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"accessories" poems
finding fake joy in little lies finding fake self worth in some shoes new branded item no one looks up on you for them just wait 'til the mud tear them down tell me who what do you see when you look into the mirror is it someone you like? is it someone you wanted to be? the kid in you says hi to me asking you to grow up so that he can too to face the real world like a real man should armed with ammunition that is real self-confidence stemming firmly on the ground of wisdom not fake accessories and marketing gimmicks clink another glass because that's how you face your problems pout another story for your non-existent friends to tell inflated self image inflated ego who you gonna fool with your little bell
0
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 9:52 PM UTC
Dear Boy,
I thought that I knew you well. I guess not because look at the lies that you tell. I don't know who you are. Heck do you?                                                                               You walk around smiling as if you are so kind an innocent. When you are gushing over with your sneaky ways..and the                           lies. Life would be so much easier if you were honest and upfront.                                                            You say one thing to me and another to them. It all comes back. You pretend to be lost an confused.                                                                                                                     The worst part is that you act as if it's everyone's fault but yours. A man owns up to his words an actions. A man wants to be seen. He doesn't hide behind accessories. Be who you really are. Introduce yourself to the world. Because all they know about you right now..is that you.       are... The Lie.
0
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 8:55 PM UTC
The Lie
Spring memes Cuddle under iced sheets Seduced by frigid lies And a burberry scarf; As snow ploughs rule the runway Glazed rosebuds, Thimbled thorns, Strawberries wrapped in cashmere; And a carrot-nosed character dressed in white, Play the fiddle Naked limbs creep Into the sky, Seeking green accessories For fashion week in June Amidst global miles of warmth Grandfather's  clock Ticks wisely ahead, Hands free of politic; And the memes of Spring delayed Propagate through verse And cliched controversies... Eclipsed by tweets from the Black Sea. ~ P (#TheMemesOfSpringDelayed) (3/7/2014)
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Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
Memes of Spring Delayed
"Men are accessories and not necessities," she proudly remarked with a delicious smug. "Well then," I replied. *"You should strap me on until you've worn me out!"* ;-) ~~~
0
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 1:19 PM UTC
Strap me On!
Earlier today, painting was the activity that we had planned I have a support teacher who would always lend a hand She had left the class to get the paint all mixed While I stayed behind to get the toys and props all fixed She came back and bore bowls of red, white and blue Made me think of...well, made me think of you. Lunchtime I visited a store and neatly displayed on low shelves Arranged so immaculately as if magically done by elves Were cases upon cases stitched together with only zips They almost instantly bent a smile to my lips Their colours shone brilliant red, white and blue Made me think of...well, made me think of you. Passed by a shop selling accessories and apparel Merchandise dangled on wall hooks and some in a jumble On the adjacent wall something caught my eye Carried all the neat little tote bags one could ever buy One peeking from a corner was red, white and blue Made me think of...well, made me think of you. Walked by a building, so modern-looking and new Down on one side almost obscured from view Were these horizontal rows of dancing neon lights Stopped for a minute just to soak in the sights Then I realised that they flickered red, white and blue Made me think of...well, made me think of you. Waited for the bus to get home at my usual bus stop Whilst waiting, I shifted and from my bag something did drop Bent over and picked my coin pouch that had fallen out Looked up only to see another commuter lingering about On his pack was a sticker which boasted red, white and blue Made me think of...well, made me think of you. Bus was packed, found a seat in the back row Sat myself down, I peered briefly out the window Engine under me, I scanned around to those who were seated Observed the floor beneath my shoes as it vibrated My pair of Adidas, oh my, they're red, white and blue Made me think of...well, made me think of you. Got home, put my bag down and sank into the sofa Switched on the telly, on was the Food Network's "Barefoot Contessa" Surfed through the channels, caught a real estate commercial Promoting prime land in a country not anywhere regional Splashed on the screen, a flag - red, white and blue Made me think of...well, made me think of you. End of the day, it is best that I hit the sack Allow some rest for my poor aggravated back But not till I complete the words you're currently reading I'm thinking, dreaming and furiously typing How do I end this? Hmm...red, white and blue? I'm thinking and dreaming...and wishing I'm with you.
0
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 9:08 PM UTC
Red, White & Blue
Earlier today, painting was the activity that we had planned I have a support teacher who would always lend a hand She had left the class to get the paint all mixed While I stayed behind to get the toys and props all fixed She came back and bore bowls of red, white and blue Made me think of...well, made me think of you. Lunchtime I visited a store and neatly displayed on low shelves Arranged so immaculately as if magically done by elves Were cases upon cases stitched together with only zips They almost instantly bent a smile to my lips Their colours shone brilliant red, white and blue Made me think of...well, made me think of you. Passed by a shop selling accessories and apparel Merchandise dangled on wall hooks and some in a jumble On the adjacent wall something caught my eye Carried all the neat little tote bags one could ever buy One peeking from a corner was red, white and blue Made me think of...well, made me think of you. Walked by a building, so modern-looking and new Down on one side almost obscured from view Were these horizontal rows of dancing neon lights Stopped for a minute just to soak in the sights Then I realised that they flickered red, white and blue Made me think of...well, made me think of you. Waited for the bus to get home at my usual bus stop Whilst waiting, I shifted and from my bag something did drop Bent over and picked my coin pouch that had fallen out Looked up only to see another commuter lingering about On his pack was a sticker which boasted red, white and blue Made me think of...well, made me think of you. Bus was packed, found a seat in the back row Sat myself down, I peered briefly out the window Engine under me, I scanned around to those who were seated Observed the floor beneath my shoes as it vibrated My pair of Adidas, oh my, they're red, white and blue Made me think of...well, made me think of you. Got home, put my bag down and sank into the sofa Switched on the telly, on was the Food Network's "Barefoot Contessa" Surfed through the channels, caught a real estate commercial Promoting prime land in a country not anywhere regional Splashed on the screen, a flag - red, white and blue Made me think of...well, made me think of you. End of the day, it is best that I hit the sack Allow some rest for my poor aggravated back But not till I complete the words you're currently reading I'm thinking, dreaming and furiously typing How do I end this? Hmm...red, white and blue? I'm thinking and dreaming...and wishing I'm with you.
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48
Mattel is proud to present their new doll Barbie as a mom Barbie as a mom let kids explore their nurturing side Barbie as a mom comes with exclusive accessories like A child And a bottle to keep them quiet Barbie can now look responsible and put together between her friends Barbie can now proudly show her offspring and receive compliments Enjoy all the perks that Barbie as a pet owner didn't have Barbie as a mom can also wear matching outfits and upload them to Instagram Wouldn't she look so cute? Accessories don't have names Doll cannot stand alone Colors and decorations may vary
0
May 10, 2020
May 10, 2020 at 11:04 PM UTC
Available at your local store
(song lyrics) Verse 1: Now I can’t go fishin’, ‘cuz ya’ sold my rod and reel Can’t go snow-racin’, ‘cuz ya’ sold my snowmobile And I got flaws - that’s for sure - and sometimes run amuck But the final straw that I can’t take: Ya’ sold my pickup truck Chorus: You can burn the house, shoot my dog and stomp my ol’ guitar But when you sold my pickup truck, well, Honey, ya’ went too far Verse 2: I didn’t care when ya’ bought that stuff on TV’s QVC Or ‘cause ya’ always thought of me as your private Money Tree Or catalog-orderin’ ever’thing from within ol’ Sears Roebuck But I’ll be danged if I’ll sit still since ya’ sold my pickup truck! Chorus: You can burn the house, shoot my dog and stomp my ol’ guitar But when you sold my pickup truck, well, Honey, ya’ went too far Verse 3: So I went and saw a gypsy gal, and a curse on you imposed To put sand in your chewin' gum and runners in your ***** hose And all your clothes and accessories to never, ever match And chiggers in your bed sheets - so you’ll always have to scratch! Chorus: You can burn the house, shoot my dog and stomp my ol’ guitar But when you sold my pickup truck, well, Honey, ya’ went too far Verse 4: I seen ya’ last Saturday night at Bubba’s Bar and Grill The image of you in stripes and checks remains within me still And them red chigger welts upon your nose and face Tells me that the gypsy curse is workin’ ever’ place! Chorus: You can burn the house, shoot my dog and stomp my ol’ guitar But when you sold my pickup truck, well, Honey, ya’ went too far
0
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 9:31 AM UTC
My Pickup Truck (lyrics)
(song lyrics) Verse 1: Now I can’t go fishin’, ‘cuz ya’ sold my rod and reel Can’t go snow-racin’, ‘cuz ya’ sold my snowmobile And I got flaws - that’s for sure - and sometimes run amuck But the final straw that I can’t take: Ya’ sold my pickup truck Chorus: You can burn the house, shoot my dog and stomp my ol’ guitar But when you sold my pickup truck, well, Honey, ya’ went too far Verse 2: I didn’t care when ya’ bought that stuff on TV’s QVC Or ‘cause ya’ always thought of me as your private Money Tree Or catalog-orderin’ ever’thing from within ol’ Sears Roebuck But I’ll be danged if I’ll sit still since ya’ sold my pickup truck! Chorus: You can burn the house, shoot my dog and stomp my ol’ guitar But when you sold my pickup truck, well, Honey, ya’ went too far Verse 3: So I went and saw a gypsy gal, and a curse on you imposed To put sand in your chewin' gum and runners in your ***** hose And all your clothes and accessories to never, ever match And chiggers in your bed sheets - so you’ll always have to scratch! Chorus: You can burn the house, shoot my dog and stomp my ol’ guitar But when you sold my pickup truck, well, Honey, ya’ went too far Verse 4: I seen ya’ last Saturday night at Bubba’s Bar and Grill The image of you in stripes and checks remains within me still And them red chigger welts upon your nose and face Tells me that the gypsy curse is workin’ ever’ place! Chorus: You can burn the house, shoot my dog and stomp my ol’ guitar But when you sold my pickup truck, well, Honey, ya’ went too far
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33
Dear Talia, I don't want to be a tortured artist. I don't want to be depressed and I don't want to be anxious. Competitive sadness and disorders treated like accessories disgust me. The world glamorizes mental illness, and I don't understand why. There is nothing romantic about being mentally ill just like how there's nothing glamorous about a broken wrist or a torn medial collateral ligament. There's nothing romantic about constantly being afraid that the world will fold in itself and **** you with it. There's nothing romantic about feeling like you could break down and cry at any moment. This is the first piece I've written while being medicated. I want it to be Christmas already. The world dreams itself a halo, but can only attain horns. The halo is an illusion and the horns are an idea. I'm due to take another Lorazepam. Would I look cool to the kids who idolize dysfunction and misinterpret pain as style, if I were to take one of these, with water and a distant glance, in front of them? Geez, to have their approval would to have everything and nothing at all. I'm not sure why I've written as much about this as I have. You. It is 2:48 am and all I can think about, in this moment, is you. I can't wait to spend Christmas with you. I can't wait to wear bad Christmas sweaters, and be the couple everyone hates, as we sing Christmas carols and spread holiday cheer. I wrote this poem a few minutes ago. Sometime around 2:30 am. I'm not sure. I'm exhausted: I sat on the edge of my bed, and on the edge of my life, medicated to the point of pointlessness. Soft. It was the nineteenth, not the twentieth, and I wished I saw the fireworks with her fifteen days earlier. My gasps tore the shingles off of the house. And they hung suspended above the hole in the roof. And God stared down into my room, as the shingles swirled skyward. "I see you," I said, "but I don't believe in you." I left home and ran until I was a dream that had passed itself. I hope that was okay. I love you. Yours, Joshua Haines
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Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 2:56 AM UTC
July 20, 2014
Dear Talia, I don't want to be a tortured artist. I don't want to be depressed and I don't want to be anxious. Competitive sadness and disorders treated like accessories disgust me. The world glamorizes mental illness, and I don't understand why. There is nothing romantic about being mentally ill just like how there's nothing glamorous about a broken wrist or a torn medial collateral ligament. There's nothing romantic about constantly being afraid that the world will fold in itself and **** you with it. There's nothing romantic about feeling like you could break down and cry at any moment. This is the first piece I've written while being medicated. I want it to be Christmas already. The world dreams itself a halo, but can only attain horns. The halo is an illusion and the horns are an idea. I'm due to take another Lorazepam. Would I look cool to the kids who idolize dysfunction and misinterpret pain as style, if I were to take one of these, with water and a distant glance, in front of them? Geez, to have their approval would to have everything and nothing at all. I'm not sure why I've written as much about this as I have. You. It is 2:48 am and all I can think about, in this moment, is you. I can't wait to spend Christmas with you. I can't wait to wear bad Christmas sweaters, and be the couple everyone hates, as we sing Christmas carols and spread holiday cheer. I wrote this poem a few minutes ago. Sometime around 2:30 am. I'm not sure. I'm exhausted: I sat on the edge of my bed, and on the edge of my life, medicated to the point of pointlessness. Soft. It was the nineteenth, not the twentieth, and I wished I saw the fireworks with her fifteen days earlier. My gasps tore the shingles off of the house. And they hung suspended above the hole in the roof. And God stared down into my room, as the shingles swirled skyward. "I see you," I said, "but I don't believe in you." I left home and ran until I was a dream that had passed itself. I hope that was okay. I love you. Yours, Joshua Haines
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27
'the perfect royalty.' funny. funny how it rhymes with your disloyalty, princess. the world's been wondering where you've been. no, no one knows how hard your life is. how hard it is to lie. no, no one knows how scarred your mind is, or how bent you are to smile. 'the perfect royalty.' funny. hilarious how your title rhymes with your cruelty, acquiesce? the school's been asking questions 'bout where you've been seen. no, no one knows how tough this act is. this character's a show. no, no one's guessed how rough the fact is that your life's not one they know. 'the perfect royalty'. huh. doesn't mean you're perfect too, you're just a novelty, do you attest? the mirror's looking for you 'cause you're hiding from its screen. no, no one understands your worries. no one cares about your strife. no, they want to see new accessories, or else just quit this life. 'the perfect royalty'?
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Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 1:16 PM UTC
'the perfect royalty'.
Dull does not become me, pale, monotonous I laugh at, for they never defined me. A world in black and white would cause me to shrivel up and die for I am as bright as the brightest butterfly. The little girl inside me screams to show off the colors that make a girl girly, a woman a woman. The color pink is my absolute favorite, it brings out the very essence of who I have become. The little girl who loved pink candy cane, pink bubblicious bubble gum which made the biggest pink bubbles no one could miss. Pink skirts, pink shorts, and my dazzling pink sunglasses made me look like a princess from another era. The sheer color of pink, and the flamboyance nature that it adorns with that dazzling ray of different shades. The world would be a simpler place if colors were lighter for it would bring about so much laughter. A night on the town and ready to make a splash is what it's about. How about a blue dress and what accessories could I wear to make me look so debonair? I got it, what goes with blue? Why pink is a good mix. Pink pumps, pink bracelets would catch someone's eye. Definitely not blah looking, more like dazzle, razzle superstar in the making. The trees are green and that's amazing, the clouds are white and that's also amazing. The earth is brown, the sea is blue but without a dash of rose pink, ruby pink, ultra pink and creamy pink tell me where would we be? In a world lacking in fashion, pizazz, creativity, no future insight to vanity. We need flair and dramatics, fashionistas in our market and I propose to get us started. We need to paint the town and make it look oh so **** Pinktastic.
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May 28, 2020
May 28, 2020 at 11:07 AM UTC
A dash of pink
Dull does not become me, pale, monotonous I laugh at, for they never defined me. A world in black and white would cause me to shrivel up and die for I am as bright as the brightest butterfly. The little girl inside me screams to show off the colors that make a girl girly, a woman a woman. The color pink is my absolute favorite, it brings out the very essence of who I have become. The little girl who loved pink candy cane, pink bubblicious bubble gum which made the biggest pink bubbles no one could miss. Pink skirts, pink shorts, and my dazzling pink sunglasses made me look like a princess from another era. The sheer color of pink, and the flamboyance nature that it adorns with that dazzling ray of different shades. The world would be a simpler place if colors were lighter for it would bring about so much laughter. A night on the town and ready to make a splash is what it's about. How about a blue dress and what accessories could I wear to make me look so debonair? I got it, what goes with blue? Why pink is a good mix. Pink pumps, pink bracelets would catch someone's eye. Definitely not blah looking, more like dazzle, razzle superstar in the making. The trees are green and that's amazing, the clouds are white and that's also amazing. The earth is brown, the sea is blue but without a dash of rose pink, ruby pink, ultra pink and creamy pink tell me where would we be? In a world lacking in fashion, pizazz, creativity, no future insight to vanity. We need flair and dramatics, fashionistas in our market and I propose to get us started. We need to paint the town and make it look oh so **** Pinktastic.
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17
As a young girl I was always expected to do as I was told. Don’t be too loud, don’t talk back, don’t appear to be sassy or bold. Mind your manners, hold your tongue, there is no space for being rude. Tone it down, cover it up, we don’t want your black girl attitude. Forced into boxes with no space to move. Restricted and restrained with everything to prove. Constantly combatting the narrative they paint. Making us look like animals while they look like saints. We are said to be angry, bitter and loud. Troublesome, uneducated, following the crowd. Masculine, impute, stubborn and broken. Accessories, trophies that ”one” friend, the token. These strings of disrespect will no longer be allowed. I don’t care if I’m not polished enough, I’m unwilling to be cowed. Take back your subtle hate and blatant prejudices all wrapped up in a bow. Served on a platter with fluffy words of disapproval and the saying “that’s just the way things go”. They say we are stubborn, unmovable and complacent. Well , consider how our feelings are always compartmentalized and latent. Our cries go unheard, our request are unmet. No one to protect us, left on our own to fret. This debt that we carry is too much to bare. It’s just as heavy as the onus that we all have to share. We are ethereal, complex and fed up with your satire. You can have whatever you think of me, I’m done being your Sapphire.
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Nov 10, 2022
Nov 10, 2022 at 2:19 AM UTC
The Plight of A Black Woman: Sapphire
Does it make us Shallow To read Divergent, Hunger Games Or The Mortal Instruments? Does it make us Shallow To listen to the latest pop hits, Whatever's on the radio? Does it make us Shallow To drink Starbucks or Koi, And post pictures of it? Does it make us Shallow To wear dresses, heels And girly accessories? Because I don't think it being shallow means liking popular things.
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Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 5:04 AM UTC
Shallow
I am feeling very small Like I don't need to feel at all But numbness doesn't last Only a step in my emotional fall Give me the luxuries of a queen And shower me with everything I could've wanted And I still will not find my happiness Because everything is as black as coal As cold as a blizzard That leaves 11 inches of snow You can try With material things Buy me diamond necklaces and a ring But it won't mean a thing If you don't treat me as rare as the accessories and jewels Money can't buy me love just materials They have no heart So you ask me if I'm happy I reply with a thank you for all you have given But I've been deprived of love So my final answer is I'd rather have love than diamond rings Because to me love is rarer than the most expensive items you can buy Love is a jewel itself Show me with actions not a stone Because my heart is breaking Due to feeling alone It's only me and loads of cash Wishing I had what I needed the most looking back
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Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 8:10 PM UTC
Diamond in the Rough
I have a body that tells a lifetime of stories. It emotions as accessories. I rise above my circumstances and grows through adversities; understanding my diversities. I don't have soul.. I am a soul.
0
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 3:02 PM UTC
Being
Did you know the East Indian Bottle Masala includes as many as 27 spices, or that an oil-free pickle served at their weddings is actually known as Wedding Pickle? These and many such authentic East Indian masalas and pickles are available at East Indian Cozinha (Portuguese for kitchen), a food store started by Christina Kinny at Kolovery Village in Kalina, Santacruz. "I started East Indian Cozinha with an attempt to preserve and highlight our cuisine and culture," says the 24-year old, who has studied Masters in Social Work and currently, works with an enterprise that helps tribal farmers. What’s in store? Going back 500 years, the East Indian cuisine enjoys influences from Portuguese, British and Maharashtrian fare. The staples include rice, coconut, tamarind, fish and meats, with spices forming an integral part of the cuisine. For instance, Prawn Atola is a dry dish comprising prawns coated only with Vindaloo Masala featuring Kashmiri chilli, cumin and turmeric. "Most people from our community were farmers and would be out on field all day. So, the masalas and lemon would help preserve their food for a longer time," reasons Kinny. At present, the store stocks six varieties of masala in 100g bottles (R150 onwards). These include Khuddi or Bottle Masala, Chinchoni (fish) Masala, Vindaloo Masala, Roast Rub, Kujit Masala and Tem Che Rose. She also offers Wedding Pickle, an oil-free variety prepared with raw papaya, carrots and dry dates. "All the recipes have been passed on from generations and are homemade," she informs. However, making the masalas is no cakewalk. "It takes three days to dry spices under the sun. Then, we hand pound them and pack them tightly in bottles with wider openings," says Kinny. She recalls that in her grandmother’s time, the masalas were tightly stuffed in beer bottles. The bottles were darker, and hence, helped preserve the masala for at least a year, at room temperature. Lugra love East Indian Cozinha also stocks traditional 10-yard saris known as lugras. These are hand embroidered by Kinny’s mother, Carol. Previously made only from cotton with authentic gold borders, now, lugras are embroidered with sequins and threads. "She has been in the garment industry for the last 30 years. She also makes traditional accessories like kapotas (earrings), karis (hair pins), anklets, etc," informs Kinny. read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses
0
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 1:52 AM UTC
Buy East Indian wedding pickle in Kalina
Did you know the East Indian Bottle Masala includes as many as 27 spices, or that an oil-free pickle served at their weddings is actually known as Wedding Pickle? These and many such authentic East Indian masalas and pickles are available at East Indian Cozinha (Portuguese for kitchen), a food store started by Christina Kinny at Kolovery Village in Kalina, Santacruz. "I started East Indian Cozinha with an attempt to preserve and highlight our cuisine and culture," says the 24-year old, who has studied Masters in Social Work and currently, works with an enterprise that helps tribal farmers. What’s in store? Going back 500 years, the East Indian cuisine enjoys influences from Portuguese, British and Maharashtrian fare. The staples include rice, coconut, tamarind, fish and meats, with spices forming an integral part of the cuisine. For instance, Prawn Atola is a dry dish comprising prawns coated only with Vindaloo Masala featuring Kashmiri chilli, cumin and turmeric. "Most people from our community were farmers and would be out on field all day. So, the masalas and lemon would help preserve their food for a longer time," reasons Kinny. At present, the store stocks six varieties of masala in 100g bottles (R150 onwards). These include Khuddi or Bottle Masala, Chinchoni (fish) Masala, Vindaloo Masala, Roast Rub, Kujit Masala and Tem Che Rose. She also offers Wedding Pickle, an oil-free variety prepared with raw papaya, carrots and dry dates. "All the recipes have been passed on from generations and are homemade," she informs. However, making the masalas is no cakewalk. "It takes three days to dry spices under the sun. Then, we hand pound them and pack them tightly in bottles with wider openings," says Kinny. She recalls that in her grandmother’s time, the masalas were tightly stuffed in beer bottles. The bottles were darker, and hence, helped preserve the masala for at least a year, at room temperature. Lugra love East Indian Cozinha also stocks traditional 10-yard saris known as lugras. These are hand embroidered by Kinny’s mother, Carol. Previously made only from cotton with authentic gold borders, now, lugras are embroidered with sequins and threads. "She has been in the garment industry for the last 30 years. She also makes traditional accessories like kapotas (earrings), karis (hair pins), anklets, etc," informs Kinny. read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses
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10
A yo Shawty, You is lookin fine, fine, fine Humph Like a crisp hundred dollar bill on da sidewalk Found between paychecks. Fine. Lookin like that Queen off in my dreams So I be real when I step to you Wussup, whut yo name is, whus yo phone number? A yo Shawty, If I gotta, I’m a steal you from somebody. I mean some ***** gon be ****** Cuz you gon be my special dish Shawty ya look good Got those legs that Mad David Ruffin not too proud to beg. I wann know whut’s behind those eyes that hypnotize. Whut’s in yo head? A yo Shawty, Is you gotta mind to go wit yo Fine, fine, fine, super fine *** I see you got class. Physical beauty surpass Named after a month cuz the thought of you last For mo days than the rains of Noah God couldn’t destroy this place ‘til he made yo face I’m down fo the chase let’s run dis race. A yo Shawty Yeah you Tongue ring and accessories Make me wanna catch yo disease I wanna inhale what you exhale Taste whut you smell My idea of Hell is you not by my side A yo Shawty I shall provide That fire fo you to ride I ain’t givin you no cheese But together we can make Swiss cheese, American and cheddar In memory of you no falsified lines That month befo summer and at de end of spring A yo Shawty Let’s get togever and do da right thing. Like a fat *** Spike Lee Joint Roll up dat bubonic sticky green chronic And let’s pull together Get close like crystal when we toast Every anniversary Cristol in the crystal We boast that I’m yours and you is mine A yo Shawty You lookin Fine, fine, fine. Hmph. Like a crisp hundred dollar bill on da sidewalk Found between paychecks. Fine.
0
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 9:46 AM UTC
A Yo Shawty
A yo Shawty, You is lookin fine, fine, fine Humph Like a crisp hundred dollar bill on da sidewalk Found between paychecks. Fine. Lookin like that Queen off in my dreams So I be real when I step to you Wussup, whut yo name is, whus yo phone number? A yo Shawty, If I gotta, I’m a steal you from somebody. I mean some ***** gon be ****** Cuz you gon be my special dish Shawty ya look good Got those legs that Mad David Ruffin not too proud to beg. I wann know whut’s behind those eyes that hypnotize. Whut’s in yo head? A yo Shawty, Is you gotta mind to go wit yo Fine, fine, fine, super fine *** I see you got class. Physical beauty surpass Named after a month cuz the thought of you last For mo days than the rains of Noah God couldn’t destroy this place ‘til he made yo face I’m down fo the chase let’s run dis race. A yo Shawty Yeah you Tongue ring and accessories Make me wanna catch yo disease I wanna inhale what you exhale Taste whut you smell My idea of Hell is you not by my side A yo Shawty I shall provide That fire fo you to ride I ain’t givin you no cheese But together we can make Swiss cheese, American and cheddar In memory of you no falsified lines That month befo summer and at de end of spring A yo Shawty Let’s get togever and do da right thing. Like a fat *** Spike Lee Joint Roll up dat bubonic sticky green chronic And let’s pull together Get close like crystal when we toast Every anniversary Cristol in the crystal We boast that I’m yours and you is mine A yo Shawty You lookin Fine, fine, fine. Hmph. Like a crisp hundred dollar bill on da sidewalk Found between paychecks. Fine.
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54
seven pages of carefully picked words arranged and placed where they'll get the biggest bang for your buck because you never leave the house without a goal no, I wasn't astounded to find that when you cut away the hair that used to cover your ears you were even more deaf, than before your great you know that charm, it shows a smile and slicked back hair style and you make the rounds safe and sound behind the sunshine image that you've questionably earned but I made sure to go light on the accessories tonight and there is nothing to stop the clairvoyance that fights its way to my mind hidden behind my eyes brown and smiling long exiling thoughts of you being like this but you didnt hear a word i said no point in discussing your retention I'll ask although I already know have you ever not been the center of attention
0
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 11:20 PM UTC
I question your liking for me being shorter than you
Concinnity of rapid motion in balance and proportion, round the ballroom, like the synchronized frequency of vibration in a crystal quartz. Whirling contortion of bodies embraced in movement's revealing intimacy. They are partners. They are dancers. They are lovers wantonly stoking libido's hot glowing embers; promenade affirming keen awareness to the vigors of the steps, footfalls and technique of its pretenders. Gown and tux attired, passionate accessories to the cult; merengue, fox-trot, rhumba, abandonment's fertility rites to gods and goddesses, danced with such elegant result, they are immortalized in time --- divine service to the night.
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Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 7:46 PM UTC
Divine Service
Where dark and devastated loners, Eat black painted noodles. Sorry sad singles, Lonely people! Who dream of dark things, nightshade and purple; Dressed in black, Black nail polish, Black accessories, black shoes. Marking the time, but no looking back; Drowning sorrows, With little green bottles, Never love a tear. Kiss seldom, like a cold rainy holiday, The small girl nowhere views the black dressed drunk in the mirror. Missing love on this blackest of days... © 2014 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
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Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
Black Day (Regional Korea)
How can you not hate me even if you don't know who I am there is a chance that you should since I am male and we've been bred in a way making people say "where the **** are my brother's decency. Because when I speak to them it's idolizing women then damning those girls for having the same ideas as my brothers-- they hurl insults and call them compliments telling girls to be objects treating females as plastic when they are humans made of blood. She is not barbie you do not get to change her clothes and dress her down to make yourself feel more like Ken-- her accessories and personality are not defined by your hands men can not force themselves onto women and tell them they dressed as a sex-doll does. I'll be ****** for your lack of decency, people will treat me as a "man", but in reality-- those are not men they are devils trying to stay hidden in the dark and one day feminism will bring equality for humans, and then we'll have to deal with the devils hiding beneath our skin.
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Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 9:02 AM UTC
Misandry: These are not Men, but Devils
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Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 4:02 AM UTC
Computer accessories
Memories: the back and forth trajectories the internal out-of-sync in-sync directories of treasured moments, of pleasantries and the reviled relived accessories of treachery. My memory is pitted with chasms like Swiss Cheese the phantom dreams of being hit by a car in a winters bite the realities of unconsciousness and brain spasms the fathoms baffles in batches and waves of breaches disfigured features like a frosted window caked in creatures burrowed and riddled like a parasite in the spite of night. By the time id got to hospital id forgotten my own name fortunately I had a gas bill in my pocket which hadn't freed itself while being violently hurled over the red car bonnet and it became the one and only evidence that I even existed even though the A & E nurse insisted and persisted on asking questions: my address, date of birth, blood type, emergency contact - like Id have it tattooed on my body like a scene from Memento amid the voices in crescendo and brain-damage thumping techno. That was a few years ago, or was it, I couldn't be sure now but some days I forget what I did in the morning so I just have to live for the moment somehow the memories like Swiss Cheese constantly morphing to the piped tune of the cerebral banshee buzzing in my left ear like a perpetual honey bee makes me wonder though; I am lactose and diary free - the dominant dietary preponderant some modernistic conglomerate causing ultimate lethargy. Does this mean if recollections are like Swiss Cheese I am intolerant to memories?
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Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
Swiss Cheese
Memories: the back and forth trajectories the internal out-of-sync in-sync directories of treasured moments, of pleasantries and the reviled relived accessories of treachery. My memory is pitted with chasms like Swiss Cheese the phantom dreams of being hit by a car in a winters bite the realities of unconsciousness and brain spasms the fathoms baffles in batches and waves of breaches disfigured features like a frosted window caked in creatures burrowed and riddled like a parasite in the spite of night. By the time id got to hospital id forgotten my own name fortunately I had a gas bill in my pocket which hadn't freed itself while being violently hurled over the red car bonnet and it became the one and only evidence that I even existed even though the A & E nurse insisted and persisted on asking questions: my address, date of birth, blood type, emergency contact - like Id have it tattooed on my body like a scene from Memento amid the voices in crescendo and brain-damage thumping techno. That was a few years ago, or was it, I couldn't be sure now but some days I forget what I did in the morning so I just have to live for the moment somehow the memories like Swiss Cheese constantly morphing to the piped tune of the cerebral banshee buzzing in my left ear like a perpetual honey bee makes me wonder though; I am lactose and diary free - the dominant dietary preponderant some modernistic conglomerate causing ultimate lethargy. Does this mean if recollections are like Swiss Cheese I am intolerant to memories?
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