I don't think I'm going to be uploading anymore poetry for a while, a long while, possibly forever..
it just seems like whenever I try and write a poem now, I always seem to keep in mind weather the people who read it will like it, or if it will make sense to others, and though those things are important for when I'm older and trying to publish a book of poems, right now I just feel like writing poetry for anyone other than myself. To me, poetry is a way of understanding how I see things, how I feel about things, and how I'm going to deal with things, its very personal, and lately, i haven't been writing with myself in mind, so I just want to take time away and write for myself only. yeah.. not that I think i'll be missed or anything, but you can still message me or whatever, bc I'll still be on the site reading all of your poetry c: okay toodles.

Its the perfect costume for a superhero goddess, and it makes her feel invincible; fishnet stockings, blazing red bra, heroine hotpants and the clincher; kitten heels.

Bunny can take on the world, now, appropriately dressed. She's got superpowers, alright, the doom-dogs seem to think so, and they're running scared.

Those rumours, that they trade and use and barter, of baby bunny's beautiful mouth, sloe doe eyes, and inexhaustible tongue. It's been said that she can bring an evil tyrant to his knees as she sinks down to her own, it's been said, she's good and bad, so very bad, so very, very good...

But, listen!

*** bunny's been given a new mission; There's a new and timely terror, and the doom-dogs are, of course, the evil source; find and *******, *** bunny, the formidable phallus of doom.

Only you, ***** tawny Queen of Dawn are up to the task. Don your whiskered mask, wriggle your nose once, twice, yummy bunny, and fly, fly! Find the phallus, save the world.

It's your destiny.
You were born to blow the horn for cosmic ****.

Seventy million light years away, my eyes fly

see two spiral galaxies collide and get distorted

taking eyes off from the telescope, I turn to  your face

where the impact of the collision is on graphic display,

in many colors of fury of a love gone sour, for no reason

we still are seventy million light years apart, my smile

a dove orchid, withers in this shower of inter galactic dust.

be quiet and still
small and silent
and you will see
wonderous things

these were the sage
words of my grandfather

once a month,
we would go to
a grove in the woods
and learnt the art
of  patient watching....

i remember the first time
i saw an echidna rustle by
and the slow movement
of a blue toungue lizard
moving with the sun...

rabbits and foxes
wallabies, a koala
backing down a tree

but the day that still
delights, is the day
as we sat still and quiet
butterfly's alighted
by the hundreds to
become a carpet
of pure flickering enchantment

and i knew this was life....
at it's finest....and most wonderous.....