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"breastfeeding" poems
My name is *** and I have no friend, I infect unborn during labor and infents during breastfeeding ,teenage s during unprotected sex,adults with multiple partners, I don't choose colours. I infect whites,blacks,coloured and Indian,people call me names,like 3 series, magama mathathu,koloi ya eliya,go slowly and I have no problem because I have one friend which is death,you fail to use my enermy condom,my friend will attack you. please young generation upstain for I have no mercy,adults be faithful because I will pass like a chameleon and once I reach you,you will point your finger to witches and while doing that,you will be on the grave unknown. get tested and stay loyal,me hlv my high point is ***** or viginal fluid so be careful little mistake I will get there and hide there till I end all off your immune system or in an easy way your white blood cells. to win me is to condomise,be faithful, abstain or do it your self that's musterbation, wear gloves when helping any one because you may never know where I am hiding. if you already have me talk to your health professionals ,if not I will finish you without knowledge, because I am a bio slim and I am in love with your blood. to win me test before is too late because I will take you into your bed as you took that partner of yours and to me is gonna be hard to be awake.
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Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 11:34 AM UTC
HIV/AIDS
The naked is not dangerous. Lust filling the eyes of young. Full bodied stretching yearning for what is to *** or merely done For the sake of comfort. Not a foreign folly But a jolly adventure letting the wind and water wash away the stress of the days. Naked as the snakes or the furless babies breastfeeding at their mother’s breast. **** and curved. Fat or muscled. Not dangerous, but beautiful like Michelangelo’s David. The **** does not destroy neither does the ****** ****** does not diminish our morality.
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Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 1:03 PM UTC
Naked
I got fined for littering by the roadside – just how unjust can the world get, you tell me! Look, I agree I’m a ***** but think about it - it’s just the normal thing to do I was walking along the road when I felt it was time and I gave birth to puppies by Rotweiler Road; and this dumb guy comes up in his uniform and gives me a ticket for littering – well, I was really barking mad What could I do? Well, at least I bit him on his *** that’s what I did! Imagine the temerity, giving me a ticket for littering – hey, littering is what ******* do; it’s the most natural thing to do! What will you fine next? Breastfeeding in public?
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Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 7:13 AM UTC
I got a ticket for littering!
I would like A woman to hold And comfort me To taste the warm milk I want her to have A "breastgasm" As it is called The warm milk *********** into my mouth I would be so grateful And be so thankful
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Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 11:39 AM UTC
Adult Breastfeeding
My mother asks me to buy her milk and I stand in line at the grocery store. I hold the milk and I remember seeing our housekeeper's daughter yesterday, a 16 year old child,  breastfeeding her 1 year old son. I feel sorry that when her culture sees a little girl playing with her dollhouse, it asks the little girl to be the doll. I feel sorry that when her culture sees a little girl fixing the ribbons over her braids, it thinks of ways to tie her legs as tightly as her hair. I feel sorry that when her culture sees a little girl, it doesn’t see a little girl. I feel that I call it her culture when I was born in the same city. I see the line was moving while I stood still. The woman standing behind me holding a jar of coffee, a pack of cigarettes, and a pair of tired shoulders gives me a look for not paying attention. I take a step forwards, I look behind me; I smile politely at her, and say “I’m sorry”.
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Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 3:26 PM UTC
An Apology
My ******* are your comfort My milk your nutrition Then tell me, why are you.. Still so distant?
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Dec 11, 2020
Dec 11, 2020 at 2:08 AM UTC
Breastfeeding
* YOUR HAPPINESS SURVIVED... Did you ever think of What happened to those glass pieces? The shattered glass pieces Held some of your happiness like A mother breastfeeding a new born baby It slowly gathered and tried to joined The remaining left over happiness Years passed but glass pieces Never parted with your happiness And preserved it with lots of care The broken glass pieces Still hugs and kisses your happiness With the hope of giving it back to you Your happiness is secure & safely alive With the shattered glass pieces The remaining life of the glass pieces Is destined to more breakages Don't worry if The glass pieces are crushed, stamped Still shattered further in more tiny pieces Disintegrated into powder Be sure whatever they do to glass pieces It will not let your happiness go It's clenching your happiness tightly Come one day to find how The glass pieces are living Come and see the castle of happiness The shattered glass pieces has built Naming your happiness "An Angel" What if I told you that I am the glass of LOVE that encased your Happiness and that you shattered...! (Read the flashback story in NOTES below) *
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Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 1:04 AM UTC
Love Story of Broken Glass Pieces
I want to get A bumper sticker That reads Adult Breastfeeding Yes, your wife's milk Is good for you! Lol
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Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 8:39 PM UTC
Adult Breastfeeding Bumper Sticker
My mother used to hate me. Shortly after she found out she was pregnant with me she started to hate me. She tried to get an abortion, but I wouldn't die. She tried to vacuum me out but I just wouldn't let go... She was late 5 days on her due day , 'cause i just wouldn't leave. She hated me all the way out of her ****** through the ****** and finally out. She hated breastfeeding me, she hated putting me to sleep and changing my diapers. She hated the day i said my first word, "mama", she cursed the day i started to walk. She hated going to my kindergarten recitals, she hated all the contests I won in grade school. As I finished the 8th grade, I left and I moved to a big city with my sister, for grater education and a better life. She didn't say a word before I left, nor the following weeks. Papa was crushed, she lived happily... Until one day, three months later. I was on my way to school, when, in front of the building I saw papa and her. She looked awful. As she saw me she started crying and ran to me. She hugged me and kissed me for minutes, as she kept saying "I love you so much...I'm so sorry...I missed you so much...". Papa said she didn't eat, she couldn't sleep for weeks and she was devastated. I went upstairs with them, I laid her on my bed and she fell asleep in my arms, shivering and whispering, with big tears running down her pale chin...She never woke up... I love you, mama...                                                                                                      DCimpean                                                                                                                2014
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Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 4:39 AM UTC
My mama
My mother used to hate me. Shortly after she found out she was pregnant with me she started to hate me. She tried to get an abortion, but I wouldn't die. She tried to vacuum me out but I just wouldn't let go... She was late 5 days on her due day , 'cause i just wouldn't leave. She hated me all the way out of her ****** through the ****** and finally out. She hated breastfeeding me, she hated putting me to sleep and changing my diapers. She hated the day i said my first word, "mama", she cursed the day i started to walk. She hated going to my kindergarten recitals, she hated all the contests I won in grade school. As I finished the 8th grade, I left and I moved to a big city with my sister, for grater education and a better life. She didn't say a word before I left, nor the following weeks. Papa was crushed, she lived happily... Until one day, three months later. I was on my way to school, when, in front of the building I saw papa and her. She looked awful. As she saw me she started crying and ran to me. She hugged me and kissed me for minutes, as she kept saying "I love you so much...I'm so sorry...I missed you so much...". Papa said she didn't eat, she couldn't sleep for weeks and she was devastated. I went upstairs with them, I laid her on my bed and she fell asleep in my arms, shivering and whispering, with big tears running down her pale chin...She never woke up... I love you, mama...                                                                                                      DCimpean                                                                                                                2014
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*The man with green hair and green hands. A long long time ago When army’s wore uniforms. We were khaki they were grey. My grandfather was fire warden In WW2 he had seven sons And three daughters . You could say he was a bit of a pacifist. Make love not war Was his mantra. He married my Grandma when she was seventeen. They were to stay married for over sixty five years. And produce tribe of ten children. He had spent his whole life Working as a coppersmith For the same company. His hair and hands tinted green From the metals Verdigris. My father was a baby just born In the middle of the war. We lived in Manchester. Money was always tight. But we were happy. Just as Herr ****** invaded Poland My grandad bought our first house. We always rented until then. It was a large town home. The six older boys All joined the marines At the outbreak of the war. They did one act of preparation That ultimately saved the family. They took down an old barn for a farmer And used the beams to shore up the stone cellar of the house. When the air raids came later. We would all huddle under the stair well Until the all clear sirens sounded. When the bad raid came It was the early hours of the night. Grandad was out on fire watch. Six of the sons were on ships In Europe and the far east. My aunty told me much later. When the war was long over. She heard the bomb falling It screamed as it fell. Exploding just outside our house the house caved in and they were all buried under the rubble in total darkness. She said grandma was breastfeeding the baby my dad. Grandad was busy the raid was a hard one. A friend said Frank your house has been hit It’s bad. He dropped everything and ran and ran Breathless he reached the fallen house. In his heart he thought we were all dead. It took ten neighbors four hours to reach us. They pulled the girls out first Then the baby my dad. And finally the dimutive figure of my grandma. She was weeping. She said Frank we’ve lost everything. There’s nothing left. He held her in his big arms Tears flowing from the eyes of a man Who had had a hard life. Who never cried. He kisses her full on her lips A single sign of public affection That was out of his character. He whispered to grandma. That odd Mary Because I just found Everything I ever wanted or needed.*
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Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 12:36 AM UTC
My Grandad with the green hair ..A true story from Judes past.
*The man with green hair and green hands. A long long time ago When army’s wore uniforms. We were khaki they were grey. My grandfather was fire warden In WW2 he had seven sons And three daughters . You could say he was a bit of a pacifist. Make love not war Was his mantra. He married my Grandma when she was seventeen. They were to stay married for over sixty five years. And produce tribe of ten children. He had spent his whole life Working as a coppersmith For the same company. His hair and hands tinted green From the metals Verdigris. My father was a baby just born In the middle of the war. We lived in Manchester. Money was always tight. But we were happy. Just as Herr ****** invaded Poland My grandad bought our first house. We always rented until then. It was a large town home. The six older boys All joined the marines At the outbreak of the war. They did one act of preparation That ultimately saved the family. They took down an old barn for a farmer And used the beams to shore up the stone cellar of the house. When the air raids came later. We would all huddle under the stair well Until the all clear sirens sounded. When the bad raid came It was the early hours of the night. Grandad was out on fire watch. Six of the sons were on ships In Europe and the far east. My aunty told me much later. When the war was long over. She heard the bomb falling It screamed as it fell. Exploding just outside our house the house caved in and they were all buried under the rubble in total darkness. She said grandma was breastfeeding the baby my dad. Grandad was busy the raid was a hard one. A friend said Frank your house has been hit It’s bad. He dropped everything and ran and ran Breathless he reached the fallen house. In his heart he thought we were all dead. It took ten neighbors four hours to reach us. They pulled the girls out first Then the baby my dad. And finally the dimutive figure of my grandma. She was weeping. She said Frank we’ve lost everything. There’s nothing left. He held her in his big arms Tears flowing from the eyes of a man Who had had a hard life. Who never cried. He kisses her full on her lips A single sign of public affection That was out of his character. He whispered to grandma. That odd Mary Because I just found Everything I ever wanted or needed.*
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I think often Of breastfeeding The tip of my ****** tickling his skin-thin upper gum. In my imagination It is many minutes of calm I cup his head Which fits into a palm and a half My body is full With his quiet innocence. I imagine trying to imagine How much he doesn’t know All the ***** things This action may mean one day How he doesn’t know What a kitchen is Or a mortgage or an income His fears are not boring. Mine are of finances and guilt His involve teethed creatures and deaf silences. He does not know what it means For the time to be 3:15 Nor can he comprehend The recentness of his existence. I and the cat are nocturnal He lives in intervals. We associate babies With a soft pink I imagine Looking into his eyes Two wrinkly slits Wondering how to Confirm this.
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Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 1:18 AM UTC
Breast-Fed Musings
She put her breast into his mouth, she gave it him for free. She wanted to feel him close to her, He suckled her, he needed her had took her for his tea. The feeling made her purr, He cuddled close. He felt secure, his mother's milk was very fresh, He snuggled with his nose, His body sate, her breast, him did refresh, The child so needs his mother, To soothe and satisfy, He needs not another, Without her pure breast he may die, It made her cry, it made her sore, But breast is best, they cry for sure! (C) Livvi
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May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 11:16 AM UTC
A Breastfeeding Sonnet
a child unassembled and loved by two strange women- a man breastfeeding in private- this love only a mother could face- overexposed photos of a healthy family- a gathering of bird watching great uncles- great blind aunts / with empty pill syndrome- a prayer basket in the lap of a boy sitting on a swing during a downpour- a disabled brother and his three rubber nails
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Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 12:21 PM UTC
individual resistance to antibiotics
Behind me and my daughter In line for the Ferris wheel Perhaps when you are older You will find breastfeeding Is the least nasty thing Your child will do Wait for the projectile ***** The diaper explosions Snot handed to you So kindly like a present Wait for the strangers to ask you "So when do you plan to get your body back?" My body never left It did the most badass thing Any body could ever do What have you done With the beautiful sharp mind and body God has given you? Used your eyes and words To judge other women Looked at your tummy in the mirror and thought "I should be skinnier." It is a shame, Women ought to stick together So I'm going to tell you now Your bodies are amazing Magical, you might say Life giving, you're **** right Do not judge me Say that my nursing toddler is nasty Look at her face, How can you be so cruel? For ***** sake, It's just a ****** I can see more of you Pre-thirteen In your crop top and skinny jeans Than you can of me
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May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 10:19 PM UTC
Dear Preteen Girls
Oh my cheerful little ******* They hadn’t any notion Of all the silliness, of all the commotion One day their purpose would change Temporarily my body would rearrange Their use not merely ****** Suddenly they were meant to be practical Away with my decorative commodity Hello to something of an oddity So I traded in those dainty little things For two mountains bursting with springs Slowly the transformation took place Albeit lacking in grace Oh, my lovely unpresumptuous ******* Had become so useful, for that I am blessed My zippy little ****** had grown to such size And areola darkened and saucerish in guise So to you I must ask a serious question, After this, my descriptive dissection I borrowed my ******* why be afraid? It is the babes whose homage will be paid The ******* that had been lent, weren’t ****** or vile You might even go so far as to beguile Because their most typical use was on hold Their new purpose should’ve been a sight to behold Instead people like to glorify or shame As if those ******* are actually the same Forget your twisted ****** mind And to breastfeeding mothers try to be kind
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May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 11:37 AM UTC
Borrowed *******
there's a rather attractive mother breastfeeding beside me. I only looked once or twice. it's a fascinating thing. he's 3 months, she said, and when he latched on she threw a blanket over his head. he's done after a minute, I feel that's very quick. now she's tapping his back her bracelet is rattling. I feel like the baby. I want the breast too. but I sip on my coffee and coke instead: it's got more kick, but it won't give me an ********
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Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
mammaries
So uhm.. I had a baby I may be naïve Newly graduated Still asking my mom to make my doctor appointments So I had.. a baby In fact I was still a baby I just got chewed up and spit out Now I’m spitting out kids Who would’ve guessed So uhm yeah.. I had a baby I met love in high school They called him danger and he had blue eyes Well danger and I uhm.. We kinda had a baby It felt like the world was telling me this is it, Welcome to your life Well guess what world I HAD A BABY I’m now invincible and a mom I’m an invincible mom I carried a human for nine months Now I’m making appointments Setting up schedules BREASTFEEDING AND WORKING FULL WEEKS Nothing is stopping me Now let me repeat SO I HAD A BABY A beautiful baby A wonderful smart baby I’m teaching him that The littlest oops turns into The biggest blessing In disguise So I’ll tell you one more time I HAD A BABY And my life has never been better
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Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 9:08 AM UTC
Baby
12 a.m. November 1, 2014 starry night, ticking clock nothing's changed really!! the hookers are helping desperate men find love One ***** at a time making money a man jumps off a bridge **** life right? Lonely ******* jerking off while a beautiful young **** makes love a mother's breastfeeding her baby who's gonna grow up to end human race while i sit on my chair reading Bukowski "there are times when insanity becomes so real that it isn't insanity anymore" I guess I am no different!! (11/01/2014 Kathmandu, Nepal)
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Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 2:14 PM UTC
Untitled
The urban legend going round the mummy club A woman On a tube Breastfeeding her baby, 5 months old, under her t shirt. Not **** out No feminist flags waving No brazen cocky smile. Just a hungry baby and a mother made by nature And some milk "Put em away Love", slurs an ugly man halfway down the carriage. The other passengers are divided. Some sink deeper into their headphones, under their broadsheets. The others are ready for revolution, sit up straighter and plan an attack phrase or a protective move. But this is what she's been waiting for since she so triumphantly became a successful, proud breastfeeder. With a wet plucking noise she pulls her baby from the ****** where he was so contentedly feeding, where his warm little head was halfway to milky coma dreamland. And she holds him aloft, her grip is confident and full. No one is afraid she will drop him, but he does not want to be there. And in the stark light of the carriage, arms and legs chilly and free in the air he begins to flail them about. His voice throws out mews to every window of the carriage, turning into scratchy shouts as his protest gets stronger. Until the baby, in a blue furry jumper, little bear ears for cute effect, is screaming. Red faced, and with tonsils and tongue vibrating in the storm of his voice. Arms and legs swimming frantically, looking for the bank of the river where warm mummy sits. And over the storm, mummy looks over at the swaying, squinting man and shouts, "WOULD YOU PREFER THIS?" In one movement she cradles the yelling blue cub, shushing and quietly speaking to him as only a mother can, offering her ****** to his mouth until his round fuzzy head is bobbing and his mouth quietly busy resuming his meal. "Or this? " She looks over at him. The man mutters to himself and looks away. At the next stop he gets off the train, tripping down the step onto the platform. The mother releases the challenge in one large breath. She looks up at the two young men sat in front of her. They are smiling, staring in awe. Choking and speechless one of them starts to applaud her. Clapping her and shaking his head, his mate joins in.
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Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 6:01 PM UTC
Milk on the Tube.
The urban legend going round the mummy club A woman On a tube Breastfeeding her baby, 5 months old, under her t shirt. Not **** out No feminist flags waving No brazen cocky smile. Just a hungry baby and a mother made by nature And some milk "Put em away Love", slurs an ugly man halfway down the carriage. The other passengers are divided. Some sink deeper into their headphones, under their broadsheets. The others are ready for revolution, sit up straighter and plan an attack phrase or a protective move. But this is what she's been waiting for since she so triumphantly became a successful, proud breastfeeder. With a wet plucking noise she pulls her baby from the ****** where he was so contentedly feeding, where his warm little head was halfway to milky coma dreamland. And she holds him aloft, her grip is confident and full. No one is afraid she will drop him, but he does not want to be there. And in the stark light of the carriage, arms and legs chilly and free in the air he begins to flail them about. His voice throws out mews to every window of the carriage, turning into scratchy shouts as his protest gets stronger. Until the baby, in a blue furry jumper, little bear ears for cute effect, is screaming. Red faced, and with tonsils and tongue vibrating in the storm of his voice. Arms and legs swimming frantically, looking for the bank of the river where warm mummy sits. And over the storm, mummy looks over at the swaying, squinting man and shouts, "WOULD YOU PREFER THIS?" In one movement she cradles the yelling blue cub, shushing and quietly speaking to him as only a mother can, offering her ****** to his mouth until his round fuzzy head is bobbing and his mouth quietly busy resuming his meal. "Or this? " She looks over at him. The man mutters to himself and looks away. At the next stop he gets off the train, tripping down the step onto the platform. The mother releases the challenge in one large breath. She looks up at the two young men sat in front of her. They are smiling, staring in awe. Choking and speechless one of them starts to applaud her. Clapping her and shaking his head, his mate joins in.
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so people say that there are things     objects     abstracts     other people     earth's natural boundaries and bounties that urge  or maybe converge the mind into action - though most probably think the act, they reverie in what they dream as exceptional. so here is an ideal, a prototype esteemed like that emblazoned scrap of paper with the birth names and letters dotdotdot etc ... so, tell me are you aspiring or laying deep in the molds ? will it buy you a ring for your trophy ? will it make you prolific ? we would not know happiness, if only for the grand stories told to us of our entitlement to enjoy our senses. well, look at this container, you were perfectly crafted to roam with intention, across all spaces conquistadoring and expanding and 'destroying to create' whatever the **** that means and never learning not to rear our ugly heads to the paradise breastfeeding us, or to the processing keeping us bred nice and tidy. so there is the ambiguous person again, and is there something wrong with monotony, does it imply a good in consistence does it lend translation to the static      (coming up and out of your roaring mouth;            he is an angel, i grant it worth.) so be inspired by feeling. that dumpster over yonder is what it is, as your lobes transmit and lucidly self actualize :: i am not here to convince anyone but myself.
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Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 2:20 AM UTC
fact
she went all out - into her private parts being public and standing unashamed in a nation of shamers i used to find it mindlessly silly to think that such a thing defines you much in a dubious society all about the body image used to think that was all a joke until i saw an old man shove a mother and a crying baby breastfeeding out in the wilderness being a loser’s how you win these days and in the end we all lose
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Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 3:22 PM UTC
she went all out yo
1. Forget the things that broke you. The thousand times oceans fragmented your sentiment rock. Become grains of sand and shards of turquoise glass so no one can grab hold of your entire landscape again. 2. Remember all the good you learned to ignore in elementary school. Study. Read. Decide. Become a classroom desk. Seated. Sentient. Cold. 3. Remove your loud mouthed vagabond expectations like a malignant cancer. Being a romantic drains the muscles pulling your smile and the possibility of Great will only leave you trembling in a pseudo-fabric hospital gown that leaves your *** hanging out. 4. Do things you do not want to do. Like selling your paint supplies to pay for student loans. Waking up early for a morning jog. Planning your life out perfectly and successfully. Pulling an all- nighter to finish a research paper on breastfeeding. Doing someone else’s dishes. Becoming someone else.
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May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 3:39 AM UTC
A Guide on Becoming Someone Else
I move kind of slow And I'm not sure why I do not know Perhaps it is The repetitiveness Of this absurd show Nowhere to rush Nowhere to go There was A woman At the gym So strong and **** Who deadlifts Almost as twice as me Kind and compassionate What could be wrong About breastfeeding From her All day long
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Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 2:47 PM UTC
The Strong Lady At The Gym
a litter of soft fluffy white kittens with ferris wheel eyes leave their mother's breastfeeding after awhile chase after scattered ***** of yarn red blue green and some gold
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Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 4:25 PM UTC
Scattered ***** of Yarn