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Jenny Gordon Mar 17
Ya, finding yourself more ***** than you ever fathomed possible...


So, showr just AFTER midnight, with a sense
Of eerie things as lo, the verse' detail
Which warns, "curse not the king..." nor in betrayl
"...The rich--" ah, whither oh my soul, fr'intents?!
Not e'en " thy bedchamber:..." wherefore hence?
Lo, how "...a bird of [yes!] the air shall [pale
Now, dearest me, as] carry [what?! bewail]
The voice, and that which hath wings tell--" what hence?
"...The matter."  O thy secrets!  Did I stir
Myself to stoop so low, did I?  No.  Do
Not tremble?  How a Blue Jay's call as twere
Wakes me at dawn.  Why did that Scripture cue
Me thus so many hours ago in tour?
I am not guilty, am I?  Or...who knew?

Talking of utter nakedness...
"For the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any twoedged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.  Neither is there any creature that is not manifest in his sight: but all things are ***** and opened unto the eyes of him with whom we have to do."(Heb 4:12-13)
The deer trail is more still than quiet
Scents becoming louder than vision
Eyes close in deep temple breath

There is no more beautiful rain
     than forest mist
Sprigs of fog that are at once
     barely seen barely felt
Bundled moss like hyssop soaked
     in holy
     flicked with urgent intent
     soft wet sprays make clothes
     my nakedness
A baptism that fills my lungs
     with the spirit I belong
> May The Forest be with You.
> As published in Dark Horse Appalachia
> As published in The Indiana Gazette
> Listen to me recite Forest Spirit at
             DarkHorse7 on Bandcamp
Irina BBota Sep 2018
Reach out your hand, take me into your palms
for one second or a minute of the leaking time,
listen to the rhythm of my heart from reckless Brahms
losing me in the labyrinth that touches me with its eye.

Open my heart's buttons to see its full nakedness,
loving me as if tomorrow morning you would lose the bets,
give him a spark, for his passion to reanimate, making us
forget about you, about me, about all our regrets.

Take me into that chamber bathing in the nuances of fire,
take the body that now is incapable of self-control,
let the music in the background comfort my hearing and inspire,
waiting until the ice melts in my heart and my soul.

Love me with a body that no longer thinks of anything new
bearing the mark of an acute and fine sensuality of a dove,
enveloped by the appetizing flavour that worries you
in this ritual of the pantomime from the game of love.

Dare me with your fingers that traces on my shoulders
lines that for a few moments are burning me, consuming me
with the intensity of the eye that fixes me, it marks me,
making me lose the last morsel of my mind, foolishly.

I would not resist your spontaneous urge to touch my bust
with your penetrating glance or emotions, awakening, letting me be,
with a burning temptation that's not extinguishing that crazy ****,
nor under the breath of night that would sneak in unconsciously.
Amber Sep 2017
I am not what you think I am.
Colourful, joyful, laughter and excitement.
I am dull, gloomy, serious and calm.
I do not find joy in loudness but in stillness I do.
I do not find pleasure in pleasing anyone because i cannot even please myself.
I am not picture perfect like you see me on pictures but i am raw, a mastering hideous perfectly formed flaw.
I do not have the perfect smile because real smiles do not exist in my real world.
My body is not what you imagined it to be because it is a skeleton out of it's closet.
I am not free as i may seem because i am trapped.  
I am trapped in the flamerous and distructive thoughts of mine that are beckering at what i have become.
I am so afraid of what i have become, i have become so poisenious to myself.
I have become so out of value , i was once a diamond and now i am gravel.
I am used as a road for growth for some and a road of example of an expired female to the rest.

I am done, i am a dead body with a soul trying to live but soon will be ready to take it's life.
There is really no other way to describe myself other than expired, disasterious and into ashes.
I am trying so hard to cleanse all my past, my wounds , my flaws but the more i cleanse them the bigger they fluster.
Maybe the scars of all the heartbreak i have been through has marked the outside of me.
Im fighting a  war with my inner self and outer self.
What is outside of me is building the monster in me.
The last time i checked what is in the inside brings what is from the outside but in my case it is the total opposite.

I feel like my past is haunting me and i see it in my reflection on the mirror.
Maybe this is a way of God's punishment to me.
For breaking all the laws he breaks my outer self inorder to break my inner self.
Day by day i destroy myself by impeckering at what i only succeed in which is my imperfections.
The burning gaze i receive from the monster that i see infront of my mirror lurching and mocking at my past written all over my imperfect body.
I am haunted, haunted by my thoughts, haunted by my feelings, haunted by my imperfection that is lingered by my haunting past that haunts my future.

Maybe this is what i was born for , i was born to be flawless in imperfection.
Maybe i was born to be seen as glorious but as soon as they get to know me they realise how into ashes i am.
I died, I died the day i lost my morals and i died the day i realised how i will never be good enough.
Not good enough for myself and most definetly not good enough for anyone.

I am alone once again.
I am alone yet i have so many people in my life.
But that's the thing, i have many in my "perfect" life that is a living lie and i have myself and only that in the real world of my nakedness and loneliness.
Maybe this is it, this is the **** that i was warned about when i was once innocent.
I died the day i lost my innocence and i was born again in the life of **** in a cell.
My life is a **** in a cell because i am imprisoned.
My whole body is marked and outlined by my past.
My thoughts of my past mistakes are locked in my brain and not willing to rest until i have no dignity left in me.

See what i mean?
I am not what you think i am.
I am not over my past.
I haven't overcome my flaws.
I have not found my confidence.
And i am not perfect at all and never will be.
But with time I will maybe be what i wish i could be and that is perfect in my eyes, unhaunted by my past and set  free by my thoughts.
I know its too long but jus read maybe you'll find a line that you can relate to.
Amanda Francis Nov 2016
Today, I woke up to a flesh fair.
Dresses are getting shorter, sometimes there just not there.
More cleavage than ideas, more muscles than compassion.
More media coverage of 'age appropriate' than how to feed the world!

Our bodies are beautiful and nature has hardwired us to know this.
But, know that our bodies preceeded our existence, your ***** bone is not taboo!
You ***** your clothes and ***** yourself bare whilst you hide under a 1000 layers.
Let's shift focuss from what was always there!

Nakedness can save us, if only we were willing to face the cold.
Pull on your Wolly jumpers, open your mouth to bare your soul.
Weaver a fabric of intimacy, a patchwork connection of trust and honesty.
Shed all the ugliness of media gorged, superficial controversy.
The Man is lying *****.
This filthy pavement is his abode.
The Man is emaciated and famishing.
And he never begs for alms,
Proud and conceited.
The road is busier than ever.
No one takes interest in him.
No one catches a glimpse at him.
And a few feign not having seen him at all.

The time fleets on, the cars move on,
The Man is lying *****.

At the first blush, far from being a beggar
Is the Man.
He is well-complexioned with big glamorous eyes.
His face is sleek and his hair shines against
The lustrous sunbeams.
His eyes are gleeful, but mournful is his heart.
Penniless though, his craving for gold is sheer.
He ogles at the gold brought by the people around.
But he never begs for alms,
Proud and conceited.
Then someone nears him and asks who he is.
After much vacillation, he dismisses his taciturnity.
“Mankind is my name”, he replies.

The time fleets on, the cars move on,
The Man is lying *****.
Oscar Mann Oct 2015
When autumn comes
Trees become exhibitionists
Shaking off their clothes
Standing proud in the rain
The increasing cold
Matched by an increasing nakedness

While humans plunder wardrobes
Nature strips itself off
Back to the essence
Of what autumn means
That Fall is the fall
Of the empire of pretense

So I cannot pretend
And clutch on summer’s façade
And hide under the foliage
Of warmth and joy
I must let the rain
Wash away my pretense
And I’ll humbly lay myself bare
Amidst nature’s nakedness
Antonio Fonseca Feb 2014
***** eye,
silent sorrounded heart.

what's that sound?
elderly and ancient crown
from a spirit beyond recognition.

a vast dark room
comfortable crouching,
no hope,
no light,
yet he takes a glance into my soul.

***** eye,
he sees through me
directly to my soul
his silence seems to claim;

"poor pretentious soldier",
"come home",
"come home"...
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