Sometimes, I prefer to dwell my own Fantasy World.
My attempts to Save the World aren't always appreciated,
But it's hard for me to resist a Woman's Beauty.
Dwelling on  Fantasies does not address the World's problems.
But it is a way of Praising God.

I get distracted by little things
It looks like I’m hunting love
I know I want Love
But then I get distracted by simple momentary things
I know who I am supposed to ask out on a date
But, seems easier to ask someone else
Because I’m too scared to fall for that person
And get “we’re just friends” as a response.
“Hey I love you why you telling me your dramas about the guys you like but end up lying and hurting you?”
I think
But I never say
I just listen
“Don’t be fooled” I say
“I won’t” she says
Weeks later she telling me the same old stories
“Try me”
I think
But I never say
“What if she is telling me to ask her to be mine? What is she thinking?”
I think to myself
Gosh, I wish I wasn’t too scared to lose you as a friend
I wish you knew I mean it when I say I missed you every time I see you after two, four or eight months
I wish you were mine
Just mine
I fantasize about the things we could be doing if we were together
Then I remember what we had
Were we too fast?
Was it a perfect thing on a bad time?
I don’t know, but
I loved every little moment
I told her she’s one of the best things that ever happened in my life
I meant it
When did we fuck this up?
When did we become just friends?
Am I in love?
How can I win her back?

(to be continued)

Acacia Mar 27

nude and on my back,
hair sprawled out against the pillow.
you make me float
and you stroke me in the middle.
we drift deeper as you hold me close.
we change positions, a new position,
and you work it for me.
you get me where i'm going and
you take me to a new realm.
lets coast and slow down,
but now put yourself in overdrive.
my hands are between my thighs
and you kiss down and around my navel
and the lights from the outside world
highlight you
and you're beautiful in the dark.
use yourself like you've never used yourself before.
and until we reach shore,
explore my body and i will
explore yours like a sailor
exploring the seven seas.

inspired by rock the boat by aaliyah

They're just words, I told her
Now, I'm not sure that's so
Not making things harder
I just wanted her to know
Pouring from my heart
Tied to my spirit, soul
Yes, it's just a quiet start
Maintaining small controls
Restraint, not my virtue
I act out my fantasies
All of what, I'm unable to subdue
Profuse with, rhyming analogies
as my feelings, coming through
a victim of my own, a wordy casualty

Words, mere, that's not right
Dovey Mar 6

There’s something ‘bout his rhyming
Sending me head over heels with his writing

Oh, his poetry! A beautifully
Thought out  rhyme scheme…
And when I read
About all the things
He crafts within his head
I can’t help but think
This is the way the world outta be

I’m enamored with a bit of paper
with a bit of ink
I’m enamored with somone’s words
With the way they think

But my heart doesn’t skip a beat
when I meet him face to face
And I can’t help but wonder why it’s not the same

It’s strange! I’m not blushing
But my face starts flushing
when I think about the things I’ve read

An overly refined tongue
Is causing me to be undone
Or maybe it’s just this image I have of him in my head

Oh, all these fantasies! I’m practically
Falling for him already!
Ah, it’s delusional.. but oh his words are so beautiful

Well, it’s like I said
I’ve got these ideas in my head
That get me practically red
I know he’s writing for the world…
But I wish it were me instead

Ha. ^^ This isn't actually true. Guess this is what happens when I write poetry half-asleep, huh? ...All though I suppose it is true that I tend to become infatuated with people easily.
Sienna Luna Jan 20

Loads of bubble wrap piled behind

and it crackles like how a stomach

gets twisted on itself after

eons of sleep

decoding it's diaphragm to follow

the blips and beeps and bleeps

encrusted on trusting

a tight gut reaction to

wanting to touch


But waiting is so difficult.

Loads of suds creep up

forming in cysts or scabs

upon stomach encasings

all slimy and orange inside

with a stretchy cover all

deep royal purple with

dark pink veins coursing

through it encoding the

rapture of film recording while

the lining inside gets all clammy

with arousal secretly clenching

this yearning and aching just

wanting to touch


But waiting is so difficult.

It's a difficult, messy procedure that leaves the body exposed if it comes in contact to actual skin and flush and heat and mucus but

it is a necessary step to

colloquial banter within

the clustering of organs all

internally arguing while the

overwhelmed brain tries to keep order and the genitalia hums

all quiet in the corner

because she knows she runs

the show.

And it's funny because the brain knows he'll have to give in to

the actual world of living folks

and climb out of his bundled

fabulous fantasies in order to

make reality plausible.

And in wanting you

and in waiting

I've found myself in visceral shock

to the point where I panic and

all that's jumbled up and bound inside me seems to clench tighter.

And I fear that in waiting for your mutual touch

and I fear that in wanting to be with you so much

I'll collapse under the weight

and never get up.

Loads of words hide beneath me

resting in tubes that resemble

the small intestines in looping

nests of unbridled questions.

Will it be enough to see you

and not touch you?

Will it be enough to talk

with you and not kiss you?

Will it be enough to be chaste

and respectful when all my brain needs to do is test you?

When all my brain wants to do

is clobber you whole, chew, then swallow, spitting out bones?

Graff1980 Nov 2016

I used to long for
metal doors
that melted
pool like portals
to other worlds.

Places where monsters
roamed distorted landscapes,
where skies rained
drops of purple
forming portal puddles
that would take me
to places even farther
from my messed up family.

I dreamed of
adventures tempered by pain
cause I felt there must be
a balance to pay in my fantasies.

Scars for freedom,
bruises equaling
the level of love I deserved,
the level that would earn my
warrior princess’s affection.

Through proof of
unfair punishment
while wielding healing hands
I would help
other victims like myself.
Earning a redemption
that was never necessary.

How strange that even in
my fairytale dreams
I treated myself as unfairly
as the daytime beast
that left red marks on me.

But now that I have found peace
I no longer dream of
a troubled love like that.
I no longer feel I need to earn back
that dignity and tranquility
that was so brutally
stolen from this mother’s son.

They show you
What they want you to see.
They tell you what they want you to hear.
They do whatever they need to do
To remain in control.

Graham Oct 2016

You have no idea how i smile when i think of you
Just to have you picture perfect in my head
Gives me the blush
To place my hands on your cheeks & give you the fairytale kiss..
Happiest day of my life.
A tap on my leg
I find myself hugging my pillow
I had fantasized bout u before going to bed
It was all a dream..
All day, all night
I have you picture perfect in my head
No filter, just you
Smiling at the beauty that caught my attention..
To place my hands on ur face, kissing ur forehead,
Knowing quite well you're mine & am yours
It was all a dream
A sweet dream indeed
All day All night
I have you picture perfect in my head.

Tamara Fraser Oct 2016

Tensions high,
like broken kite strings,
reaching further away,
escaping the empty earth
in your arms.

Creeping chatter,
pouring inky letters,
in runny messes
all over my hands,
feeling bruised by you;
the sting, the slap
as leaking words
drip drip drip
from your mouth,
the broken tap.

I’m tired.
I’m so tired of hearing
whispered yearnings
scratching the back of your throat.
Desperation, loneliness?
You beg with the croon in your tone,
you play along like the gentle little
a songful, humming love,
all warm in cupped hands.

In all this time,
this achingly long time
I’ve played as your neat little trick;
the showman’s trusty pet,
small dove flying
as soon and only when you release me.
String caught up around my waist,
I’ll never fly too far.

As I walked away,
that night with the moon trailing my form,
and pooling in pillows cradled in my soft footsteps,
you watched my back
stretch lean and tall and
away from you.
You looked back,
it was the moon shifting through my hair,
when I turned to notice
a head shake,
a blink in the empty settling air you left behind.

you leak all those notions I wished you
would one day say,
those heart-melting flatteries,
desirable admissions,
I’m the only one you want,
to keep you satisfied,
keep you going and touching and loving
and exploring and breaking,
until your other girl comes home.
You ask and plead and return,
lapping and licking in my arms,
wanting my form so bad again;
you cry for all the fun in the world,
but this time, it just can’t.

You’re just my broken tap.
You’d need to stop dripping dirty water one day.
You’d need to stop echoing around me at night,
cradling myself to keep my strength enough
to say no to what I wanted and got for so long.

But you’re just my delicate and lovely broken tap.
I’ll always love you somehow, and feel so dangerous,
intoxicating and breathtaking
as you made me so.
You showed me so.
But I can’t wait for you to cease on your own.
Pull me round with you, wait for you,
tossed like an empty drink because of you.

I just need to let you
let me go.
Like I cried to let you go first.

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