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Sara Kellie Jul 2018
Look what they've done,
torn you apart.
In the name of fun,
some kind of black art.

I'd been thrown into the lake,
arms and legs tied.
I sunk to the bottom,
they thought I had died.
Out of the depths I arose
wearing a beautiful dress.

Some kind of new magic,
like a good witch.
A white art.
I don't seek revenge
for I have a pure heart.

It's now they'll see
that they could never be
someone like me.
Because I'm the greatest
******* in a dress
they'll ever meet.

Poetry by Kaydee.
The more times you're hurt, the less likely you will retaliate in the same way. Understand the serenity that comes with this, the more immoveable you will become. Covered in blood, bruises, fractures and breaks but . . . . . still stood smiling because *****, you're more than just a ******' witch.
the provocative dress i wore tonight

made you wonder if i wore it for you

i could feel your stare the whole night

watching as my body flowed

underneath the fluorescent lights

you noticed all my details

how i held my drink in my hand

how deep my curves were

how all the men in the club,

were doing the same as you

the one thing you all failed to notice

is what i hid underneath

you all failed to see the scar above my lip

and the fact that i chew my nails too often

and the purple galaxies that litter my skin,

under the confines of my dress
Alek Mielnikow Aug 2018
Her titillating tattoo
tantalizes me deeply,
to the tenth degree. I see
it as I slip her silk dress
slowly down her left shoulder.
A lizard lying on a
boulder, contrasting with her
silky smooth soft snowy skin.

I kiss her shoulder, and she
shudders and sighs a deep sigh.
Goosebumps rise up her body
as a sturdy gust seizes
the moment. The forest we
make love in quakes and shakes
as she shivers and quivers
under the touch of my hands.

My left hand holds her upper
arm, while my right grips her hips.
She closes her eyes, smiling,
giggling in amusement.
I spin her slowly ‘round, and
look into her hazel eyes,
her soft ******* and thighs against
mine for warmth and gentle touch.

I kiss her lips. Strawberry.
And we slide down to the ground.
The scariness we have found
slips away in our grace. We
sinners share our shame, our lust,
and come to a conclusion,
and bust each others doors down,
sweet ****** on this cold ground.
September Roses Feb 2018
Brighter than the blinding flares of the sun, shimmering outward with power of thousands of stars
yet comforting
yet soft.
Filled with oceans crashing and wild, turning over ships, rushing under a powerful storm.
yet still
yet calm.
Filled with wonder and curiosity, yearning for the unknown, desperate for enlightenment
yet wise
yet content.
Eyes so wide, so deep, filled with delicate roses, the power of mighty warriors, elegant as the flowing dress of Venus, filled with souls of thousands, with passion, with yearning, with desire.
Filled with beauty
Filled with you.
Emmanuella Nov 2018
"I can’t figure it out.” She said.
“I like cigars,
and pretty dresses and crossing my legs.”
She paused,
then continued,
“And I like smoking cigars in pretty dresses while crossing my legs.”
She uncrossed them,
then crossed them again.
One smooth limb over the other.
Just like that.

“But I never seem to have a lighter on hand.
Could you— sir,
please light my cigar?”
“You see, I have no pockets to hold such things and my purse…
Well,
You’ve confiscated that, haven’t you?”

“Thanks.” She breathed,
and inhaled,
and exhaled;
Sluggish wisps of smoke dissipating into the air.
Just. like .that.

“I didn’t know L'homme was into women who smoke cigars in pretty dresses while crossing their legs", She said.
“I mean, how was I to know?
I only noticed him noticing me.
It was probably the way my hair was pinned up like so,
Or the way my lipstick was a deep, dangerous rogue,
Or the way I sipped my champagne…
That made him walk over.”

“But I never asked him to light my cigar
Or comment on my dress…
Or stroke my legs.
So when I whacked him up top over the head with my glass,
I bet he never expected it to shatter and split his skull like so.
He dropped so sudden, sir. I…”
Another ringlet of smoke, a sigh, an uncrossing and crossing of legs again.
“I had no clue,
what else to do,
But to sit still in my pretty dress, with my legs crossed, smoking my cigar trying to figure out...
Just how I'd committed ******.”
"She's a dangerous woman...
Who can ****,
Just with her *** appeal".
zebra Aug 2017
in a taut black dress
you brush by me  

you are
dark summer fruit simmering hot
a sopping estuary  
i gather you into me  
you cascade like an undulating cat
giggles like trembling gelatin

cherry kiss lips  
agile muscle shifting  
pleating like soft furs
against my thunderous chest
your tremulous tongue rupturing
like spiced chrysanthemums from heaven  

i inhale your lavender breath  
your saliva melts stormy mouth up-leaping

i eat your soul
and paradise *******
licking honey rainbows
filling my mouth a thousand times  
and a thousand more

its never enough when some one has your heart

suffocate me in your drooling mouth
your body is my aviary
and hot house of man eating plants

i run to your teeth
beautiful cleavers gleaming
shivering with excitement  
from your dragging bites
my blood languishing at your feet

have no regard for me
eat my love  
i live to be swallowed by you  

i hold you through the night
all dire raptures
dark in mystic paradise  
tangled in your hair

may mourning never find us
torrid scorched from flames infernal
black candles uncrossing pasts
devils **** your adoring toy  
kisses never ceasing
hot weather nostrils steaming
your flexed body writhes
a royal contortion  
your heart cleaving
so that i may like a sun  
consume your darkest edges
bitter chocolate so sweet  
to fill griefs mouth with ecstasy
my heart aches like a siren of echoes  
calling to you  
shaking your gates down  

you are a titanic gravity  
and i'm forever tumbling  
like eternal burning ashes through cobalt night
it is a steep decent into heavens arms
as i crumble
all smashing diamonds
and hissing flames
into open wounds weeping glitter

your chin jutting
throat stretched
while pulling the roots of your hair
exposing arteries pulsing
stuffing myself on your marrow
you plume like a volcanic moon
showering me with spooling stars
and butter **** kisses

ill turn you into my glistening little *****
all swollen tears for more  
rituals of adoration
kisses like monsoon rains
i look up at your supple form
your haunches my temple  
worshiping you
smothered in heavens jaws
you cascading ******-less  
in a taut black dress
af Nov 2018
in my pink dress,
my pink dress,
I feel the dust of forgotten memories.

in my pink dress,
my pink dress,
I feel the little girl I couldn't be

on the stairs in my pink dress
I slowly descend as your eyes beckon me

in my pink dress,
my pink dress,
theres nothing but beautiful hurt
cait-cait May 2018
i would **** for you —
you know ,, ?

stain my white dress in red :
for
you .
                     .

blood dripping down a
knife
i would swear i never
held
.

but
they would end up catching me
of course ,

they always do —

and
the devil would sneer
,
disappointed ,

lace dress tight —
her lips curled in painted pink ,
when everything seems
so
h o t .
           .

because
               she knows
that
while
i would **** for you,
i
would never,
                       ever
die.
"well here we are again, its always such a pleasure"

i saw that funny tumblr post that said "its hotter than the devils p*ssy in here"
Tompson Mar 19
Another morning
Another night
The pain is knocking outside
Sometimes I let her in
But sometimes
She just sit there, in my door
Waiting for me

There's no one like her
Beautiful, always with a red dress
She take care of me
She brings friends too
And then
My house become a mess

I think she just want pleasure with me
I tried cheat on her
Hoping that she would leave me
But she didn't care
She knows that only her can controls my head
She always says that she got my back
Oh dear pain, will you follow me till death
Sara Kellie Dec 2017
My name is Sara, a transgender chick
Wanted a *****, was given a ****
I hide it in knickers of satin and lace
before sitting down to make-up my face,
Next the prosthetics, I'm using two bits.
Stuck to my chest, they'll do as my ****
Now for my legs I'll put on false tan,
I wouldn't do this if I were a man
Alternative nights, a t-girl delights
to sit on her bed and pull on new tights.
I'll put on a dress, a cute one no less.
Then for my shoes, high heels I choose
A sandal style shoe as every girl knows
not only looks cute, they'll show painted toes
A bit of eyeliner, eyebrow definer,
lipstick and blush, I'm now looking lush.
I stand in the mirror all ready to go,
there's only one question I just have to know.
"Does my *** look big in this?"

Poetry by Kaydee.
I wrote this poem in 2010 shortly after introducing myself as Sara to the world.
Though it may seem as if
I am trying to gaze through you-
I am only attempting to
Perceive you, and thus
Make you real.

You'll return my gaze,
But it will be nothing more
Than that- no attempt to
Perceive or make me real.
Just two, unconcerned eyes

And the strange pain of
Knowing that you'll walk away
With that newly awarded
Materiality. Like a quickly
Fading dream after a long sleep.

Like a small memory evoked
By a pattern on the green dress
Of a passing woman, newly
Real and walking fast.
Meiyun Dec 2017
together we are a velvet dress
comfortable, warm, high-quality material
knee-length, not too fancy
rich, earthy-green in colour
one strap, a bit quirky?
accentuates the thin waist
smoothly caresses the full hip
effortlessly ****, soft and flirtatious
not a casual piece, although it is adaptable
the dress hangs heavily on your shoulders and is strapped to your soul
never collecting dust
sometimes worn around the house on a free evening, just for you
wear me here, wear me there
wear me everywhere, the velvet dress cries
but of course this cannot be done
opt for the denim today, the workwear tomorrow
life says it must be so
let's save ourselves for the serendipitous occasion
knowing that this is the greatest part of our beauty and charm
not sure about the ending hmmmm
L B Aug 2018
This woman I know
quite the old hippie
gave me this lovely gift

A softened silk and denim dress
Folded loosely
just handed to me, unwrapped
(We felt the same about the waste of paper)
“This is for you.”
Opening it, I saw its gentle gathers from the shoulders
almost elegant, its drape
and the rough
but soft and dark of it
Real indigo dye
with silk laces from bust to waist

...then the tiny stitching...
NO!
Not by machine!
Knew the labor was – intensive
Every edge
was finished, sewn
by her caring hand!

"Oh, lady of my dream

whom I do not know
I THANK YOU!
From my soul"
I would have made this in another life –
time
of hope and longing

And then I saw that seam!
along the side
that wasn't... really...
just those thicker threads
a silk macrame
of knotted net
so –  bold
to hold that one inch open
to hint at nothing –
and everything –
in between

“Oh hell! Oh ****!
Does it come with an occasion??!!”
She smiled
somewhere between shy and sly
You get them when I get them.  This from a month ago.
Adilson Smith Nov 2017
I would say
I love you with all my heart.

But that's not quite right.

For I love you with far much more
Than just that one part.

For instance,
I love you with my lips:
They pucker lovingly like filled balloons
Rising skyward in a knot.

I love you also
With my eyes. Like a ruly clerk,
They sieve your frame with careful affection,
Vitalized by every detail.

My ears, too, are full of love.
I can feel them during the night;
Thumping with blood
As you rise and decline
Asleep in my nook.

There are many others.
My eyebrows, so enlivened,
Agitate my face
And my toes, so excited,
Tense in my shoes
As though afraid of getting wet.

Other parts aren’t so conspicuous.
My arms plot in the dark --
They long to swim around your waist
And link us back to breast.

And my fingers, naughty things,
Scheme to tease your dress
Above your pretty knees
And above your pretty chest.

Would you believe,
Even my ****'s involved!
Though he’s more obvious
With his *****, open smile
And cheeky morning breath.

But chief of all my loving parts
Is my un-run soul
Unkenneled, at last,
Sprinting furiously
Next to yours.
# love #silly

Note -- this is very much a rewrite of Watsky's splendid and original "love poem" (worth checking out on YouTube).
Terry Collett Dec 2018
Her mother's dress
lay on the bed;
full length,
a silky green.

She runs her fingers
over it; feels the silky
smoothness against
her chilled skin.

It was in her
mother's wardrobe,
among other dresses
and coats and hats
which no woman
wears anymore,
and old shoes
on the floor.

But that dress
stands out
in her memory;
her mother twirling
around and around,
giving off
that excited,
young girl sound.

The dress
made a swish sound
as her mother
walked about;
it seemed to
let off sparkles
in the artificial light.

Who bought her
the dress?
Father hadn't:
he wasn't the type
for that kind of thing;
it may have been
the man her mother
called Uncle Will;
he came when Father
was out for the day or away.

He seemed the type
to purchase gifts,
gifts at a price,
always wanting
something
in return.

She lifts the dress
and sniffs;
it smells of stale
scent and age.

Her mother
wore the dress
to the show
he took her to see-
Father away someplace-
but while Mother bathed
and got dressed
and ready to go,
he invaded me...

She screws up
the dress,
and throws it
in the black sack
with the other stuff:
the old fashioned,
smooth and rough.

The dress is
out of sight,
packed away
for the charity shop
far away
from her own town.

The wardrobe
and the house
are empty;
she locks up
and takes the keys
to the agent to sell.

But as she
gets in her car,
she notices
the dress's smell.
A woman and her mother's dress
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