and available lactose free
it would taste like all things sweet and beautiful
like smiles that reach your eyes
it would taste like a dream
everything that i am, you see
if i were to make this ice cream...
essentially...
it would taste like...
me...
written after trying to beg toa to name an ice cream after me
don't worry toa, i will make one myself!
written during coding, a class i am supposed to be paying attention to
7:00 PM, February 6, 2020
-Y
trcain Dec 2019
Your hands are cream
They rub into me
Filling my skin with content

Your eyes are chocolate
They melt my gaze
My mouth goes dry with want

Your heart is jelly
I wish to take a bite
Would you let me,
even if my teeth leave a mark?
I wrote this in my stage of manic. I wondered about the kind of love that I wish to have, and I reached a conclusion; that I want to leave something behind, so that they won't forget me.
Emily Dec 2019
now I lay my head to sleep
and try to count the sheep
but in my mind I scream and fight
battles and wars keep me occupied
the truth hurts but at least its not a lie
you keep me from being free when you lie to me
you add another chain to the ground and keep me from spreading my wings
you cut my hope into pieces and let it die
you bruise my body and watch me cry
you leave me to die with every lie
why not free me from this world of lies with the truth
why chain me to this prison of dying hope and dying dreams
preventing me from souring free.
Anastasia Sep 2019
walking with you
in the october air
colored leaves
swirling around us
the taste of pumpkin spice
and whipped cream
lingers on your lips
autumn hums
her pretty song
a hand in mine
stepping on leaves
i don't think
i'll ever leave
inspired by this song

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IDcjwrP0HcE&list=PL1pvJnPl5znY5NC9s3Na-zf3-Jkn9BshJ
Jaxey Sep 2019
Tea
You told me a wasn't you cup of tea
So I tried adding some sugar and cream
But by the time I was to your liking

I had gotten cold
Sorry
Antares Aug 2019
milk hair, milk clothes
a world painted in thick hues of the very same cream
the whirr of a printing press on blank paper
The flutters of fragile wings are perhaps all but enough to bring a child to hasty tears.

A mirror bought to
of echoing frailty,
a chord at its highest piercing note.

The crescendo before dusk.

A
pair of hands encased in its own
Who                                                          ­  
polite and light on the tongue,
                                                         ­                   a vain blind
                                                                ­           no less
Barred fingers in cells of clickety clackety letters and fonts of paintbrushes or the odd twitch.
It prays.
                                         Soundless noise.
                                                          ­      not a pin-drop
                                                                ­       not the screeches of bosses

And when the paper is stacked high on coffee refrains and static routine.
It screams.
The mirror.                                      

Cell             blown to bits
Custody               broken

Mirror tattered
refunded at a bitter price.    

Blank as snow and crisp as winter.
Gone like snow the very next morning.
But ever so physically there.
I have no clue
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