That pure innocent smile,
Your childish face and that side profile,
Your silky hair and that perfect hairstyle,
Would never forget you.
**** I miss you!

The touch of your smooth skin,
That beautiful little chin,
Your blushy cheeks and that grin,
Still I adore you.
**** I miss you!

Those big dope eyes,
That Stupid nose ,
Those size 7 feet and pinky toes.
Your medications and Ayurvedic dose.
Wish again to feel you.
**** I miss you!

Baby I still remember,
that freezy December,
The day we fell off the scooter,
Your stupid buggy computer.
Our first date and the perfect kiss,
That raining night we spent in balcony
When you burnt the toast and macrony,
That birthday card you made me,
Helping in projects and assignments,
You taking care when I got sick,
I recall all those perfect memories of you,
still there's a place for you,
**** I miss you!

I wish you would have waited,
I would have come back,
But I can't blame you,
It was me who needed the space,
The fault is my OWN!
So I am the one left ALONE! :'(

Stink up the beer house with unadorned putrid self-thoughts.
Poppy-eyed and hating others is easy for blue bottled buggers.
A sweet thing for you!
A growing circle of six-legged empty.

Filled to the brim with puffed up space. A white brim with a shiny red exoskeleton.

Oh, what a dreadful sight!

Hair strewn across a face and hooked into the teeth of the blushy lullabied insect screech.
Clear liquid not blood, but blood all the same on an empty stomach with full vein-shot bones.

Not milky bones with calcium-love..

A dead, deficient, cracked, neglected, insufficient skeletal frame, limp.

Yellowed with hate-smoke and old book notes.
Splintered, crazed and buzzed through the gridded bulging eye-window of every single one of those insect like Self-Loathers.

Chosen out of pure sympathy "We should talk more"
.......To the sun, the moon and the stars?


Every star mocks,

Every beam scoffs

and every moon likes to deride on the pain that hides beneath the lies of human bug eyes.

A simply formed pound of vertebrate flesh leaks soft plasma on the scaly moth floor.

Oh how we are dusty and unsure!

Forestry consisting of a Sitka Spruce and of a Japanese Larch was a claim I made from the start.
Over gardens of attention arachnid lurking selfish bugs and even those half winged "friend people".
The bell has rung the scariest of chimes and with every soul wrenching 'ding' a furry fang digs at the blotchy eyed, softly fleshed girl.


Oh such a sweet thing to be surrounded by selfish bugs who spin webs with tear stained tissues!

tootsie pops, pop rocks, rock candy
sweet tarts, smelly farts, war-heads, sour patch kids
reeses pieces, reeses stix, snickers lickers
fudge pile, chocolate smile, peanut butter bile, sugary style
baby ruths, almond joys, soy bean sauce, creamy steam
ill give u a payday, mayday, hay tastes good with parfai
milkyways stay gay to play games with sunrays
icing splicing with knife dicing
makes cakes, cook steaks, rumcakes
****** sprinkles, rip van winkle, diddily dinkle
gummy worms, germs impregnate firm, permed urns
angel food, carrots, pineapple upsideways
fruits, *****, parachutes, scooters, jello shooters
goobers, corn on the cobbers,
veggie wedgies, pepper leppers, squash boxes,
fry foxes, fleet rocks', carrot tops',
dishes of fishes,
witches brew platypus and fat kush
pushy slushies riding skateboards on gary busy
fussy hussies getting blushy about cussies
cereal made of creoles, bread straight from dreads,
rice is nice with spice, yeast is beast,
last but not least, wheat is a treat,
kiwis, shmiwis, dodos on go phones, starfruits,
bartlejuice, grape drank, sushi stinks.
ill eat anything.

November 5, 2010 at 2:59 am

{Inspired by Dr. Boshra 3agban, Nizzar Qabani}


You're a woman;
created from the Greek myths,
wrapped in the veil of my fantasies,
Reborn from all the phoenix ashes,
You're the history of my life, miss;
it bounds u not..no years no seas,
you grant the moon those glaring flashes,
So I never sleep at nights to see thy gypsy eyes,

It's enough to write your name,
Just to be the perfect poet,
It's enough to be loved by thee,
It is so enough for me,
& I'll be mentioned in the history;
As the man & the angel that met,
At the horizon's end,
On the edge of the dreams,

You're a woman;
Carved by an angel's hands,
& made from the diamonds of verse,
Veiled in the golden cloak of my dreams,
A deity from some mystic lands,
Glowing through my murky universe,
Born from heaven's springs & streams,
Your tidal dormant waves through me they arise,

You're a woman;
Greater than Aphrodite & Athena,
You're the endless music of the lyre of pan,
You're the gauzy clouds that may make spring a winter eve,
Picturing you ..Tottering...is the ****** of me,
Thy swift stalk...gazing at you; forever I span,
arrayed in thy mantle of every hyacinth's leaf,
That sings the odes of love in me heart they incise,

You're a woman;
Caring not for time or years,
Neither aging nor death can touch thee,
You're the eternal rose of all the nerieds,
Knowing not no pains or fears,
Thy treads' rhythm lurks through me,
Your love's a religion, belief & a creed,
& my prayers from now forth art thy drowsy sighs,


It's enough to write your name,
Just to be the perfect poet,
It's enough to be loved by thee,
It is so enough for me,
& I'll be mentioned in the history;
As the man & the angel that met,
At the horizon's end,
On the edge of the dreams,

You're a woman;
Drest in the Elysium stars,
With pinions of an angel of life,
Fretting on waters of rivers of Eden,
Healing my feeble searing scars,
Heaping my ardent fires that thrive,
With dewy kisses That're unforgotten,
I've never lived before...now I realize,

You're a woman;
Of wavy hair & wavy weather,
Of blushy cheeks, like of the primrose,
Nestling these lips gushing with love,
I pledge my heart & soul for a feather,
Of thy wing that flips & shows,
Sublimity with that dimpled smile of a dove,
That holds all the answers & whys...


It's enough to write your name,
Just to be the perfect poet,
It's enough to be loved by thee,
It is so enough for me,
& I'll be mentioned in the history;
As the man & the angel that met,
At the horizon's end,
On the edge of the dreams....

Maybe I'm not sick enough
Of sad, beautiful girls.

They wear misery so well.
Like pouty lips,
And blushy cheeks.
Swollen eyes,
And little mouth noises-
A siren's call.

I'm a ******* ******* at heart.

It's pretty sick
Of her
To humor me like this.
To let me be the joke.

Doesn't she know
That I would sabotage myself
Just to hear her laugh?
Just to feel wanted?
Just to feel worthy?

Just to make my skin feel bearable?

Doesn't she know
She's the movie screen
I project my affections
Onto?

Sniveling silver.

Doesn't she know
She's my one chance
At feeling normal?

At feeling anything at all?

Doesn't she know
I'm tired?

I don't want to wait anymore.

I'm pretty sick
Of myself.
I need her laughter
To drown out the silence.

I'm so uneasy alone.

Their wet eyes are interchangeable.
A series of lips,
Cooling cheeks.
Blue mouths-
And their captivating sounds.
I laugh.

I'm pretty foolish.
She's pretty sick.

It wasn't just the shoe.

I like to think that she wanted to go to the ball because she was tired of being defined by her job scope. I mean what she did was even in her name -- Cinderella from the cinders that smudged her face from cooking all day. Cinderella the maid. Cinderella the cook. So she went to the ball to regain that sense of identity and she was ever grateful to her fairy godma for the dress and glass slippers because the fairy saw that Cinderella was just a girl and girls no matter how tired, like pretty things. And this is also true of boys, but I'm not going there.

And I like to think that when she went to the ball she didn't know it was the Prince but he was hot and the strange blushy reaction she got when she saw him didn't really confuse her because it just reaffirmed that she was human and it was right and natural to feel all these things. And she didn't know what to say when she danced with him, so she offered him a recipe for stew and told him a secret (barley grain made stew taste even better) and the Prince was amused, and they weren't in love with each other. Yet. And when the clock struck midnight and he offered to kiss her, she politely declined because she didn't know him all that well, except that he had been very kind and listened to her. Then she ran off.

And when she went back to her old tired life, she was sad but glad because she knew that she was alive and human after all. Except sometimes she worried about him because he didn't have barley grain in his stew. And the Prince went back to his clean well-ordered life but he thought often of the girl who had been so obviously not been of the nobility. And he might have smiled at the memory of her from time to time when he was alone. Until one day he realised that he was in love with the memory of her and he needed to rectify that. So he brought out the shoe and went searching. And I like to think that the glass slipper was just a metaphor for how fragile appearances can be, that we shouldn't take things at their face value, because when he finally found her, she was covered in muck and grime but he recognised her anyway. And she wasn't proud of her appearance but she wasn't ashamed either because it was only a necessary result of all the work she'd been doing.

And I like to think that the Prince realised how wrong he was to have fallen in love with the memory of her because the real woman was so fully present and alive, incomparable to his flimsy memories.

And she, she was glad because he had recognized her. And that was how they fell in love. Only after all the hard work. Oh there was more hardship later on in their lives, but I like to think that at that re-encounter they fell in love because they knew that neither of them was afraid to work to get what they wanted.

So…***.

I don't have it. People never seem entirely surprised by this, I don't know.
Maybe my tell is my general blushy-ness around any and all cute humans, or maybe it's the way I yelp when they hug me too hard…

But it's not for lack of trying.

You see,
I am an extremely intimate person until my skin gets involved.
Then I'm all turtles' shells and touch-me-nots, shrink away, shrink away, hide, be small, be tame, be timid.
Or else like a wild animal - claws sharp, bite back, all fight and flight and defense.

I don't have *** - *** has me. Caught by the throat, a deer in headlights, no way to get away, stuck.

Stuck in his basement, seven years old.
The magician next door tricked me and changed my meaning of the word magic forever.
Never again would I put my faith in illusions.

But now, there's this girl, and she is so beautiful -
When I look at her, I can't see straight.
But she is no illusion.

She tells me she wants to help me carry my baggage,
But I don't want to tell her my baggage is a body bag
And it's me inside-
Choking for air,
And I wish it was because she takes my breath away, but it's not.

But sometimes, she does take my breath away.
And when she does, I want to tell her
Everything.

I want to tell her that if she holds me
Close enough,
Long enough,
I won't dare shrink away.

I will grow into her until we are bursting together,
Until we are bold,
We are soft,
We are free,
We are
Everything-

I never imagined I could be
with another person.
So close,
together,
We could be more than magic.

Was reading past emails again...
got really blushy and embarrassed
just like the first time I ever read your replies...
I wanna cry now... I miss you so badly.
Not the flirting, not your adventures,
but I miss the way you made me feel:
important.
You made me feel like someone wants me for once,
and sees me the way I see them,
in that wonder, with that intensity.
I hope you're okay, mon cher.
I want to be the one that carry your worries,
to help you through tough times.
Sometimes, it's better to worry about someone else
than yourself.
In fact I prefer it.

Did I say I miss you yet?

Talk of those tales, that race my heart
And thrills my feelings
Those that of, passionate moments
Spent in each others arms
The sunset and the slow sipping of
Our favorite wine
Eyes locked in few instances
That speak of thousand thoughts
The lips genuinely invites a gentle kiss
Over and over
While you keep your gaze fixed on me
Embracing the blushy look on my face
And breaking it into a joke
An unbelievable feeling of closeness erupts
Yet, both content on their motion
Soon, letting the emotions flow
Our lips met each other
A hot vibe ran into my veins
And I was taken deeper into trance
Getting a hold onto, I ****** myself off
Only to find, him drunk drolled on the counter
With my hand in his grip
Whispering...
Thank you, Santa..

©sim

The radio plays,
My mind drifting of the freshly fallen snow,
The snow that surrounds me,

My hands placed upon the wheel of the car,
But I feel somewhere else,
Somewhere far away,
Lost in memory,

I gaze upon your gorgeously sculpted features,
The ones I can visualize so vividly in my dreams,
Your eyes as blue as the painted sky,
Just the perfect shade of ocean water in the moonlight,

The snow fell upon your stunningly dark hair,
Glistening as the light shined on your luscious locks,
Defining your perfect edges,

A small droplet descends from my softly glazed eyes,
As I reach out to touch your fair skin,
but I can only feel what is within,
I can only imagine what could have been,
As I realize I may never feel you again,

I may never hear your adorably loud giggle,
I may never see the way you get all blushy when I smile at you,
The way you walk with confidence,
The way you flip your hair,
The way you...are, were,

It's soul-crushing to acknowledge you aren't here,
To come to terms with that fact,
The fact you are no longer here,

However, I know that I will see you again,
I know I will meet your dazzling eyes soon,
I will feel your presence beside me one day,
But for now,
I must wait and breathe on,
Living one day at a time,
Without your love in my life.

from andalusian mountains, clomp girls in spidery shoes,
green velvet cloaks of winged-fluffy catkins
they all have plum heads, boys' chins

they are sour, studious in their hopscotch, stale of their billowy plaits—

their blushy moon swallows up cyclops eyes, red-centred
with crocodile feet glowing
like sailor stars

As the sun shown its last brightness,
And the sea's sparkles began to fade,
There I saw an angel watching the sunset,
Then she turned as we gazed.

Her eyes shines brighter than stars,
And when the cold breeze blows,
Her long hair brushes her cheeks,
And thus made my heart skipped.

We stared at each other long enough,
To make my cheeks blushy red,
As I clumsily tripped over a rock,
Then I saw her vanished away.

(Guy's P.O.V.)

Rubber band, a ******* smell, I smell your tires in the cold winter, as i ******* to the sounds of a running engine.
My dino-size **** fits right in the gas tank, i pump the gas out while my other ***** stares at the next house neighbor
She's wearing a miniskirt, i always knew she was slutty being all blushy when she looked at the tip of my forehead.
We went skinny dipping once in high school before she turned into a slug ******* succubus, i took my ******* and threw it at her front door.
"Is this for me," She asked, plucking eyebrows intensively.
"No it's not, it's brand new from amazon," I said as i stretched my tongue around her neck, licking every pixel of her sweaty ***.
"But you can come to my tea party," I smiled.
Mother was not pleased with the choice of my beverage so i moved to California where winters were warmer.

for a moment : i could forget the pains and the rushing thoughts: i could just see your colors of Pink, a blushy fleshy pink and all i heard was your voice:
leylines, told and we squirmed and smiled at a new love forming. i say these things to tell you where you could be with me at: i say them suggestingly, i say them with the motive of fantasizing of what We could be. we flirt with the idea of being together in indirect ways: the smiles screaming loudest, the tranquility you give me. like a father, like a lover: and here we thought that it would be somewhere else, or maybe you thought it wouldn't happen, but here you all falling for me. . . and i know that it won't be temporary, but even though I am sick, you can take care . . . i love your voice.

This poem
is about

a rouge
blushy
flushed
sunrise

and lots
of red
lipstick

and no cigarettes left
in the last
cigarette machine

known to

woman


it's six am
and yes

I am wide
awake

whit howland © 2021

running through the streets alone,
in a tight little skirt
hand closely pressed on my shirt
waiting for the fear to be gone.
that striking,
cold
frost of a fear
that plagues me day and night.
"you're too nice."

a smile,
blushy cheeks,
a princess persona
that the world can enjoy
feeding the darkness
behind closed doors.
sure, I am nice
but I'm not naive.

does that scare you?
my undeniable cynicism
my internal critiques
about the world
how it functions
as I lie in bed
tumbling in
fitted sheets?

you want me to be mean?
to find everyone wrong
be stuck up
be a *****
be a trick in the magician's hat
presenting an illusion of a smile
but deep in the inside
a rotten peach pit?

that's not me.
I'm nice,
wouldn't think twice
to protect those I love
and give advice
to those lost souls
without a sense of direction.
but perhaps...
that's a weakness to you
and like all weaknesses
it should be kept secret
lock away the key
because heaven forbid
if your smile
was what I cared to see.

but I'm not naive.
I get mad,
get even
feel the eyes
judging me
and clearly could care less
of the whispers and
stares
unnecessary glares
as I walk on by
with style in my hair.

I'll have the music pulsing through
drowning out the noise
of those that give me grief,
like they dictate who I am to be.
Nice but not naive,
call it an anthem,
a force to be reckoned with.
just as easy as I can smile
giggle,
be all in your face
with sugar and gumdrops
like rainbows and birthday cake,
I make it my mission
to detect traitors
hearing the hissing
of snakes in the midst
and I will refuse
to put up with your ****.

On her diary
He was the knight in armour
Her blushy cheeks as she wrote him
Spoke it all
Ear to ear grin

They never knew on bad days she wrote it on rainy day
Days when, he had a peck with her assy neighbor
He wrote romantic poem on her p😮‍💨
Only diary cried😂