"breakable" poems
some nights you will feel
like there are a thousand galaxies
exploding in every inch of you
and you are burning too bright
to ever be looked at directly,
and some nights you will feel
impossibly small, like your
whole body could slip through
the spaced between atoms and
never reappear in this world again,
and some nights you will feel
like a paper doll, carefully crafted
and easily blown away, fragile,
too delicate to ever be touched,
and some nights you will feel
like each cell in your body is
made of the strength that holds
the whole planet together,
and that is okay because you are
made of stardust and miniscule
atoms and breakable bones
and the building blocks of
everything in the universe,
and you are too alive to never
feel anything more than human
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
two fragile hearts made up of glass
everyone could see right through them both
only they themselves couldn't see the reality
both fell for each other
and whatever falls
will end up breaking
now those two once-glass hearts
shattered into a million emotional pieces
now those two once-glass hearts
will never find their missing parts
now those two once-glass hearts
have turned into nothing
but back into crushed sand
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 1:51 PM UTC
It was the twilight of the iguana.
From the rainbow-arch of the battlements,
his long tongue like a lance
sank down in the green leaves,
and a swarm of ants, monks with feet chanting,
crawled off into the jungle,
the guanaco, thin as oxygen
in the wide peaks of cloud,
went along, wearing his shoes of gold,
while the llama opened his honest eyes
on the breakable neatness
of a world full of dew.
The monkeys braided a ******
thread that went on and on
along the shores of dawn,
demolishing walls of pollen
and startling the butterflies of Muzo
into flying violets.
It was the night of the alligators,
the pure night, crawling
with snouts emrging from ooze,
and out the sleepy marshes
the confused noise of scaly plates
returned to the ground where they began.
The jaguar brushed the leaves
with a luminous absence,
the puma runs through the branches
like a forest fire,
while the jungle's drunken eyes
burn from inside him.
The badgers scratch the river's
feet, scenting the nest
whost throbbing delicacy
they attack with red teeth.
And deep in the huge waters
the enormous anaconda lies
like the circle around the earth,
covered with ceremonies of mud,
devouring, religious.
18k
"There are no words to describe how I feel."
That is one of the most common phrases ever used.
But it is true and so is "I love you."
From the day I first talked to you I knew there was something.
The first time I video chatted with you I had a certain kind of feeling.
Something that I never felt before.
Everyone always says they know what love is but you never really know until you have met the one.
I fell for you the first time we talked.
I started falling in love at first video chat.
I fell in love with you before I knew what was going on.
You had my heart on an Un-breakable chain that was tied to yours.
The day I met you in person the butterflies could have carried me away.
I carried the biggest smile on my face with nerves hidden behind it.
My nerves where sky high. You where perfect. You were hot! You were smart. You were funny. You made me smile.
We were in love!
When you asked me to be your wife I started to cry. Happy tears. Our life together was just beginning.
We were in love and everyone knew it!
I wake up in the morning with a huge smile. The butterflies still lifting me up. You are perfect. You are hot smart kind and funny. You are laying next to me! I hold you close. I am never letting you go.
I love you.
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 2:56 AM UTC
I like to think that I'm a mixture of a sunflower, a lioness, and a tortoise.
why?
simply because a sunflower is
exuberant,
vibrant in color,
flows softly and carelessly with the wind,
plain and simple,
Intriguing to say the lease.
why a lioness?
because she is Queen of the Sahara desert.
she is loyal,
she is independent and does not fully need to depend on a male,
though when given the right one, she'll go through many lengths to accommodate him.
she is also full in color, plastered with battle scars to prove that she is of worth
and can handle the meat thrown at her
with nothing but scavengers surrounding her,
tempting her.
why a tortoise?
because they are slow and steady,
live on land with feet as claws, being able to dig into troubles and come out more wise than before.
Also they can retrieve back into their cave for as long and as endless as they want,
solitude is acceptable and perfered.
one is noticeable yet, easily breakable and disposable.
one is lazy, yet keen
one is small, yet can take on the world for three hundred and thirty years.
I'll be forever, and memorable, and radiant.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 5:22 AM UTC
forgive me my darling
hollow beauty
but seeing you so gaunt
with
sunken dark eyes
and skin like gray soap
makes me feel
your easily breakable
already so close to death
my **** could crack your pelvis
and bird delicate ribs
inspired skeleton dancing
your body exclaims to all
a sensual exhibition
of slow suicide
my bloodless blossom
brave breatharian
your favorite math
subtraction
by multiplied
delicious starvations
you may need a strong man
deaths final instrument
who will love you
with tender crushes
darkly ******
come naked
spread wide my lovely grotesque
nestle in my arms
coffins embrace
to be bruised
while tremulously kissed
i will turn you to crumbles and powder
to finish sweetly
what you have started so long ago
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 12:41 PM UTC
glass
breakable
fragile
you can't fix me
once i am broken
so take good care of me
i
am
a
glass
bird
i
am
breakable
i
am
fragile
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 8:14 AM UTC
Raindrop oh raindrop
I like every drop
But there was a girl that's been trapped
Inside a small but breakable raindrop
It is no ordinary raindrop
It is like a crystal
It's very fragile
Raindrops were like her teardrops
Slowly streams down her face
Tears that would like to race
No one will took a interest
To a simple raindrop
When will this storm stop?
Raindrops keep falling on the ground
But how about the fragile one?
Would it break to pieces?
How the girl wish she would be catch by someone
It's hard to fall wihout being catched by anyone
You'll be the broken one
Raindrop oh raindrop
Keep falling
Still flowing
Then now I am slowly breaking
Iniside this raindrop
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 8:11 PM UTC
Sits Quiet On A Shelf.
So Fragile And Breakable.
Wishing To Stand and move.
Takes a Risk.
Standing and moving.
No More Red Lips And Rosy Cheeks.
No More More Fear.
No More Silent China Doll.
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 3:12 PM UTC
My kryptonite?
That's a good question. I'm no superhero, no, my limbs too fragile for any crime fighting, any dark lighting of the night, I can't be a Batgirl.
But everyone still has a kryptonite.
I jokingly tell people ice cream, or inappropriate musicals, or turtles, or writing. Writing is a good one. I will do a lot for the sake of the written word.
But that's not what truly gets to me, what breaks me down every time.
Change and love.
Changing love.
It begins as perfection, as bliss on a stick, like a Firecracker Popsicle, delicious until you get to the part you don't like, or, when you get to the end. All you have left is this disgusting flavor in your mouth or the taste of bark, and neither is pleasant.
Everything ends.
That's what kills me. That is my kryptonite. Endings.
In so many facets, this thing kills me. They are my favorite part of every story, but my least favorite part of my life. They are what I spend the most time constructing in a paper, but they are the thing I avoid the most in reality.
I have been taught, in my life, that everyone will leave. There's abandonment sewn into my heart that I'm not sure can ever be erased because, unfortunately for me, its always been true. Almost everyone has left me, and I can't help but assume the rest will leave too, until I am alone.
That's what I love about writing. When you write, there's characters, a new world, a new life. You're never alone, and you're never yourself. When you despise who you are so much, its a dream to try on a different coat and live another life, even if its for only a few minutes.
Another flaw of mine; getting off track. We began on kryptonite, and then I turned it into a tale about the wonders of writing. Typical Grace, distracted about words. Words, words, words, but are they real?
They're real to me, so I guess that's all that matters.
I guess it all circles back to my original kryptonite. Love.
I love too much and get hurt too easily. Its the struggle of my disorder and the folly of my far too large heart, far too large for my little body. Sometimes I wonder if my entire body is one larger, misshapen heart ***** I fully realize the heart is not where emotion comes from, but I'm certainly not all brain. Heart is the only ***** that makes sense. so strong, so vital, but so breakable.
Maybe that's why they call it falling in love, because even Superman can't fly away from it.
Its kryptonite.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
We the citizens, who live as refugees,
We keep earning & see if our life is turning,
To the price rise, we lose savings,
Still we remain rock-bottom in standard of living.
We belong to the middle class,
Whose life always a breakable thin glass.
Our life remains completely unsettle,
Every second, life tests our mettle.
Life chases us with pressure, failure and useless lecture,
We are nurtured with a fear of future,
Happiness remains just a leisure,
Live with the unsecure & unsure present for a secure future.
We keep us busy and function,
We fear, when there arrives a function,
Towards happiness, we run as a pilgrim,
For the corporates, we become a mere victim.
We run like an athlete for salary, food and target,
For this globalized world, we are just a market,
Like hungry dogs, we wait for increments,
We keep running with bitter disappointments.
We live in own house, only in our dreams,
Our hearts cry with hopeless screams,
Failures remain our tutors,
Inability has turned us the irrecoverable debtors.
Our appearance has a rich look,
We have untold hidden burdens,
That keep us shook,
Keeps us forbidden and fear-ridden.
Low class think us rich,
High class always want us to be their *****
Politically neglected by the rulers,
Economically exploited by the rich powers.
We exhaust ourself for subsistence,
We remain victorious and satisfied only in our existence,
We lose our life to sustain in competence,
We run our life with a mere persistence.
More than the high class and low class, we suffer,
Our lives never progressed as governments differ,
All see low class with empathy and sympathy,
To our difficulties, we are looked with apathy.
On rich, we are not jealous,
Towards our aim, we are zealous.
Never think we are nothing,
We truly have nothing to lose.
We take risks to make history,
Our path is nothing less than a mystery,
You never allow us to come up,
But we are not going to give up.
Hello High class,
Never pretend to live like us, to exploit us,
Gone are the days, we remained fools,
You will stand a day as the super intelligent fools.
Before, we are hungry for food,
Now, we are hungry to rule,
Before, we feared to live,
Now, we are ready to win the world.
We are nothing! We are nothing
We have nothing to lose!
We won’t stop until having nothing could do nothing to us.
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 7:35 AM UTC
what sound do you make
when your bones hit the floor?
heavy like the noise
of a slamming door.
light as a bird, bones do sound
soft as whispered words.
when they are ripped
from your body, a little,
you’ll look pretty and brittle
and breakable; little china doll,
I advise you not to fall.
tapping on bones, like sticks,
little drummer boys
make a war cry noise.
the battlefield is invisible
until it’s not, and your skin prickles.
fingers, bony spiders, crawl
hurting, tearing it all.
barren like a desert
the bones do seem
bleached and white,
like a mother that weeps.
gravestone bones like little dancers.
strong as milk, shatter army advances
in you; they sabotage you,
then they try to break through
and crack and bend.
they’ll be out!
they’ll be much better then-
but your body, made of jelly
misses the commensalism.
bones, they create a schism
between mind and body.
they’re ever so naughty.
May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 2:03 PM UTC
the initial impact
the ruptured vessels
crying crimson
pooling up underneath the surface of your
fragile flesh
soft, breakable unlike the iron
that flows through you
then a swell
of black and blue
of violent violets
a nebula to remind you that you
are not invincible
are not invulnerable
will one day turn to dust,
a star of lost oxygen
tender to the touch
then the healing
a green gradation
yellowed edges
the swelling going down
the knowledge that nothing is permanent
that even your bruises pale
even your blood decays
even the galaxy imprinted on your skin can explode, collapse,
lost infinitely in infinity
the knowledge that even as you are getting better,
you are fading like the bruise
that once stained your skin
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 10:47 PM UTC
i write about you
but you do not exist
or maybe you do;
maybe you do and i'm just talking to myself
maybe you're just another part of me that i hate so much
i have to talk to you,
i have to
punish you
because i know i shouldn't like the way it feels-
and i don't; but i keep coming back for more anyway
i amend: i know i shouldn't be addicted to this hatred
you tear me open and pull at my frayed edges
so that i split apart and lose my functionality - and i let you
then i let you thread me back together once more
you build my body with thicker wool each time, hoping that
one day
i'll be warmer, and harder to unravel
and you sew my edges with fragile promises of a better future
as breakable as the metal pin that bends between your crafty fingers
the materials started off so colourful at first, like rainbows
maybe that's why i'm so queer
though over time you started toning down my personality.
as my depression embroidered me, my sexuality dulled
purple and black and white and grey
you manipulate my patterns.
some nights i sleep through, others i don't sleep at all
and some nights my strings are stretched so taut across the nightmares
that one small pull will undo me
i am ripped apart then made into patchwork;
there are white seams over my arms
you call me a work in progress, damaged goods
to be fixed, to be mended:
you can't afford replacements
that doesn't stop you from looking
wishing you could upgrade me into something more,
something better
and every time i fall apart again
i'm left itching with apologies
but never to you; i never say sorry for hurting you
my only regrets are to those who become collateral damage.
i do not apologise to you
because you are me, and i am you
you are a part of me
and i hate you as much as i hate myself.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 3:39 PM UTC
Dress me in lace,
color me porcelain,
drench me in white cloud and blue sky and dandelions.
Touch me yellow,
Tell me you’re swallowing sunshine, tell me again
how I am the floating door and you are the ocean.
Even if we do let go,
our love doesn’t need dressing up.
It doesn’t even need poems.
It doesn’t need glitter and flash and spark pop sizzle
but we still like those things, regardless.
Our love is the crooks of elbows.
Our love is 250 miles apart, is so close to the sea, is
a word that doesn’t feel big enough.
Our love is floral, is big black boots, is seashells and lime-green goggles.
Swallow me whole,
shower me love,
our bodies may be brittle but we can still breathe,
can still sing,
can still dance in the kitchen,
can still have chocolate-chip-pancakes-lots-of-smiles-kinda mornings.
I am forever regretful that our brains have been unforgiving,
but I’ll try to never let go
and I’ll always know, your collarbone dip and soft hip and laughter laughter laughter
are the best things I’ve found in a while.
So dress me in lace,
color me porcelain,
cover me doily and southern sky and make me breakable.
I will be breakable for you.
I will be antique-shop yellowing whale bone corsets, I will be glass on the floor, I will be the floating door.
And I’ll try
to never let go.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 2:23 AM UTC
when you fall in love with an angel, you must understand that there are things you will never understand.
- when you first go to run your hands through her hair, her halo will slice your palm. and it will hurt like hell. she will mend it with the touch of one golden finger, and leave so abruptly that she is gone almost before you even blink. the thing you will see is her at the doorway. terrified eyes, blood stained hair.
(later, she will tell you that she never realized how breakable humans could be. when she explains what it takes to make an angel bleed, you begin to understand )
- ask her about the sky, about stars and suns and galaxies light years away. ask her whether or not the universe looks like a blooming garden. never ask about lucifer - she will become a soldier before your eyes.
and not, do not, donot, ask about god.
do not ask about rebellious older brothers and absentee mothers.
(do not infer about a war you know nothing of)
- in a science class you are taking simply for extra credit, your teacher will be talking about quantum physics. he will explain galaxies and refer to stars as "celestial bodies," but you won't be listening. suddenly you will only be able to think of the way her mouth curls at the sides, of the way her golden skin glows, of all the puckered scars that crisscross her torso, of the graceful arch on the bottom of her foot. celestial bodies are certainly on your mind but they are so much more than gas and light and heat and touch and --- oh heavens ---
when the teacher asks if you are alright, you will flush an even deeper red. supernova.
(at times it is lovely to be in love with an angel. but at other times, it is not)
- beware when you fight, it is like the world is ending. her anger conjures a thunderstorm, and soon the entire country is three inches deep in water. you shatter a picture frame. a bolt of lightning catches the house across the street on fire. you are screaming at the top of your lungs – something about duty, something about god – and there is a crash of thunder that shakes the foundations. the weathermen talk about the storm for days. you flinch and change the channel.
(no matter how right she is, she will always let you win)
- there are times when she won't visit for months on end, and when she finally comes back to you, she is not herself. there are new scars across her chest, and she does not speak. she sits with you in her arms for hours, her nose buried in your hair, and her arms squeezed tight, so tight. she does not cry. you do not cry.
you do(not) cry.
(but you do remember the miles and miles of white scarring. you wonder if angels are as immortal and unbreakable as they think)
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 5:25 AM UTC
i.
You say
I look like a twig
as if I should be ashamed
to be compared to a strong tree.
ii.
You hold my gelatin arm,
letting it hang,
laughing
that I am all skin and bones,
but aren't you, too?
iii.
You think I should come
with a caution label
explaining how to properly hold something
as breakable and fragile as glass.
iv.
You slink your arm around my waist,
dancing your fingertips over my protruding hip bones,
confessing it feels like it doesn't belong.
Why isn't it beautiful
a part of my vessel isn't
hidden?
v.
You are aghast when my ribcage
slightly shows, stretching my masked skin.
Why are you horrified
to see the very structure
protecting the ***** I love you with?
vi.
Twice the portions,
twice
the helping.
Will I always have to prove
I am anything, but
empty?
vii.
Last time I checked,
you were a skeleton, too.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 2:58 PM UTC
‘this is my heart,’ i tell you.
you hold it between your hands.
‘be gentle, be kind, be soft,’ i want to tell you.
i smile,
i let you believe it is strong and unbreakable.
but this heart,
my heart,
is made of paper,
light, fragile and easily breakable.
it is bendable,
and often tries to fold itself and look smaller than what it is.
an origami heart.
when you unfold it,
you can see the creases love left,
you can trace with your hand the exact place where pain left its mark,
you can read the stories left in the lines.
and still,
despite it all,
my origami heart, my paper heart
is a work of art.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 2:03 PM UTC
I adore the crispness of an apple,
Thin, breakable skin
Encasing **** flesh,
Hiding danger in small doses.
Its dewy, red skin,
Could ****** anyone -
From Eve to Snow-White.
A bite and you're done for.
It's a dangerous fruit
To get from a stranger.
A witch in disguise,
An old lady,
Or God.
But you?
You didn't offer me apples.
You offered a single pomegranate,
Hard to crack open,
But hides dozens of nectar-filled seeds.
A single one won't do the trick,
So why not have some?
Just a little.
You?
You opened it,
Wide and inviting,
And watched me get
Addicted to the unsuspected,
To the soft and juicy insides.
You?
You watched me count the seeds,
Almost obsessing over
The delicateness of each one.
Blessing you,
Praising you,
Before biting into one seed,
Or two,
Or a dozen,
Or ten thousand.
And I?
I followed the pomegranate's many, many seeds
Feeding and feasting
Right from your hands.
Finding pleasure in the poison,
Innocently falling captive,
Taking the bait,
As you march me straight to hell.
It was too late when I realized,
Apples are for witches,
Pomegranates are for worse.
Sep 18, 2020
Sep 18, 2020 at 4:10 PM UTC
"I hope we last. I hope we do.
But if we don't, this is how I want you to remember me:
I want you to remember me curled up, listening to the sound of your heartbeat and tracing maps across your skin. Remember me laughing at your jokes even the stupid ones. Remember me in hysterics for absolutely no reason and in tears because one time you made me so sad neither of us thought I'd recover. Remember me brave, that time you held my hand and I thought I was going to die; remember me scared and gentle and delicate and breakable - only for you though, only for you.
Remember me happy, and all the ridiculous ways I tried to get your attention. Remember the way I was too stubborn to talk to you and how absolutely insane it drove both of us.
Remember all the firsts and how they were so delightful we went back for seconds and thirds and fourths. Remember the songs you couldn't stop listening to and the childish dreams you allowed yourself about the future. If it's any consolation I allowed myself to have them too.
If it comes to it I don't want you to remember the ending.
Remember the beginning. Remember the first time you knew."
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 6:40 PM UTC
Haan...
Mujhe ab bhi woh din yaad hai...
Hui zindagi jab se aabaad hai...
Suni teri dharkan thi jab ki woh pal...
Lagta hai jaise bas guzra tha kal...
Aaj...
tu meri beti, khud Mumma bani hai....
(Yes...
I still remember that day...
Since my life has been domiciled
That moment when I heard your heartbeat for the first time...
Feels like that moment has passed just yesterday....
Today....
You my daughter, have become a mother...)
Haan...
khushi se jo aankhein thi nam yaad hai...
Hui tujh se poori jo fariyaad hai...
Thi mujh ko hamesha se chahat teri...
Ki tune mukammil hai duniya meri....
Aur Aaj...
Tu meri beti, khud mumma bani hai....
(Yes....
I remember how my eyes flooded out water in joy...
In you I found all my prayers answered
I had always desired you...
You have completed my world...
And today...
You my daughter, have become a mother...)
Haan...
Tere is hunar par tha mujh ko yaqeen...
Kabhi to banegi tu maa behtareen...
Teri qubiyon par, amal par tere...
Kiye tune sabit gumaan ko mere....
Kyunke Aaj...
tu meri beti, khud Mumma bani hai....
(Yes...
I always believed in this talent of yours
Some day you will be an amazing mother
The confidence I had in your skills and natural aptitude
You have proved me correct in my feelings
Because today....
You my daughter, have become a mother...)
Haan..
Teri aankhon mein aaj jo pyaar hai...
Umr bhar ke rishte ka iqraar hai...
Atoot hai jo rohani yeh taar hai...
Wohi to har ek maa ki talwaar hai...
Jaise Aaj...
Tu meri beti, khud mumma bani hai...
(Yes...
The love that exists in your eyes today
The commitment of a lifelong relationship
It’s a divine thread non-breakable
And that (the love) is every mother’s sword...
Like today...
You my daughter, have become a mother...)
Haan...
Dua “Ain” hai maa ki tere liye....
Har ek pal ** khushiyon ka tu jo jiye....
Banegi tu jab naani ek din kabhi...
Meri dil ko mehsoos karegi tabhi...
Khair aaj...
Tu meri beti, khud mumma bani hai....
(Yes...
Your mothers prayers for you from her core...
Every moment that you like may be filled with happiness...
And one day when you will become a grandma
Then you will know how my heart feels right now...
However today...
You my daughter, have become a mother...)
Sep 9, 2020
Sep 9, 2020 at 5:10 AM UTC
I do believe that, people's
breaking moments aren't spectacles,
to be watched like carousels in a carnival,
not free for all(s).....like publc seesaws
anyone rides....sees what comes and goes
my folks' words play in my mind, like a spell
"don't let your eyes stay wet too long, they swell,
one day, those tears will make you unconquerable
your fences and walls ultimately become impregnable."
...but.......there's a truth that's unavoidable
there're days when we're not that invincible
::::::::
sometimes, we melt, we flow
hurt by people's deeds, we don't even know
why.....the days, at times, become too cold,
confusing...other times, painfully bold
we break, we droop............we fall
we realize...we can't always be that tall
::::::::
we become...........frangible
just as breakable
just as fragile
as porcelain
......................................
because
we're human.
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
August 8, 2017
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 5:16 PM UTC
I am not old, yet.
My skin is not powdery and white, see-through like a paper lantern.
But there is a part of me which
When I dare to reach for someone I love
Reaches with brittle ***** fingers, soft and cold and fluttering like white moths
That edge closer to a flame until they catch.
There is a part of me that feels old, and fragile.
And already even in the crest of my youth I’ve cursed this body
For its frailty, its needs.
It suffers and complains, always crying out for something,
Never sated, never still.
I’ve said it feels like living inside a porcelain doll
A look, and cracks can spider out along an arm,
A word and blood can bloom beneath the surface, seeping up into
Bruised pictures and symbols.
I must always be gentle,
I must always be
Watching.
Too passionate, and fissures form, marring the cheek, spreading like shadows thrown by a lace curtain.
I stare out, burning to touch everything,
And yet I pull back:
To dare is to risk, and I’ve seen
Both reward and loss.
I have seen a thousand shining colors spread across me like sunrise,
Warming my skin,
Calling to me like prayer until a bit of light escaped through the spaces between my atoms and reached another person’s palms,
But I have also seen the pale, flat shards of myself,
Sifted through white dust in dismay
For a salvageable portion.
Indeed, there are rooms in this world where sharp edges of me still linger
Waiting in obstructed corners and beneath heavy refrigerators
To gouge a foot or snag a hem,
Interred
In the dark and hollow places where they flew when I shattered and could not gather them all.
I have known
Intimately
My own fragility,
How maddeningly breakable I am
And how difficult to mend.
And there is a part of me now, always,
Which whispers to me when I would be bold,
“You are not old, yet.
But wouldn’t you just love
To live that long?”
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 10:36 PM UTC
If she is hungry
Then we'll let her starve
For longing
Is a beautiful expression
On the face of a pretty, young girl.
If she is cold
We'll wrap her in white
Over her paper-doll arms
Dancing-girl legs
Porcelain-baby face.
We'll spare her from mummification
By peeling away those first layers
Just to reveal more white, adorned underneath
Pure as ****** snow.
We'll never speak
Of those dark shadows
Over smooth, breakable skin, so fair
For we shall make a gentleman wonder
If she wears proudly her shadows
If she has on her pantyhose.
If she becomes yours
We'll show everyone
If only for a moment
Just what a prize you have won.
Such a lovely, hungry, pure, feminine face
Beneath that age-old veil.
But don't you worry, son!
As soon as you taste those wanting, red lips
You can lower that veil as you wish
Decide the form she shall take
As one who is yours
To feed, clothe, flaunt, hide
However you please.
But until then...
If she is hungry
We'll let her starve
Just to make her wait.
Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 11:45 PM UTC