Inside this
depth of the perpetual,
I hold onto the light,
learning that
it is not an illusion
but a constant
            fire within
hard as metal
simultaneously lava soft
no longer boneless,
lumped jelly
              in a flaccid bowl
Instead I am bowled over
with new power,
plugged into
my own electric universe
in rushes of orgasmic voltage
that was always waiting for me
to see it
to allow it inside
the tissues of my body
to flow up and through
intestines, muscle, heart and bone
threads from
                 a glowing orb
that slake
and snake through me
like a river's glory
leaving the spirit on edge for more
and I am ever grateful
to take that light
                  spin it into a gift
                       unwrap it slowly
                            drape it
                              over me like
                                 a flowing,
unstitched garment        
pour its liquid-tipped velvet
onto my follicles, sensitive
tender luminosity
touching all the right places
its silvery essence
flooding me in
drips and slips
healing all the lost
and lonely places,
desolation's imprint
hollows of brimmed-over    
                        despair
I have become
a quivering, stellar bud
bursting forth, each day
                       burning into new
rebirth in quenching torrents
ripe as ovarian silk
soaked in
cellular juice
inner seeds ready to be flung
unto the earth
into the wilderness
into expansion
ready to
bloom
          and bloom
          and bloom
   again

There is
An abundance
Of beautiful people.
We all know this,
We see them everywhere.
You can be one too,
If you are not one already,
Simply by stating something stupid:
"I'm a beautiful person too."

if i was an artist,
i would have painted myself a set of beautiful eyes,
a glowing skin,
hair of a princess,
an hourglass looking body,
a pretty version of me.

if i was an artist,
i would have drawn myself with plumper lips,
a pair of longer legs,
a better version of what i saw in the magazines

but i am not,
so i will just settle with
this

with who i am
instead of who i wanted to be

My eyes always see the floor when I walk by
But my ears can still hear the mocking laughs
Fingers pointing at me
As though knives stabbing me repeatedly
Almost sinister, but my heart's tough
I still look in the mirror that doesn't lie
They have eyes, nose, lips, and everything
And so do I
Now, what's wrong with this face of mine?
The acne, freckles, pores, scars, and whatnot?
People can have it, who says they cannot?
"Too slim, too fat"
I am me, can't society accept that?
I asked the mirror that doesn't lie,
"I'm beautiful, aren't I?"

Introversion gives
inspiration to conjure
pictures from the soul.

I will cum
with your face in the forefront
of my bent up mind
and I will cum
every
damn time
I think of all the
pain
you caused me
but if you ever feel
the need
to reach out to me,
don't.

I might be a
screwed up sexdoll
who numbs her brain
with ashes and orgasms,
but even I deserve justice.

Get the F U C K away from me.