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You see the big picture
And you rush in
You paint the road you walk on
You wear Your grin

You observe the blue sky
But the beauties inside
Your heart can love all that you touch
And we love it oh so much
You shrug off the compliments
Your humility shine through
People observe the painting process
Wonder what it’s like
To have talent like you
there are few of us at the beach
some look at the sky and seem happy
others keep evanescent things under their arm
such as the turtle they caught at dawn
but as it gets dark
we become so sad
not even light can get to us
not even the photographer
who keeps ciphering out in a notebook
and moving us around
to make room for
Death in the picture
Luiz 7d
to an imagination
that already holds
a pedestal for you

that pedestal of which
is reserved only
for the likes of your divinity

to be over your gorgeous face
and open womanly hips
gracing perfection
with my flawed eyes

and caressing the inside
of your tearing thighs
with my natural stiff stir

**** it, Girl! You're so Hot!
be real! be mine!
ibkreator Oct 14
as a picture of me in your mind
This poet paints a pristine picture
Using unique written words

A kaleidoscopic kinship with kindness
An avalanche of artistry
Astoundingly absurd

This poet plays a pantomime of pathological perfection
This pristine painted picture was the sum of all her worth
i tried to paint a picture
Chad Young Sep 28
I look at a woman's overall shape, if I look
on the surface at individual parts, I must
focus on that one that gives me the most pleasure.
With unknown women there is spontaneity.
To fall in love, I must recognize her every body
part as consisting of a whole being of beauty.
My hope in a woman keeps me interested in them.
Looking away from her does not reveal herself to me.
Another woman's stare divorces myself with the
previous beauty.  All that is left is my memory of her.
A woman's picture doesn't want ***.
She wants a man to trust, a man to love.
I thought I saw the golden pyramids of Giza
in her breast.
I thought I saw a horse's mane fall from
her head.
I saw bones like foundations of steel and concrete.
I saw a ***** as round as a balloon.
I saw not one piece of flab on her.
I looked at myself and said "How could are
union ever be?"
Maybe if she was Wiccan... maybe if she could
express her power over me...
Maybe if she really only cared about contemplation
of the heart, or the soul... or,  maybe if Jesus liked
interfaith marriages...
Maybe if we spent time together on projects...
Maybe if I wanted to change her beauty.
I wrote a note with your name mentioned
But deleted every word within a second
The feeling is long and drawn out
But it’s nothing aside the bigger picture
And much like a small city on this planet
It’s only feels larger when inside of it
I quite like this one
We are all just specs of color
Painting one big canvas
Portraying a much bigger picture
Sarah Strack Sep 11
Its amazing how we pass time
In our own beings so that
Matters more than the next
And the freckles on our hands
More pull than magnetic
Of planets spinning with hushed
Which may soon gasp the cursed
Of our corrupted souls
we are so caught up in our own lives, we forget the bigger picture
They say its all because I reflect the traits so true,
Little do they know.
It’s a fake picture long back which I drew.
They say I am the same,
I am the same badge holder,
Little do they know.
New expectations are like boulder.
They say I won’t change,
That they can still trust me,
Little do they know.
Its a fake picture, It’s a stuck mask.
Who am I under?
Is still unkown at last!
Little do they know,
Little do they know.
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