"contouring" poems
Shape and structure coming together
Body composition like no other
A date in pushing heavy weights
But as a Bodybuilder how each muscle relate
Fitness and Bodybuilding all require all the nutrition that you take in
It’s the energy to help you begin and strength in continual at the end
Fitness and Bodybuilding is about body shape and construct
But careful concentration that you don’t run a mock
However, Bodybuilding being more intense with precise body buildup principles
It’s not a simple process
It’s focus with a mission
The battle with weights for condition
The whole point is strictly exercise
The new image from training in thinking wise
A Gym being the place to create the new you
The results in the mirror for you to look through
The Personal Trainer guiding you every step of the way
Proven assessments that will be ok
Fitness and Bodybuilding coming together as two separate sports
Intensity at one end and shape contouring at the other
“Exercise is to look a certain way, tomorrow your after will be another day”.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 6:45 PM UTC
Sprawled out across his back.
Contouring the bean bag chair into something shapely beautiful.
Knees expelled in opposite directions,
Expelling my imagination into a furious sea of frenzy.
Silence.
Except for the constant clicking of the video-game controller.
The constant flicking of his fingers soon lead my imagination
Elsewhere.
The traffic-jam of words inside of me soon slip uncontrollably to thoughts
As I sit behind him.
My heat undecoded.
Legs crossed, just as a lady should.
Girls from all over must tell him he's beautiful.
But beauty in itself is a limitation.
I'm not sure if he is aware that he is beyond
The liberal definition.
I find myself soon forgetting the awkward of the situation,
Instead savoring the surreal reality of such a moment.
"Are you winning?" I shortly ask him, breaking the heavy incredible silence.
But I had to know.
He can miss as many goals as he likes. Laugh it off.
Because inside of me he's scoring.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 11:48 PM UTC
More than just mounds of muscle galore
A curiosity where one must experience in explore
A body composition from before to present
The use of weights in repetitions
These are the forces in bodybuilding’s condition
Bodybuilding is about construct
It is all about proportion if one decides to compete
You must be committed and not take shortcuts known as cheat
Yet one’s physique must be complete from the shoulders to the feet
Lifting heavy weights is like Hercules in a feat
Intensity will play being the determination all the way
However, one must understand how much intensity their body can take
Yet you must have good health conditions in exercise before attempting any heavy training you decide to make
Bodybuilding means having a goal and what you want to achieve
Never listen to anyone about enhancing drugs, as it is a deception for you to be deceived
Bodybuilding is about bringing and contouring all the muscles together
Being a true destined Bodybuilder like no other
The mystique will be one’s desired physique
I have met Bodybuilding champs in their day such as Arnold Schwarzenegger, Serge Nubret, Harold Poole, Leon Brown, Flex Wheeler, Kevin Levrone, Mike Ashley and many others
They had assurance and confidential in being determined to win
Mr. Schwarzenegger became the top ranking Mr. Olympia
Mr. Olympia being the highest honor throughout Bodybuilding
Those Bodybuilding champions mentioned had their plan from their beginning from when
The new breed of Bodybuilders are following in their footsteps and making their mark
Bodybuilders in general are thinking from their own fitness from then
They put determination in making it a can
Bodybuilding is truly about how your body can respond to certain exercises and how it can be shaped
The training principles come together in how they are relate
So you now know how Bodybuilding functions
A masterpiece constructed from sculptor with a posing stand
The array of applause under the spotlight
A determination in the Bodybuilder become the step out pose
The thinking of revelation I suppose
But Bodybuilding is about the flex and not become perplexed.
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 6:02 PM UTC
Do you know what it’s like,
to be the hunted?
The pursued;
the object, the target,
the one stalked like wounded prey
as the lights turn off.
You never called off your
hunting parade.
You took advantage of your skill.
You moved on me;
a soundless shadow creeping
along the walls,
clutching fear and regret in your hands
as weapons to
take
me
down.
Brutal, savage beast you are;
only I can see those jagged teeth,
razor spikes contouring your spine,
as you grab me from behind.
The darkness colours you,
brings out more than daylight ever could.
It suits you, you and the coal and soot
you shed
in my bed.
Warm, sticky blood you open like a tap.
You rip and tear and
reap your rewards
after such a masterful ****
You left me wounded, dripping blood
like a grimy trail behind me.
Leaving me more vulnerable to
fresh attack
than ever before.
But there was something worse still;
more terrifying than any shot from your gun.
You left more than a scar, more than
a raw wound.
You left something behind that can’t be healed.
It becomes part of my being,
inserting itself into my body,
protruding it’s toxic spikes into
any future I have;
any future that might involve a lover,
any chance at companionship.
You battered me to a ****** pulp;
a ragged mess no one could ever
risk touching,
without the blood covering themselves too.
It would seep into the sheets between us lovers;
it would attack me quietly, viciously;
It would bring out the worst in me,
and every time I would be forced to save him.
Save him from myself.
Look at what you did to me,
foul, disgusting ghost you now are.
You’re the nightmare I hide.
You’re the burn on my skin I keep in the dark.
You’re the voice I try and drown in rapid
loves, fleeting desires.
You’re my brand. You’re the one who
decides my fate from now on.
You pillaged without consent.
You never even knew what you delivered
or what
you
stole.
The hunted.
That is what I am now.
The weak creature, struggling to
heal.
And I can never tell lovers what this
sad, lonely,
aching story means.
What I can offer gets buried in fear.
I can never voice the pain that
rips in waves,
icy and sickly
in my bloodstream.
I can’t voice the remorse,
or the loneliness I shall always greet,
before they flee,
the sound of receding footsteps they beat.
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 11:15 PM UTC
I don't like cold technology,
I'd prefer bulky computers,
I don't like kindles,
I prefer books,
I prefer blue eye shadow,
To contouring.
I,
Was born in the wrong time.
I wish life was like the 80s,
When children still played outside.
I like old 'scary' movies that aren't scary at all,
But today's 'horror'
Is,
Not even laughable.
I wish I could've watched Star Trek the original series on tv,
When I came home from school,
Or at least seen the original Star Wars, in the theaters.
This generation just doesn't do it for me at all.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 1:17 PM UTC
paranoia of the 3rd degree
in 8th grade
when the boy i liked IM'd my friend
and said the shirt i wore to church made me look fat.
shaking nervousness in a 12 year old body
overweight
moving a fork from my plate to my mouth --
a true horror
listening to girls read calories
off a box of vanilla wafers
pinching my stomach fat
wanting to tear it off
an 8 year old who asked her older sister
to help her get thinner
decades i've wasted looking so close at every piece of me
i know how i look from every angle without a mirror
i've memorized every defect.
critical sections studied under a microscope:
i am not anything but scientific in my process.
i blow myself up to disproportionate sizes
and then wonder why sometimes i lay in bed and feel
huge.
and other times
so small.
after a while you'll begin to realize that the constant scrutiny and study of your temple is fruitless
that the hungry monster behind your ribcage
that eats dark lipstick and winged eyeliner and name brand clothes and highlighting powder and contouring brushes
that you sacrifice increments of time to every morning,
night
every prolonged glance in a mirror...
fuels itself off the notion that the images we see on a screen are the standard for cultural truth.
i turned 21 and decided to throw away the microscope.
to change what images i saw on my screens
to eliminate the photoshopped waists and fill them with pictures of normal, happy bodies
and i began to see the body that i exercised,
fed vegetables,
watered,
washed,
nurtured,
as not fat or ugly or unwanted
but as a perfect home for myself
and maybe someone else
if i wanted.
because the cultural truth lies in what you see in other humans
not dancing shadows on a screen in a cave
it lies in the gentle rolls of your stomach
and the crinkles around your lips and eyes
and the pimples on your forehead.
there is nothing garish
about reality.
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 10:17 AM UTC
We all start with blank faces.
Ebony or
Ivory or
Olive or
Anything in between.
Skin so dark they don't sell the shade at Sephora.
Skin so light you've got to mix the color with white to make it match.
Whatever the color, it's all the same skin.
We all start with blank faces
Made of cells and covered in blemishes
Stretched thin across our cheekbones
Or hanging loose and wrinkled with age,
With lines on our foreheads like
Punishment
for laughing too much.
When did laughter become such a grievous crime?
We all start with blank faces.
… and then we become Van Gogh.
With expert brush strokes, we paint.
We coat ourselves with thick layers of pastey goop like Elmer's glue
Paint it on thick to cover our blemishes and red spots
We top it off with pigment like powdered sugar on sweets
Not knowing that the more opaque our makeup is, the more transparent.
We all start with blank faces.
… and then we become sculptors
Contouring and contorting to conform to unrealistic standards.
We highlight our best features and conceal the rest.
We conceal the redness of our cheeks just to paint it on again with blush.
We paint wings on our eyes although we'll never fly.
We all start with blank faces.
… and then we become victims of consumerism
Spending our money on different shades of the same **** thing
They raise the prices because they know they'll sell it to us anyway
They force it upon us, then shame us for becoming slaves to it
We are the victims and the perpetrators.
We all start with blank faces
… and then we become artists
… and then we become victims
… and then we become warriors
This is our war paint.
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 11:34 AM UTC
Under the flowering moon
Your naked body lies
Bound to the lunars tendrils
Tethering to your skins ambiance
Fingeringly scalinging the motions of your body
Following your soulful extractions
Silver lights incarnate driven passion
O' woman, woman of the moon
Of the night, of darkness
Dance with me
Dance the dance of love,
Of the heart, of passion,
Of Desires stowed deep within the mind
Beneath the woven fabric of a feral night
Entwined within the stitches silver aura
These stars our only witness
As the darkness spreads it's clinching grasp
Plunging our passions into carnal chaos
Watching the heavy rise and fall of your chest
The echoes of your hearts breath in my mind
The chemical passion of our physical bodies
Consumes the desires of our flesh
Shadows contouring to the night
The sweet nectar of your lips
An everlasting enticement to mine
Darkly decadent sensations pressing on
Only as creatures within can conjure
Elegantly crafting and artistically formulated
These darkest nights memoirs
Sated with our own designs
Unrelenting and intoxicating
Addicting and compounding
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 3:20 PM UTC
In your budding years,
they said you weren't beautiful.
Little did they know,
that a day would come,
when your petals would spread gloriously,
such sweet aroma, such beauty...
That was the day you started to bloom.
And then they spoke again.
This time they said,
That you needed to draw attention,
to gain admiration.
And that being desirable,
made you valuable.
So you wanted to stand out,
from among the crowd.
"All eyes on me,
So that the people would see,
my charm, my wit, my beauty."
But then you looked into the mirror,
and you didn't like what you saw.
You didn't look like that girl on TV.
Your flat nose, your round face,
Your eyes that aren't as deep set.
Since she was the definition of pretty,
you wallowed in self-pity,
obsessing over your own flaws.
So you got busy.
Busy putting makeup,
and covering up flaws.
Concealing, contouring.
Busy dressing up,
Trying to look ****
Showing what you got,
so that people think you're hot.
But you got it all wrong.
For they were all wrong.
They didn't tell you,
that there is beauty in modesty.
And that drawing people with your body,
might end up leaving you lonely.
And that relying on other's validation,
would always lead to disappointment.
And that everyone out there,
really just wants someone to care.
That always drawing attention,
is a selfish expression,
and that giving attention,
may warrant more admiration.
They didn't tell you,
that you were beautiful,
even before bloom,
even before budding,
even before birth.
They didn't tell you,
that you were beautifully,
and wonderfully made by God.
And that what you thought were flaws,
God called beauty.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
It’s 18 years later and I’m strolling down O’ Connell Street.
I notice a rough-sleeper in a shop doorway. There is a queue
for the bank machine contouring around his limbs
as he lies face down on the hard ground talking loudly to himself.
I remember how the investigators worked flat out in Kosovo,
almost captive to the corners of fields and the cruelty
of the events they sought to prove, the soil they touched
became a membrane surrounding remote scars.
They lay face down at times in abandoned crops,
measuring tracks, listening for crowded spaces,
recording the gossip of trees.
They reminded me of Indian scouts from the movies,
feeling for the signature of passing armies
in the broken grass beneath their fingers.
They were asking the dead for directions, the way somebody
might search a cemetery, calling on long deceased
relatives to whisper if they are close or not.
Soon the world will discover another war crime and the skeletons
of civilisation will once more bear witness to its own ******
As the Earth opens recent wounds I imagine the rough-sleepers
as skeletons of society communicating with scouts,
investigators leaning over precipices,
contemplating what goes into the filling of a trench.
Michael J. Whelan
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 5:23 AM UTC
They thought i used makeup to contour my collarbones and make them pop.
But really.. I simply stopped eating anything.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 2:04 PM UTC
I never meant to fall
but sunrise greased your chassis.
The crest and fall of your jaw—
the blade and bend of it,
mudslide contouring of it—
dropped me ribless at your feet.
O promising land, crisp field
of flesh, whose fireflies
steered my eyes in the darkness—
your land, where my eyes had strayed—
scaled over eolian caves, the slick
basins of your clavicle, onto
the hexa hillocks clustered
like honeycomb chambers
on your abdomen.
I never meant to fall,
but the cursive lines of you,
I might have trod with loose eyes—
even now, there is a voice
drawing them to strike
at the aquifer beneath your waistline,
voice of vined thirst,
of torso and tug—
with them, I struck and drowned
Jul 31, 2021
Jul 31, 2021 at 4:28 AM UTC
She walked through the throngs of dancers
They looked like in their drinks they’d found answers
A young girl yelled her over and bought her a drink
Sometimes the job was hard but everyone had their financier
They took a picture and she left to get dressed
Shading, contouring, hair curlers, and glitter were her enhancers
She stood at the edge of the stage and heard her intro play,
As they shouted her name, she realized that this profession wasn’t a cancer.
And though it was a hard life, she loved every moment,
They kissed her hand and clapped with joy, and there she found her answers.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
I know it's only my mind contouring his mouth into a smile and when I turn to walk away the velcro on his lips part; words like a choke-chain. But he has lyrics that remind him of somebody else etched into his hands, and she'll always be part of the plan.
He hums her song into my throat and we both pretend I don't understand.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 5:44 PM UTC
Dark, toned muscles awash in sweat
With beads of liquid maneuvering
Through the collection of dust
Creating paths that were inhuman at a glance
But in depth were signs of immeasurable power
The searching slice of the shovel, feeling for the loose stone
A bone perhaps, in the core of earthen veins
That solidify life, weaving it into the folds of eternity
Slowing the soul until only a small tempo in the symphony of time remains
Harbored forever in the memories of others
The smoke carried particles of dust
Dead skin that had parted from dying shells,
Empty of red and full of black
The pores of all eyes
Infected with the memory of sculpted dirt
He stands sentinel, over the man-made wound in the epidermal layer of green
Watching the sun fall behind a scattered horizon line
Creating calculated contouring by shadows
Between patches of light that illuminated the insignificant descent
Of helpless pebbles
An older, breathing soul stands and reads from a weighted tomb:
“The price of living is to face an end
But the privilege of life is worth the price itself”
Then the parcel is lowered
The dust swarming into places yet untouched
A tirade of platelets rains down
Stemming the flow between this life and the spinning of the Earth
Shrouding the parcel in spattered reds and browns
Protecting it from the wrongs
Sealing it in the stillness of simplicity
With a final look back
The gravedigger turns in the direction of the sun’s masked glow
Forging a path between the peaceful earthen tombs
Making his way towards family and home
Where life continues for the living
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 11:07 PM UTC
Approaches with adoration:
Beckoning benevolent beauty being blessed
Countlessly with contouring cryptic cuteness.
Dazzling, distracting, divine.
Elegance that will endure
forever.
Grateful for the gracefulness and
Heartfelt feelings.
Impetuously invoked by each other,yet
Joyfully jump starting and
Keenly kicking off
Lasting Luck for two.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 5:19 PM UTC
Look at how I've controlled your little mind
I find humor in when you think that without me you won’t please yours or any other eye
I can manipulate you into believing that in my absence that word pretty you will never define
Chanel, L’Oreal, Maybelline
what else of me have you prioritized
of what I offer, you own a collection so wide
from your dresser
to your pocket
or in that bag you carry by your side
contouring so you can attain that distinct jaw line
or black winged liner to change the shape of your eye
why haven't you realized?
that you're gradually making me a necessity in your lives
though
of this you have no clue
due to your false judgment which has convinced you to assume
that your flaws should be hidden because they don’t make you, you
The richness of the colors I offer
will keep you satisfied
The cherry red on your lips that feels every breath
you take in
one smudge and you’re ready to reapply
why
do you act as if nature has done some sort of crime?
Let face it if there’s anyone who should be fined
it is I
for deluding you to ignore the innocence of your face
whose beauty you've chose not to embrace
and have resorted to me as your only escape
leaving with what’s beneath to suffocate
making you confident
like fulfilling some need
only for a period of time
I succeed
so on me don’t be too dependent
for I’m just a temporary lie
step outside
keeping in mind
that true beauty radiates from what’s inside
don't take to heart on what they criticize
do not get used to me
because dear
I do not define
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 12:12 PM UTC
When everything begins to bottle up
I must bring myself down
I could smooth out the wrinkles
I could mantra things out
But I am my own worst enemy
So I pick, **** and poke
I especially like to highlight my flaws
During these times
Twisting and contouring my body
Unnatural poses for a natural body
I am so trivial
But I am my own worst enemy
I wonder if you think I'm beautiful
I am vain that way
Aren't we all?
I wonder if you see my flaws
The dents in my skin
I wonder if you cherish them
If you wish for them to be gone
If you wish I was more like her
I want to scream at this woman I have become
But I am my own worst enemy
It would just be so much easier to live
A life full of confidence and crop tops
High waisted shorts with cellulite
An inch of skin hanging over the top
And why not?
My own judgments and insecurities
I want to be your friend
I want you to be happy
When your thighs feel full and swollen
When your face is scattered with imperfections
When your stomach can't **** in anymore
I am still here
I so desperately want to be your friend
But I am my own worst enemy
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 3:55 PM UTC
Half-asleep on my lap, embraced against me
The dim light of a soft box paints your face
Formulating the perfect pose
Preserving the unspeakable beauty in my arms
Silence.
Except for the constant clicking of the camera
A few flashes and wham your eyes open, a shred too wide, too curious
And you smile your best
I wrap myself around you
Three clicks happen real quick
My smile mirrored in yours
Pictures of us together
Glimpses of real love caught in the moment
Mine. Yours.
Pure and true
Perfectly happy
Then you go waka waka on the giant bean bag
Sprawling around, contouring its shape, expelling your body in all directions
I holler your name from the top of my lungs
You respond with a scream displaying two pearly whites and a hint of bare gums
As the breeze cools your skin, you splash into the inflatable pool
Rubber fishies swim along, you dunk them one by one
Soapy bubbles blown in the air circle around you, gleaming in the sunshine, revealing your face and burst with a pop
Still unable to sit unassisted, bam you fall into the water
My heart escapes my chest
There is water dripping all over you
I comfort you and brush hair away from your eyes
But I wasn't quite finished yet
You curl up in the fuzzy charms of a teddy
A new found hero in the making
My darling then arrives as a prince entering his humble kingdom
I fall in love with you all over again at the first glimpse
Bitter, reserved, aggressive, brisk, fresh, strong, assorted moments
I said one last photo
The softness of your young skin glowed in a playland of toys
I sit, stare and sigh at how delightful you look
Capturing candid photos of your innocence at play
The evening was getting tired, you drifted back to sleep
It wasn't easy as one would think
I saw you coming from the start
I rewind the times in my heart
A whole world of just you and I
I want it to be more than just a memory
A reminder of the road taken
Here I am, taking in every bit of you and smiling because I know you are all mine
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 12:13 PM UTC
What’s opposite of a teacher
I have thanked them all
For what I am
But wait master Ji
What about the glass half empty
No!
No credits to thee
For the ignorant, indignant,
insolent -me
For indecisive, irrational -me
For teaching the logic of convenience
Over the struggle and friction
then enabling to veneer the meekness
with vainglorious diction
“Sit down” for “How?”
“Shut up” for “ Why??”
You didn’t even,
ever let me Try!
Branded the doubt as foolery
and ensured that my mind
be all but free
Yes, all but
Free!!
Contouring my thoughts
with that of someone else’s
Delineating the world
of abstracts into absolutes
Befouling the beauty of randomness
by the confines of routine
So why
Yes - Why
I dare to ask
On this day ‘ O Teacher’,
you stand so tall
All in all you’re just
Another brick in the wall.
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 11:12 AM UTC
Your body's warmth
Laying silently there in bed.
Quiet and calming
As I lift the sheets to snuggle in,
Contouring my form to yours,
My heart to yours.
As I lay my head to the pillow,
I'm afraid to close my eyes
For fear that my dreams
Will never amount to real life.
Dec 6, 2010
Dec 6, 2010 at 9:13 PM UTC
Alveolate webbed iron cache
Contouring inset chromatic fused sand panes
Luminous descants evade entombed air and grit
Perhaps before the air was arrogated into silicated chassis
It circumnavigated the alveolate resonant lattice chamber of its creator
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 9:05 PM UTC
“it’s the time of the season
When love runs high
In this time, give it to me easy
And let me try with pleasured hands”
Time of the Season,
Song by Zombies
1 9 6 8
<~>
was 18 years young,
when first heard these words,
now in my-eighth decade,
times is both
plentiful
and yet delimited by the onsetting sunset finale,
but
and so are the
accumulated dictionary of word’s available,
that I command,
legions, armies, corps,
all to command,
to properly say…
yes,
it is the
Time of Season
come to the. lean sheer clean paper single sheaf,
with no agenda,
perhaps to just amend an overdue,
thank you
these pleasure hands
have always been
greedy,
for the sensuality
that stroking fingers command,
the contextual sensuality
is far greater than you ordinarily
stop to think about…
but I remember
every face, every cheek,
that I have stroked,
think upon it!
the soft curvature of the skin’s mellifluous
shapely contouring to you
your pointer
finger,
thinking simple
nothing finer,
more pleasurable,
totally expressing
the emotive bonds
two human can share
mother trains her. children
with a deeper understanding
how love is simple,
enduring and stronger than
any time’s decay could contemplate
despoiling
and to those women I have
adored,
whose thieving stole my precious loving,
I
thank you,
for your taking was a giving to me,
making a whole person
understand than to be whole
was to be parted,
for two are the greatest
one,
an equation that proofs
our experience
that though solitude
inspires
our greatest creativity
is is only because my eyes are
infused with and for
love
aspired and gained…
these hands,
more powerful than any other *****
the eyes may have its
but will never touch
your child, your women,
your sense that giving up
yourself,
is an enehacemnt
of all you are,
a single finger
surveying the face of a beloved
is an electric shock
that soothes and satisfies
simultaneously,
unique…
keep those pleasured hands,
fully employed,
bring pleasure to the world,
so that others will understand
it is now or never,
a line drawn upon
a beloved
is
poem only you,
can write
Jul 26, 2024
Jul 26, 2024 at 11:43 AM UTC
and i recall the night where we sat in the backseat of your moms truck
the streetlights peaking through the sunroof
contouring bits of your cheekbones and highlighting your flaws
our fingers intertwined matched together like a jigsaw puzzle
the way your eyes pierced through mine
you weren't just looking at me but at my soul
and how you made me feel so beautiful but so self conscious at the same time
and when you leaned in to kiss me
even though we had done it a million times before it felt like the first
when you whispered i love you into my ear making my ear drum rattle and a lightning storm erupt inside my body
and how you hugged me so tight i felt your heart beat
and heard your blood coursing through your veins
it was in that moment
in the backseat of your moms truck
where i realized i was truly in love with you
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 5:03 PM UTC
Much like life's choices
Options you are given
The red or the blue pill
Perhaps, Heart or Skin?
The skin
Nothing but a beautiful wrapper
Designing and contouring a gift
Sometimes it appears priceless
The heart
Though beauty plays the eyes
A beautiful heart overrides
You will grow old with the soul
Most choose the skin
Even lesser adores the heart
Skin and heart
The meanings of both
Value of each, you decide
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 12:28 PM UTC