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Jess Carroll Mar 27
Strawberry jam; it's so sweet and crisp
Pour it in the batter; give it a whisk
Now take the pan and pour it in
And let the baking begin!

You wait a while; 15 minutes or so
And take it out; remember how it was batter 15 minutes ago?
Well now it's sweet and hot in the pan,
Thanks to the addition of some strawberry jam!
Wesol Mar 14
Wild Strawberries
Wild Strawberries in your hands,
red like your lipstick
We walk in the trail
we walk and we slip
but we always hold hands
I feel you so warm  when i hold you.

A music live with thousand people in it and
only in you i feel the warmness

In the beginning of the song i touch and caress you shyly
in the same time i am looking at you.
In the mid-song you hold my hand and we are dancing .

We laughing and that s how we stay alive.
Red from the laugh like wild strawberries.
dailythoughts Feb 19
you are made of
strawberries & cigarettes

when the smoke clears
wish you'll still be here sitting pretty

when the senses return
wish you'll still hold my hand

when the eyes are sober
wish you'll still look at me
my favourite taste
Eliana Horning Jun 2020
yeah, the strawberries probably weren’t fresh enough for this.
and yeah, the crust was a little tougher than i meant it to be because i just. kept. kneading it.
can you blame me? i needed it to be uniform. smooth.
and yeah, maybe i used too much flour in the dough. Maybe it was a little too dry and crackly for your taste and maybe mine too.
but you ate it, right?
you ate it even though it was sour and dry and tough.
you ate it even though you would have done it differently.
you ate it even though i know you don’t even like strawberries.
or pie.
lila Dec 2019
I am tired of chasing straw haired boys,
Who smell like earth and stability and everything that should be good for me.

I hurl myself like a meteor at them,
crash headfirst and they insist I am more fire rocket than girl.

He picks a girl who looks like him,
And I insist it is not because I am not straw haired.

But it eats at me, persimmons drip just like strawberries.
Why did you pick me if you could never even love me?
Ksh Nov 2019
I once bought a box of fresh strawberries
from the market
I've hated strawberries all my life,
but not because of how they tasted,
how they smelled,
or how they looked.
To be honest, I've never really eaten
a strawberry before;
but I just knew I'd hate it.
People think that it was just because
I was a picky eater;
that I wasn't up for trying new things.
I hated strawberries because
people thought all girls were supposed
to like them -- their taste, their scent.
All sweet and innocent and pure and nice.
I hated how they expected me to be
confined in a pink, dainty box,
expected me to like or smell like
fresh fruits and honey,
all sugary and giggly.
So I bought a box of fresh strawberries,
put one in my mouth,
and the rest in the bin.
I still hate strawberries,
but for more reasons now.
Madison Greene Nov 2019
I feel most myself when I am loving you
strawberry seeds on the top of your tongue and I’ve never tasted anyone so sweet
we are made of the same skin
and I don’t worry that in another life I may not have found you, for our hiding places are the same
Anastasia Jul 2019
Dancing in the headlights
Fireflies like shadows of stars
Smiles taste like strawberries
Hands hold like they'll never let go
It's about to rain
The skies hot tears
But we don't care
We talk by the river
Our feet dipped in
The moon's reflection shattered
As you push me in
Hold each other in dark
Our favorite song
Hand in hand
All night long
Night poetry. 9:09 p.m.
no truth login Jun 2019
life choices cast in iron skillets,
presented choices that possess no flexibility

twice, she asks me today

morning fruitage, on offer,
peaches ripe to rip real sweet perfection
from your eyes to the remembering salivating mouth,
or
sweet but just **** enough
strawberries that will wince your tongue buds
intolerant of either, but perfect together

acorn squash,
over roasted to be the violin section
to your barbecued chicken orchestra serenading,
but which shall be the sweetener,
honey or maple syrup,
similar but different

the kitchen floor explosive shakes,
pans to the floor fall, eyelet unhooked all,
spices from cabinets burst forth,
kitchen mittens slapping each other
in utter disbelief

when I reply,
let us choose both!

for there is no bifurcation,
no line of demarcation
on our taste buds
this a truthful -
our lives a perpetual blending,
both will login lead to a
the right and proper ending
When I see punnets,
I hope there are strawberries
in heaven.
Remembering my deceased Grandmother, who loved strawberries.
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