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"debutante" poems
Dear diabolic debutante / Spawn of the unfathomable abyss of blackness / Daughter of dreadful dead desire / Black-shrouded sinister sister of celestial gloom before whose imperious gaze the heavens fall silent / Whip-lash girl-child of the graves whose pallid visage kindles the myriad infernal fires / Autocratic vampiress of lunar doom whose winding-cloth enfolds the thousand horrors of blood-drenched nightmare / Thou that wanderest the cypress-crested hills of funereal necropolises / Whose icy glance cracks the ungraven tombstones of utter desolation / Empress of night and madness / Who stalks the locked and shadowed hallways of unhallowed thought / Whose burial-boat glides the still waters over Lethe’s silent depths to the unglimpsed isle of eternal mourning / Whose parapets tower above the fiefdoms of quotidian banality / Whose flying buttresses overlook the Stygian waters of the forgotten drowned denizens of damnation / Whose unshackled dungeons open to worlds of regal splendor / Whose spires pierce dark skies where oblivion buries the ruined cities of revelry under the drifting clouds of leaden time / Oh maiden of melancholic alchemy whose petrified passions transmute base metal into pure gold… May the gibbous moon of equinox shine its baleful eye upon you; may you tread in sacramental calm the winding starlit paths of somnolent cemeteries; may my unmixed metaphors unveil in delirium their parabolic mysteries before the smoldering altar of your uninterpretable allegory; may the favor of your scorn forever lay me out, embalmed, undead, on the cold stone of merciless reality. Behold: in cryptic script of spectral apparition, in tracery of coded illumination, amidst the dawning rays of torment I write thine unknown name on the threshold of daylight. And from within the mortared wall of self I speak forth from my sepulcher the Sibylline utterance, unsought, unheard, undreamt: JUST WANTED TO SAY ‘HI’ !
0
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
Ω Gothic Postcard Ω
Dear diabolic debutante / Spawn of the unfathomable abyss of blackness / Daughter of dreadful dead desire / Black-shrouded sinister sister of celestial gloom before whose imperious gaze the heavens fall silent / Whip-lash girl-child of the graves whose pallid visage kindles the myriad infernal fires / Autocratic vampiress of lunar doom whose winding-cloth enfolds the thousand horrors of blood-drenched nightmare / Thou that wanderest the cypress-crested hills of funereal necropolises / Whose icy glance cracks the ungraven tombstones of utter desolation / Empress of night and madness / Who stalks the locked and shadowed hallways of unhallowed thought / Whose burial-boat glides the still waters over Lethe’s silent depths to the unglimpsed isle of eternal mourning / Whose parapets tower above the fiefdoms of quotidian banality / Whose flying buttresses overlook the Stygian waters of the forgotten drowned denizens of damnation / Whose unshackled dungeons open to worlds of regal splendor / Whose spires pierce dark skies where oblivion buries the ruined cities of revelry under the drifting clouds of leaden time / Oh maiden of melancholic alchemy whose petrified passions transmute base metal into pure gold… May the gibbous moon of equinox shine its baleful eye upon you; may you tread in sacramental calm the winding starlit paths of somnolent cemeteries; may my unmixed metaphors unveil in delirium their parabolic mysteries before the smoldering altar of your uninterpretable allegory; may the favor of your scorn forever lay me out, embalmed, undead, on the cold stone of merciless reality. Behold: in cryptic script of spectral apparition, in tracery of coded illumination, amidst the dawning rays of torment I write thine unknown name on the threshold of daylight. And from within the mortared wall of self I speak forth from my sepulcher the Sibylline utterance, unsought, unheard, undreamt: JUST WANTED TO SAY ‘HI’ !
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5
We meet again, young debutante! but what next? shall we ponder over coffee, or dance through the streets with only our thoughts to keep rhythm? Let us ask thine friend, the caterpillar. nay, he says, neither are to be, it is a picnic that you seek. where the ground is warm, and the sun is hot. What a grand idea! I shall go right off to make thy picnic one of perfection! but where to start? to the butcher for meat. the baker for bread. ............................... Why must he bother me yet again? He stalks me like a shadow, claiming I talk to caterpillars. he’’s raving mad! A picnic? I will do no such thing? however, I can use this to my advantage. The butcher’s cleaver never looked so beautiful, the soft glimmer in the light, Oh but if i could get my hands on it! His back is turned, now’s my chance! ................................. Oh dearest! please have some ham and bread. come sit by me and tell me of your day! Oh I pray you tell me about your learnings! What beautiful hair you have! It glows like the sun shines, and your dress is even more beautiful than before, tell me, how do you radiate such beauty? ................................ I will lie. I can feel the cleaver in my bag, a weight on my shoulder, the meat and bread are horrid. he is so pathetic! Beauty is the way the blood spurted from his chest! glowing is how my face feels when it is splashed with his blood! gentle is the wind over his lifeless body. Oh what a grand picnic indeed!
0
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 6:15 PM UTC
The Picnic
We meet again, young debutante! but what next? shall we ponder over coffee, or dance through the streets with only our thoughts to keep rhythm? Let us ask thine friend, the caterpillar. nay, he says, neither are to be, it is a picnic that you seek. where the ground is warm, and the sun is hot. What a grand idea! I shall go right off to make thy picnic one of perfection! but where to start? to the butcher for meat. the baker for bread. ............................... Why must he bother me yet again? He stalks me like a shadow, claiming I talk to caterpillars. he’’s raving mad! A picnic? I will do no such thing? however, I can use this to my advantage. The butcher’s cleaver never looked so beautiful, the soft glimmer in the light, Oh but if i could get my hands on it! His back is turned, now’s my chance! ................................. Oh dearest! please have some ham and bread. come sit by me and tell me of your day! Oh I pray you tell me about your learnings! What beautiful hair you have! It glows like the sun shines, and your dress is even more beautiful than before, tell me, how do you radiate such beauty? ................................ I will lie. I can feel the cleaver in my bag, a weight on my shoulder, the meat and bread are horrid. he is so pathetic! Beauty is the way the blood spurted from his chest! glowing is how my face feels when it is splashed with his blood! gentle is the wind over his lifeless body. Oh what a grand picnic indeed!
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45
She applied the latest fashion tips to her lips and put on the newest dress to cover the mess. I held her as she swayed in front of the mirror. "I want to get away from here," she cooes in my ear. It rains ridicule as she tries to be classic cool; storms that brew from within- and there's no way of knowing how it'll begin. She'll say that she's a succubus but I promise that she's a star and thus destined to implode but shine beautiful before death. And I await to be burnt by her deathly breath. She says that she feels detached, I read the message that has hatched from ten eggs thrown from a wrist. Her lips are mine but all I do is miss. Her lips aren't mine and all I do is this. I **** time with new noise and old sights. She asks if I'll be home tonight and I wish I could because I'd clearly sway thee, macabre debutante lover baby. Her name is Tricia and as I whisper, her cheeks blush. "Don't break hearts or mine too much." I could say the say the same for you, my Josh. Couldn't we all break broken signs with the love we reallign? I tantalize her lullabies with eager hands and lethargic eyes. I shoulder her and press her near, and kiss her from neck to each ear. She slides hands and traces each crease. She runs her hands as soft as fleece. My hands hide in her underwear and she says, "How did you remove all of my air?" She fixes her hands and grabs my base, I kiss each corner of her face. Stroking, stoking my desire, I ask her to lay naked by the fire. I disrobe and throw each cloth on ground. Tricia takes off her bra and there is no sound. Her ******* make me eagersome and, suddenly, I'm no longer numb . I tell her that if it doesn't feel right that we don't have to make love tonight. She walks and her feet kiss the tile. She says she wants to stay for a while. We get lost in blanket and the cloth is soft, as we move from the fire to a loft. I tell her that her lips are silk, her chest plays songs, and her taste is milk. Her feet appear behind my head, and she bites her lip until I feel dead. I place my hand between her thighs and listen to each moan and sigh. I hear her shudder as I break her soil and I feel my body start to boil, as I push in and kiss her nose. She throws back her head as her mouth can't close. I wake up and she's next to me. I kiss her forehead to thank for harmony. I pick her up and let her bloom in my arms like a flower. And then I walk her to the shower.
0
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC
Macabre Debutante Lover Baby
She applied the latest fashion tips to her lips and put on the newest dress to cover the mess. I held her as she swayed in front of the mirror. "I want to get away from here," she cooes in my ear. It rains ridicule as she tries to be classic cool; storms that brew from within- and there's no way of knowing how it'll begin. She'll say that she's a succubus but I promise that she's a star and thus destined to implode but shine beautiful before death. And I await to be burnt by her deathly breath. She says that she feels detached, I read the message that has hatched from ten eggs thrown from a wrist. Her lips are mine but all I do is miss. Her lips aren't mine and all I do is this. I **** time with new noise and old sights. She asks if I'll be home tonight and I wish I could because I'd clearly sway thee, macabre debutante lover baby. Her name is Tricia and as I whisper, her cheeks blush. "Don't break hearts or mine too much." I could say the say the same for you, my Josh. Couldn't we all break broken signs with the love we reallign? I tantalize her lullabies with eager hands and lethargic eyes. I shoulder her and press her near, and kiss her from neck to each ear. She slides hands and traces each crease. She runs her hands as soft as fleece. My hands hide in her underwear and she says, "How did you remove all of my air?" She fixes her hands and grabs my base, I kiss each corner of her face. Stroking, stoking my desire, I ask her to lay naked by the fire. I disrobe and throw each cloth on ground. Tricia takes off her bra and there is no sound. Her ******* make me eagersome and, suddenly, I'm no longer numb . I tell her that if it doesn't feel right that we don't have to make love tonight. She walks and her feet kiss the tile. She says she wants to stay for a while. We get lost in blanket and the cloth is soft, as we move from the fire to a loft. I tell her that her lips are silk, her chest plays songs, and her taste is milk. Her feet appear behind my head, and she bites her lip until I feel dead. I place my hand between her thighs and listen to each moan and sigh. I hear her shudder as I break her soil and I feel my body start to boil, as I push in and kiss her nose. She throws back her head as her mouth can't close. I wake up and she's next to me. I kiss her forehead to thank for harmony. I pick her up and let her bloom in my arms like a flower. And then I walk her to the shower.
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65
We knew limited evil. We base-valued desirable evil. We unharness a nice, obedient, satan-tail. She was fresh. A raw, vile, unwashed beast. A love-lorn evil bear. She ate you so loud -Idle Wrath —————————————————————————————————— Would you believe, I can’t lie? She was a runner. I was a bleeder. She ran fast. She was a love I’ll never know. She was a debutante. she was vaudeville. I don’t believe I’m losing it. -Wild Heart
0
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 3:07 PM UTC
Sincere Afterthought (Anagram #5)
The poet’s quill scribes a vision of the debutante as she rests amongst the bluebells Scattered like jewels over the meadow. The delicate voice of the robins Echo through the valley, Where the gentleman tells of his ardor As they shelter amongst the weeping willows. Curls tumble from the confines of her hat, Parasol tilting to hide girlish blushes, Careless of her silk skirts they are crushed, lying as broken rose petals. She glows with the joy of an un-chaperoned picnic Scent of cinnamon scrolls tempt her senses, as her beau offers cider to moisten their suddenly dry throats. Dapper in his impeccable finery, Coat tails trailing, crisply starched shirt points lifting his chin, Top hat tilted at a rakish angle. Dark eye’s glinting with the thrill of his endeavors. Sunshine silhouettes the glory of the lovers, whom the poet has sewn together as an artist creates a masterpiece. Each syllable as a brushstroke on canvas. A Monet made not of oil and brushes, But ink and parchment. Every word scribed by the care of the poet, Transformed within the mind of the reader
0
Oct 21, 2009
Oct 21, 2009 at 12:59 AM UTC
Scribed masterpiece
An immigrant from County Clare brought to this harsher clime- Phoebe Prince, an Irish lass, a gentle heart and mind. First used, and then discarded by one boy, then another.- Object of the mean girl’s scorn the consummate "outsider"   On her last day alive                                                                                                                                                         They hounded her from school. The girl they called the “Irish **** disgraced and played the fool. Her sister, Lauren, found her body hanging lifeless in the hall. Befriended by nobody Phoebe chose to end it all And on the day they held her wake Those monsters held their dance A debutante cotillion for a troop of soulless tramps. She’s buried here in County Clare because the Ocean's waves protect her from the harpies who drove her to her grave
0
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
A Girl named Phoebe
In the morning the mist arises but some will say it is yesterday's hubris. I dont have an attic to wayleigh communications or require windows to twitch gingham curtains so the deep chill void remains. A debutante passed by my uncut grass but she was no better served, a dream interview with ******* Club turned sour, this time of year. At least she hasn't endless dealership openings or humoured the word "exhilarating" in interviews when inventing a rich Stepfather. Like me there be few visitors. Thirty  stubborn years will pass but at least she know the meaning. The pride of the morning.
0
Apr 24, 2012
Apr 24, 2012 at 4:11 PM UTC
Pride of the Morning
A child without water, a rich man drinks his coffee. A father unable to provide, a rich kid gets a new car. A mother lies awake, body ravaged by AIDS, while the Hollywood hills expose their costly ills. The dream of equality is nowhere to be found while the lives of the many are repressed and pushed down. Executives and suits lived gluttonous youths while a father works to death to fill his children’s mouths. There is a solution to this problem of society, one which the telethon celebs won’t give up quietly. It doesn’t involve guilt-trips on TV. It doesn’t need attention constantly. Socialites shouldn’t seek their own satisfaction if the only result is our continued inaction. What is really necessary, what really needs doing, is to get out there and get ourselves moving. It’s the work of us commoners that will fill up the bellies. It’s the donation of the middle class that will educate young ladies. The revolution of giving needs to be started or else who will care when our own lives grow stunted? The world all together relies on us all to give out our hand and make our brothers stand tall. It’s these simple acts which will strengthen the pillars of mutual respect for our society’s sisters. So don’t wait any longer for a celeb to rise up. It’s these people below them who’ll fill up the cup. No debutante or heir can fill every belly by thinking of their pride and unearned glory. Never before has it felt so right to be the common man, helping a peer in his plight.
0
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 3:16 AM UTC
Common Man's Plight
A child without water, a rich man drinks his coffee. A father unable to provide, a rich kid gets a new car. A mother lies awake, body ravaged by AIDS, while the Hollywood hills expose their costly ills. The dream of equality is nowhere to be found while the lives of the many are repressed and pushed down. Executives and suits lived gluttonous youths while a father works to death to fill his children’s mouths. There is a solution to this problem of society, one which the telethon celebs won’t give up quietly. It doesn’t involve guilt-trips on TV. It doesn’t need attention constantly. Socialites shouldn’t seek their own satisfaction if the only result is our continued inaction. What is really necessary, what really needs doing, is to get out there and get ourselves moving. It’s the work of us commoners that will fill up the bellies. It’s the donation of the middle class that will educate young ladies. The revolution of giving needs to be started or else who will care when our own lives grow stunted? The world all together relies on us all to give out our hand and make our brothers stand tall. It’s these simple acts which will strengthen the pillars of mutual respect for our society’s sisters. So don’t wait any longer for a celeb to rise up. It’s these people below them who’ll fill up the cup. No debutante or heir can fill every belly by thinking of their pride and unearned glory. Never before has it felt so right to be the common man, helping a peer in his plight.
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34
you’re the streetsign at the corner of intrigue and desire, right next to melancholy hill, perimetered in barbed wire. you’re the bloom breaking through the chainlinked fence crossing the border, finally tired of the intense. you’re the solar light when the sun don’t shine, the lie in our eyes when we say we’re fine you blur the lines between should and want. a privilege for me, for others you daunt. so fruitful now but then, so gaunt. but enter here, your debutante.
0
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 6:34 PM UTC
ode to cuteboy
By: David W. Clare I sorta knew better but became intrigued at the notion... It all began with one lonely emotion! Like a poisoned love potion... Out of the blue she sent money to the front desk of my flop house hotel deep in the city! More came later along with promises and lies... The bellman was asking way too many questions... I told him it was from an old debt. I bet he saw right through that alibi. He acted shy then the word got out I was a creep, I'm no little Bo Peep! She and I made plans to meet I was convinced by her intense sense of essence... She sent **** pictures in the mail, the front desk had opened to inspect! I suspect an indirect suspicion, the coat-check girl even ran through my pockets stole my coins and matches. Tough little ***** likes to rant, wants to flaunt her wants my way, asked me to pay for a roll in the hay after she got off work one day... Then the diabolical debutante went away... (C) In perpetuity all rights reserved (P) FilmNoirWorks
0
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 5:48 AM UTC
Diabolical Debutante
Today I am Cinderella! Today I am going to a ball and today I will get dressed up with one of my very good best friends and we will wear pearls like Audrey and Marilyn and drink free champagne and I am so excited. Ten years from now I hope I can look back on tonight and be content that I wore a thirty dollar dress to my first debutante ball and know that everything happened exactly the way it should have when I fixed my hair and went to the movies.
0
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 11:27 AM UTC
All I need is a fairy god-mother, and I'll be cooking with gas.
Beware the ugly woman who thirsts for admiration; She's apt to take up the violin with zeal, Or keep a parrot as a sign of independence. Her envious heart makes treacherous her words To pretty women with their petty self-idolatry. Did Marie Currie suffer meekly the debutante? Was "Little Women" a Louisa May ambiguity? The ugly woman burns monopoly on praise, Like coals shimmering in a furnace, A night without neon unthinkable.
0
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
Their Hour Is Their Eternity
Mano a mano I will help, secure, and respect you. Mano a mano Don't knock me down I won't hurt you. Mano a mano Pompous were your hands reaching up Your pride got you, did it fill that prideful cup. Mano a mano You grew up a chicano Went from man to boy. Mano a mano You kept saying pronto I'm not your debutante rich *** I'm low class, with a poor home. Mano a mano You still haven't grown up Will you sincerely love me, its a must. I need I T N O W. Mano a mano I d o N t Think You Can Handle M E..
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Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 7:14 AM UTC
Mano a mano
Bedeck the band and play a merry tune The debutante desires her maiden dance A farewell serenade beneath the moon She's drifting like a Sunday afternoon Each lazy sway a restful rhythmic trance Bedeck the band and play a merry tune Encircling suitors pack around and soon She gleans the grating of each nervous glance: "A farewell serenade beneath the moon?" She casts them all aside her heart immune To each until one voice, one piercing lance: "Bedeck the band and play a merry tune!" She falters and her bold facade is hewn And nodding shyly greets his cold advance: "A farewell serenade beneath the moon!" Embracing him her heart begins to swoon A maiden sunken at her first romance; Bedeck the band and play a merry tune A farewell serenade beneath the moon
0
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 6:52 AM UTC
A Farewell Serenade
A dress ***** hair Or a ripped Pair of jeans And the finest of wear, No matter If I look As if a girl Without A home, or Some rich debutante I'm made from gods own Throne, I'm beautiful Taken, I'm even better Alone, I need no man To complete what's gods Own.
0
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 9:57 AM UTC
debutante or poor, i am made by his image, not just skin with the outside girl
Alexander K Opicho (Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected]) I loved you on your assurance of loving me too I kissed you as you kissed me in turn I showered you with the gifts and series of treats I courted you on the shores of Zanzibar island We hovered around and hopped in choppers To give a toast of debutante to our love I swell your account with all currencies I paid your University fees and hostel costs I financed wholesomely the wedding of your sister I did all whatsoever you wanted from in time You got pregnant and promised me a baby Only you turned around to abort my baby The second week I lost my job Babie you are very bad.
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Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 7:32 AM UTC
Why did you abort my baby?
Good Morning, Is it strange for you? Is it strange to forget or is it the usual everyday story There's clamor outside and I need to shed your memory I am watching as the ties that never bound lie threadbare, swept aside into a darker place not meant for prisoners It is strange for me. Very strange to be amongst the forgotten and re-arranged Is that all it is, or was this, this strange little drive through the unknown more than i wished, desired or paid for with the all the change i had Are you pockets empty, were you the thief or I ? Shall we be civilized now, will you play at the charming masquerade and i at the debutante ball shall we feign a friendly nonchalance, real as the time goes by It's just that, well you see I can't quite understand which is true that you were worth the silence, or not at all. Sincerely, me
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Sep 16, 2010
Sep 16, 2010 at 4:22 PM UTC
Letters to the Ordinary
It could be the duchess Or maybe the CEO Or the media mogul Who almost stole the show Consider the brash ******* (He does look kind of shifty) Then again there is the gambler (Everyone calls him "Swifty") Check out the carefree diplomat With that fake smile but no charm And then there's the airhead heiress With tattoos adorning her arms My money's on the senator Always running, always winning His wife seems kind of suspect too With her endless mindless grinning And then there is the debutante Who flirted with the football star And don't forget the pro golfer Who spent so much time at the bar But after all that guessing Throughout the suspenseful show Turns out the butler did it ...As if I didn't know!
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Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 10:33 AM UTC
Mystery Dinner Theater Presents "Whodunit?"
I may not own the streets or ride them in leather seats, but if you can hear the beat then that I speak isn’t weak. And when I use my unique technique you will feel weak and antique. I imagine, create, and contrast, while you remain in the shame of the past. And no fame or acclaim will frame your lame claims of a big game. So listen up; let my words glisten and strut and enlighten your mind to the blind kind of refined chap whose strife in life is crap in a shiny wrap. And when you understand that this land is not about high-end brands or powerful hands, I will demand your attention to begin an ascension into another dimension where we will find a divine comprehension of our world. In this new state, where happiness is part of fate, we will no longer ache from the weight of our hate. We will not longer become irate when the worth of a great estate abates and no longer fail to appreciate dates with soul mates and time with your friends, while the trends will amend virtue and not pretend and defend vices that can only hurt you. So please open your eyes and let your mind fly into the skies so that my goodbye might manage to give flight to what is right and make all our dry lives a bit more bright. Because all I really want is to see every gent, elder and debutante from the Nile to Vermont to flaunt a smile that does not beguile, but genuinely shows how versatile and worthwhile life can be when we defile the hostile and see that a college degree does not advocate the ease of greed and even those without their abc’s and phd’s still need to be part of the key to unlock a world above thee. We must choose to rise together, for one missing feather will sever the wings of mankind and leave us blind; Always and forever.
0
Mar 7, 2010
Mar 7, 2010 at 7:13 PM UTC
Fighting Crime With Rhyme
I may not own the streets or ride them in leather seats, but if you can hear the beat then that I speak isn’t weak. And when I use my unique technique you will feel weak and antique. I imagine, create, and contrast, while you remain in the shame of the past. And no fame or acclaim will frame your lame claims of a big game. So listen up; let my words glisten and strut and enlighten your mind to the blind kind of refined chap whose strife in life is crap in a shiny wrap. And when you understand that this land is not about high-end brands or powerful hands, I will demand your attention to begin an ascension into another dimension where we will find a divine comprehension of our world. In this new state, where happiness is part of fate, we will no longer ache from the weight of our hate. We will not longer become irate when the worth of a great estate abates and no longer fail to appreciate dates with soul mates and time with your friends, while the trends will amend virtue and not pretend and defend vices that can only hurt you. So please open your eyes and let your mind fly into the skies so that my goodbye might manage to give flight to what is right and make all our dry lives a bit more bright. Because all I really want is to see every gent, elder and debutante from the Nile to Vermont to flaunt a smile that does not beguile, but genuinely shows how versatile and worthwhile life can be when we defile the hostile and see that a college degree does not advocate the ease of greed and even those without their abc’s and phd’s still need to be part of the key to unlock a world above thee. We must choose to rise together, for one missing feather will sever the wings of mankind and leave us blind; Always and forever.
Continue reading...
62
I give my body up To anyone that asks, Just to have 30 minutes Of artificial love unmasked But when it’s all done, It’s over too soon, My face plunges my hands, Tears turn my fingers to prunes Like buzzing bees in a hive They can’t seem to sit still, On the edge of the loveseat paralyzed With a defiled heart shaped box to fill I’ve sampled it all I’ve tried different styles, I even bought new makeup I toned and ran extra miles, I bought myself new clothes Hung the old with a noose, Even with pained effort They forever call me “loose” So I starve, I suffer, I pull food from my stomach, I beg johns to stay but they leave, After paying the hotel check With nothing left I stare Out into the dangerous distance, With ripped, lace underwear That to him, didn’t make a difference Tomorrow I will try again To make myself a debutante, Easy gaunt bodies, and shiny hair, Isn’t that what all guys want?
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Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
Inquiring Approval
I-Can U-R Loved 2-B my man Did you ever mingle 2-C Army or Navy Amy is my baby Bermuda shorts The sign (All sporty) Love certain Never so clearer the 3 misses So clever Look!! Behind the Deep-sea Me curtain Front page Eyes engaged Never again Villa number 4-Me Quite the target 5 people-C Death wishes 13-D D- Deceased Crossword Puzzle dazzle me crowd But all buts.  .  . The tantalizing temple People   Big Dimple drink's It never Sips money green____ 50 shades smiling snap anyone's Snapple The ending battle *   *   *   *   * Bermuda triangle Just beginning Squared Inn Beguiling Making round's Never stones Summoned on Scarlet fever Not giving a **** Lady stays up (Yes Nam) Higher cheekbones But all these buts in between remarks When the sunset goes down Going up >  >  > Sword-like Biblical Ancient Bermuda town That kiss rarity ((Flattercalls)) Tipping over her hand ((Waterfall-Gals)) laying over Hearing her moans of sounds I but... I need it Let's mingle we are all talking the same language Cafe...steams me The hub or hubby Bermuda tropical place It rings * But always a but____ I never want to see you  but__with her Drinks Bondmen Showcase stirs Taxman No buts Oh! Sir Or quite the Mr. Burr Bermuda Red tape everything on ((Google)) Never to mingle with ladies wanted Goodbye waves Ads Never curves single (Millionaires Harmony) Suntan Bermuda bikini's and buts____ Here it is the buts.   .  . But did you see that?? How I need that My Alladin man He gave me The time of my life (Debutante all Detailed) To be wed The Peacock Ladybirds triangle Fan Spiritual Traveling to never- landing Applique Peachy tree's Dressed 777 Thousands the millions someone's breaths Terrible two trillion    Her Bermuda vacation so jaded Check to check Foreign kissing remarkable 69 lips sipping Ending up with Skittles The rainbow food Hill of the Monk Fish Seven Fishes of wonder Sea Bass Her summery Bermuda shebang * Icely but pricey chilled bur $-$-$ tang
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May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 8:55 AM UTC
Never Mingle Bermuda Triangle
I-Can U-R Loved 2-B my man Did you ever mingle 2-C Army or Navy Amy is my baby Bermuda shorts The sign (All sporty) Love certain Never so clearer the 3 misses So clever Look!! Behind the Deep-sea Me curtain Front page Eyes engaged Never again Villa number 4-Me Quite the target 5 people-C Death wishes 13-D D- Deceased Crossword Puzzle dazzle me crowd But all buts.  .  . The tantalizing temple People   Big Dimple drink's It never Sips money green____ 50 shades smiling snap anyone's Snapple The ending battle *   *   *   *   * Bermuda triangle Just beginning Squared Inn Beguiling Making round's Never stones Summoned on Scarlet fever Not giving a **** Lady stays up (Yes Nam) Higher cheekbones But all these buts in between remarks When the sunset goes down Going up >  >  > Sword-like Biblical Ancient Bermuda town That kiss rarity ((Flattercalls)) Tipping over her hand ((Waterfall-Gals)) laying over Hearing her moans of sounds I but... I need it Let's mingle we are all talking the same language Cafe...steams me The hub or hubby Bermuda tropical place It rings * But always a but____ I never want to see you  but__with her Drinks Bondmen Showcase stirs Taxman No buts Oh! Sir Or quite the Mr. Burr Bermuda Red tape everything on ((Google)) Never to mingle with ladies wanted Goodbye waves Ads Never curves single (Millionaires Harmony) Suntan Bermuda bikini's and buts____ Here it is the buts.   .  . But did you see that?? How I need that My Alladin man He gave me The time of my life (Debutante all Detailed) To be wed The Peacock Ladybirds triangle Fan Spiritual Traveling to never- landing Applique Peachy tree's Dressed 777 Thousands the millions someone's breaths Terrible two trillion    Her Bermuda vacation so jaded Check to check Foreign kissing remarkable 69 lips sipping Ending up with Skittles The rainbow food Hill of the Monk Fish Seven Fishes of wonder Sea Bass Her summery Bermuda shebang * Icely but pricey chilled bur $-$-$ tang
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