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Rain water soaks us
Runny mascara, but you still think I'm beautiful
Lips so soft
Lips so sweet
We're pressed up against each other
Bare chest to bare chest
You on top
Me on bottom
Hips locked in place with the other
Warm soft sweet lips slowly caressing my body, my lips and my neck you **** on
Soft gentle hands caress my ******* thoughtfully
Finally, her lips reach my thighs, I, trembling with lust and fear
I was scared and she knew it
Her hands and lips touched me
*So softly, so gently
My first erotica poem. Hope you like it.
It is not about me though. I'm still a ******. Comment what you think about my poem please?
Thank you.
They were children tasting sugar
For the first time
Without all the artificial layers
The raw sweetness
Making them gasp and shiver
Anticipating for more
Turning them into wild animals
Ravaging its meal
Showing their true identities
Buried in these colors
 Jan 2018 Maine Dela Cruz
l m
Your scars arent beautiful,
theres no beauty in hurting yourself
no beauty in blades
no beauty in throwing up your food
no beauty in mascara running from your eyes at 2 am
no beauty in eyes that are dead
nobody will kiss your scars
i'm sorry for that.
Somewhere near the tree
a decadence of mangled limbs
Watching as the roots undo
Into skeletal remains of growth
Exhaling all that air
Just to crash and burn
A poignant point to state
As this graveyard planet resumes

Waste away all the days
On this rock up in the sky
No resistance can be met
When you're merely here to die
What we call our problems-
Are just self centered complaints
Excuses to find meaning
In this worthless empty place
 Nov 2017 Maine Dela Cruz
Kael
Deep inside the walls are breaking and she is screaming for help.

They say life is all about balance. How she is going to find it if she doesn't know where to find. 
Each day she is losing hope. 

Depression took most of her life and turn it upside down. She was sinking and not even trying to swim, all was dark and she was trap inside. 

To depressed to continue so she gave up.  Sometimes she can laugh all day  play around but at night alone she feels lost inside. 

So God ask her to go on ride just to show her that depression is like the sun, there will be times were is too hot that burns your thoughts, others the clouds hide the sun from shine and warm up your life but even when many things happen the sunset is the proof that every day can end beautifully.


Now she has appreciate small moments of happiness and she knows that every sunset it's opportunity to have a new beginning and a new story.
 Nov 2017 Maine Dela Cruz
Lily X
I wake up aching.
Most days.
My body sore from bruises camouflaged as smiles.
Sore from the elephant that has found its home on my chest.
Aching from my lead-filled heart and my poisoned arteries.
But my body is persistent.
It grips onto life with its bony claws, grasping pathetically at signs of hope.

Just give up already.
For a friend who thought they were alone.
 Nov 2017 Maine Dela Cruz
Jas
How long has it been since you've last gone outside?

Routines are the sedatives of all souls
The wild ones whose dreams bedazzle beyond a pillow
But all infallible ones turn the lights down low,
Lean against the window and count the blows.
The world appears to be wide awake -
It's deathly void of color
The lights from the stereo beacon for party goers in the making;

There's something to be said about life from the second floor.
I can't put my finger on it
'Cause you and your vision never make it to the other side of the window
But I don't want to keep stride through clouds of smoke.
When I succumbed to rest, the leaves were green.
As I rose, the branches were bare and accusing.
I can't think of you.

******* it. I'm doing it again.

Hair tinted gold when the sun would shine just right.

I see your face when Valerie plays over dull speakers in my Mother's old Toyota.

Eyes rimmed black.

Hazel and warm like pumpkin spice.

Body spray and French manicures.

Walking through rough alleyways in the dark. Back to college, back on campus. I'll never forget that night.

You've forgotten that night. It wasn't special for you.

Half a decade ago.

Unrequited girl crush.

I know, I know we were friends.

For one semester. Six months.

You were my first, Valerie.

The first person to make me question.

To make me wonder.

To make me fear.

To make me choke.
We lost contact after college graduation. I couldn't be happier.
It's going to take a miracle for me to feel again.

I don't get these people. These funny, funny beings.

Oh, I'm seeing things again.

Psychosis. Crazy. Eyes staring down from treetops.

Alien hands reaching out for you, for me, through the stark darkness of my childhood room.

Lights blind me: florescent and scorching hot-white.

He's always in my dreams. Watching me, somewhere. I search for him but he doesn't exist.

I know that.

I know that the trees don't have eyes and nothing wants to touch me.

Nobody ever wants to touch me.

Maybe it's better this way.

It's better to not be touched, or looked at.

Only imagined glances, passes, fancies.

He's right there, in my dreams again. I'm searching for him again. Imaginary love is as good as it gets.

It'll take a miracle for me to get used to the fact that I'm here to work, eat, sleep and die. Sacrifice.

At 25 I've grown old and fixed on an idea of perfection.

A perception that I can't feel breathing beneath my fingertips.

He isn't real.

This world is real.

I sure as hell wish I wasn't real, too.
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