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Marina Al Hassan Sep 2020
As lick and
**** the AK
As if it where your
****
I hope you
Come up
And alive ready for my mouth and
*****
Marina Al Hassan Sep 2020
Cuff me to your
Bed
Run your tounge al over
My body
Stop at my *****
Lick around it
And then in it
As you rip my ******* off
Marina Al Hassan Sep 2020
Dear Gaddafi
I was hoping to be
One of your female
Body guards
So I can tease you
With my AK
Against my self
Be your play thing
And by day protect
You my sweet
and before the sun hit my windows,
or before the warmth of its light kiss my cheeks,
i dreamt of you.

it started with a random event, venue and cast,
-people are at our newly renovated house, celebrating;
family, relatives and close relations, and then you came.

you entered the house with such elegance and demeanor which
urged my unconscious self tremble in fluster and unknowingly smile,
how could a person be so beautiful?

and so you sat down on the seat beside me, facing my family;
we moved past the introductions as i frantically searched for your excuse for visiting me -how are you here?
do you have an ongoing project nearby, perhaps?

i kept asking questions, to make up an excuse for your visitation,
but you kept answering 'No," and when i gave up
you completed your answer, "No, I don't know." You smiled.

You smiled as if I know what you meant.
You smiled as if that'll erase the glares of the people around.
You smiled as if we understood each other, so well.

You smiled, and for the first time i saw your vulnerability;
you were shy, flustered and utterly adorable -you didn't even try;
you smiled as if you're helplessly falling in love.

and then i smiled,
as if to answer your proposal,
as if i knew what you meant, and that i say 'yes.'

but as all dreams work,
i woke up.
here's the direct anecdote from my notes:
I dreamt about you. You came to our house, i asked you why -if maybe you have any project nearby. You said no, you said you did not know. And you smiled, you smiled as if i know what you meant, and i did. Out of frantic panic that my family might know, i accidentally pushed the light bulbs off the table. And my mom said it's okay. It's okay as long as i also like you. And then i woke up.
That night, i saw you. In your most vulnerable state. Past your eloquence and your sturdy conviction whenever you're asked something about your profession. You were shy, flustered, and fidgeting your hair. You were so soft, i could almost hug and smother you with soft kisses.
context: he's a licensed professional of the degree i am currently taking; and we met one time during a convention.
Poetry Art Jun 2020
"why are you writing
poems and prose?"
asked a guy out of nowhere
while staring at my pen

"to breathe."
I answered with a smile

for writing lets me indulge
with metaphors and similes

it is my escape
the key toward my fantasies
hey, why do you write?
AditiKo May 2020
Sometimes I take a little stroll
Through the minds and verses
Of others.

Mind strolling through
Vivid colours and memories,
Flowers and fantasies.

I walk across the lines, my feet tapping
To the rhythm and rhyme;
Iambic heart beats with mine

I stop by sometimes, by the meadows
With a ballad, sonnet,
Free verse or couplet.

Just reading through some poems.
Poems bloom as flowers; azure, flushed pink. Watered by the poet's tears.
Fheyra May 2020
Applause to this object
A star to look up,—
But stands lower than a house
Who gathered all the fantasies— of hopeless travellers,— Which seek for devoted fancies.

Sparkling garlands,—
Simply, a life of itch
Flashlights everywhere on the platform,— Inutile to its basis
I memorize the trades of their toasts—
One day, I shall have my own boast.

After wiping spots on gold bars,—
I am still not a debauchee of love;
Even if they buzz,— Beehives— Are not mine to offer,—
But a gourmet to their stomach.

Assets clothing their merchants—
Reserving the furnitures—
To show the best features
For myself, I want a slammed window,—
Not some firm statues
"Galatea, we all desire Galatea!"

How adorable when 'twas knotted,
Lovely, but not loved,
Sheltered, yet not protected;
Paid, but not proclaimed
How many landlords will adapt me?

There is a target—
To a sudden stampede—
Oh, how startling!
Please, capture me
I will submit to your traps!
This bird is willing to be caged— Away!
I may now have my arrows— To run the bay!
Flipped death is my reward..
We do neither want to be objectified nor sold. Everyone is priceless, especially our lives.
arsonpoet Apr 2020
The cool night air, raids my skin,
embraces my breath, and holds on to me,
tighter.
As if whispering in my ear, "I love you."
on midnight over the dark horizon.
I sink the feeling of mud on my feet,
my whiskery feet, ebbed with soil.

I feel naked, not in the sense, I'm bare and without apparel,
but of the feeling,
That this is my true self.
Where my wild fantasies can dance,
to every notion and every chord,
of midnight's music, on fret boards, pumping life.
The fact that I am who I am cusps me harder,
and my fantasies, pull me up,
into the musical, whimsical Arabic night.

I rediscover myself, in shattered trees,
left by the wind,
lightning crackles, dancing with joy, as I dance too.
A dance with the devil, the wind spiraling around me,
My thoughts throttled, pushing boundaries.
And my fantasies, becoming my ecstasies,
as the wind slows down, leaving me in relaxation,
like after a man's ******.
Often we need to get lost in nature, to understand our needs and desires.
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