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Stephen E Yocum Jun 2017
Sincere reassuring hugs,
Touching and
being touched,
Caresses shared,
Easy laughter exuded,
Intimate whispers
of affection exchanged,
A fellowship of souls,
Sweet Companionship
spread, like frosting on a cake.
As comfortable and reassuring
as your favorite old wool sweater
on a chilly night's weather.
****** passions undeniably
wonderful, yet often those
heated flames cool and wane.
The chemistry of loving
companionships can last
a lifetime and perhaps beyond.

For CJ with great affection
and love.
King Panda Feb 2016
I was flying home from Denver
and the man next to me ordered 3 double vodkas
slipping the stewardess a hundred bucks
by the end of the flight he was asking me
to come home with him
he had a sheepskin bed throw
that would keep us perfectly warm
this chill winter night
I refused
called him a drunk freak
and giggled when he stumbled down the escalator
and split a **** in his forehead
that cracked like
like Easter
smothered in chocolate frosting
Stephen E Yocum Aug 2018
The older we grow
the faster life goes,
priorities change
quality of living
and loving takes
precedent, over
self-indulgence
and material things.
Nothing as important
as family and friends.

It is racing now,
these fleeting days
and years, reflected
most in my grandsons
growing too soon from
children to young men.

Along with Steller parents
our little farm provides
a learning ground for the
kids, teaching life lessons
that inspire character and
self discipline, with Cows
and pigs to show at fairs,
pride earned with accomplishments
and Blue Ribbons to share.

I am so lucky having a ringside
seat, watching yet another
family generation ascend.
Football and basket ball
games to attend, Christmas
morns of excited children
clamoring down the stairs,  
many birthday celebrations
with ever more candles aglow.
Memories all, retained and shared.

Perhaps the best part is,
these grandsons of mine,
still are up for hugs and
good night kisses, genuine
affection received and given.

Families are a true blessing
and a privilege, the only
real reason we are here.

All these things, remain the
sweet frosting on my aging
Grandfather's cake of life.
I sometimes wonder where
I would be without all these,  
my reasons for being?
jcl Feb 5
you are may
i am december
kisses exchanged
during the bluing hour
child like
staring at you
in wonder and amazement
frosting night
falling snow
flakes in your auburn hair
i walk you home
in the cold frigid air
holding your hand
dreaming of you

you are rare
a beacon
a lighthouse
in a storm
in my daydreams
you are the pixie, the fairy inspiring me  
at night
you are the siren, i surrender to

a trifecta of youth, beauty, personality
you are refreshingly young
spring in my wintered life
preternaturally beautiful
perfection come to life
your femininity bewitching  
your youth intoxicating
your mannerism seducing
i would do anything for you

oozing sensuality
innocences
of a woman on the cusp
you hunger for sophistication
to be worldly-wise
seeking passage guidance
from an experienced traveller
the trade, the deal, is timeless
refined by evolution  

i am humbled
to have been chosen
the ultimate champion
of your ****** selection
in turn, you are my trophy
the spoils
of a never ending war

i know our time is short
the span of a bloom
a season at most
i know the outcome
seen the devastation
the problem is
we think we have time
https://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/24/arts/design/24wilson.html
Kara Jean Jul 2016
I used an abundance of bronzer to attain that warming look
To bad, I'm see through
My pale dead cold blue glistens for you
You wanted me selfishly
I seen your tendencies shining
You were always better at dining
You never existed
The only evidence is a ripped up shirt,
covered in blue frosting
I wanna **** myself in a thousand ways.
I wanna feel nothing but pain for days.
I wanna lose my ******* mind,
and never think again.
I want you to rip up
my pedals,
my roots
and my stem.
I wanna die
and be dead forever,
I wanna be plucked
of every feather.
I want no one
to sit around with,
to feel horrible together.
This feeling
is best felt alone,
it slips in
like a crisp breeze,
frosting your bones.
Then it warms up your heart,
but it doesn't make you better.
It ***** with my head,
and makes me write you these letters.
Until i want nothing else,
then to be able to forget,
the prettiest elf.
But you can relate
to how bad this must be,
accept that every day,
there's no one
Loving you
more than me.
And now
there is nothing
but fate to steal.
But i have faith,
that I could heal.
This terrible affliction,
you're forced to feel.
I love you,
and I want your life.
To be filled with love,
and free from strife.
onlylovepoetry Feb 2018
Parkland: Oh My divine, We Wrestle Over What is Yours



and what is mine

it took days for the after- shock and awe to arrive;

the bizarre tempo reversal, myself, out of order,
is my shame, after the mind’s pretense ennui of “yet another,”
had to slow seep away beneath the
firewall cutting off the pain of my the true self
and the I, of ordinary

how else, to keep the madness away?
it’s disguised in a well tended secured lockbox
chamber labeled, I, all about me,
deep hid in the rear, not too near the true self,
must keep the unseeing functioning, functioning

but bus-ted poet is triggered and the weep welling
in the eyes commencing that makes writing on a cell
on a moving vehicle an annoying frosting
on what is an inconsolable hell

everyone stares unawares that the shock,
is without awe, and the only awe is in awful awful awful awful

we sit at the Friday eve sabbath table to begin our negotiation;
but there is no negotiating though the excuses and the divine’s stumbling, flailing failings are pre-prepared,
we know this battle too well and the outcome as well,
it is mine true self’s to win, have me not
words and stanzas and music suffice
to convict the lord of the hosts, adonai

take all your seventy names in vain to crush the vanity of
omnipotence for your godliness degrades and your instant access to where the good in me resides is cutoff;
under My Contacts
you have been


blocked

we shall meet as always on the Day of Atonement
but this year no repentance to be granted, the pardons shared
with my kind only, none left for the lonely gone-gods,
no longer seek yours for me, there are 17 extra to be given out*

the left foot and the falsehoods join in the denunciation,
though some suggest reprieve and only reproach
for isn’t atonement possible for even gods?  No. not,
for a god who got human kindness installed in all his devices
but then never opened the app

my name was
onlylovepoetry;
but for now, till the culling of the agonies is done,
till the hollows are refilled and the curses fully final expended,
till the sudden eye tearing ceases to render me torn, messed,
you may call me nothing but this:

onlyreproachpoetry

should you come calling
there will be no beseeching,
just the stoic bearing witness of my silence,
my finger-pointing judgement,
and my angels presence

“May the angel Michael be at my right,
and the angel Gabriel be at my left;
and in front of me the angel Uriel,
and behind me the angel Raphael...”
and above me seventeen new protectors
whose names my true self will now memorize,

for now they are mine

~<•>~

2/16/18 4:34pm  ~ 2/17/18  3:34am
saige Mar 2018
no count-downs for birthday parties
no arm wrestles, no jump shots
no go-cart donuts
not even a snowball

where did we go?

blond hair
up to my shoulders
surrounded by jewels
some empty-paned picture frame
couple sprouts beneath a pine
saying "monkeys" for Grammy's kodak
red clay on your feet
pink frosting in your teeth
me, sheathed in my favorite shirt
"I'm the big sister!"
with a butterfly depicting
what I've yet to become

how wrong have we gone?

well, I'll be twenty
once spring rolls around
and brother
you're not far behind
I can't tell time
to change its mind
but I promise you
it won't be changing mine
from the photographs, scrapbooks
I'll forever feel your laughter
just like goosebumps
the brail I'm reading into
let's gaze past glares
straight through white sunbeams
spiking your brown eyes
twice as deep as mine
the truest shades
on the face of the earth
to this very
foggy day
this mirror, this moment snagged
before shutters snap
and capture us, splatter us
on matte paper, or cell screens
with brown hair
up to your shoulders

way to go, little brother
but I'm still keeping that tee
because the only thing
I've always been proud to be
is your big sister
Emma Ottinger Jun 2018
Fallow brown, like he's poured his whole soul out through the gold sieve and lies in wait to be replenished.

2. The color of the ocean. Blue, I guess, but that’s not even the half of it. All the ruggedness of the waves—forming up, breaking, and forming again like life is only the motions. Her eyes are blue, but you could hardly tell.

3. A hand-painted bowl of fresh chocolate frosting from which the most immature hands soonest get a mouthful.

4. Beautiful. Like, drop dead gorgeous. I’d dig my own grave and stick to rolling in it if she ever looked at me some type of way. Their color? I don’t know. But most of all, I dare to wonder about the bludgeoned scar between them.

5. Sturdy cobalt. Far more indicative of her steady heart than gold could ever hope to be. Still susceptible to tear, but not so easily warped by heat or stress.

6. Simply brown. No, red? It’s always been hard to tell through the fog. Truthful like the rawest earth, I’ll call her mahogany.

7. Faded blue spray paint over a slate gray wall. Forcibly muted after her years of blasting music, but there’s still that rogue twinkle to them that I pray slips through the cracks.

8. Coffee, with all the vim and vigor to make you click your heels and fall in love.

9. Unripe lime seen lazing in the shade. Not fit for a margarita just yet, but straining at the bit nonetheless.

10. Hazel, although I still don’t know what the **** that actually is. Whatever. It looks nice on her resume.

11. Green. Or were they blue? The memories of her were too wonderful, too important, that I had to let the littlest details fade away first.

12. The crystallized seafoam that made me realize I deserved to feel alive, too.
Dedicated to any pair of eyes that's ever struggled to raise itself from the sights they've grown used to.
elizabeth May 2018
I’m forever uncomfortable with the idea that time is not linear. I’ve always wanted things to be straight forward, for each day to feel the same, for every hour to be the exact same length. But they aren’t, and that makes me feel all woozy and sick in my stomach- like the butterflies are trapped and trying to escape. It scares the hell out of me that I can’t remember what it felt like to be in love with him, that, even though it wasn’t too long ago, it somehow feels like I never truly was with him— it all feels like it never happened. I guess most things feel that way, when you really get down to it. I can imagine certain aspects of my past, but none of them feel real. It’s like everything that occurred up until today was a dream, and I can’t quite place my finger on when or why it happened. That’s the thing about time. It’s always changing. Each time I think this is it, this is how my life is going to be, I wake up one day and nothing is the same.  I’m terrified by the fact that I can’t truly recall what it felt like when he and I were by the lake that summer night or when we fought over ice cream and I cried into the night. I want to feel everything I’ve ever felt my whole life, even though that would probably **** me. I honestly can’t fully grasp that time is so fleeting, and I will never feel the exact same way about things the way I felt in the past. I want to understand it, I want to hold my past and my future in my hands and lay them out in front of me, counting the times I am hurt and heartbroken, counting the times I get frosting on my nose and I feel whole, counting the times I fall asleep on the subway or the times I hold someone’s hand. I know that’s an impossible dream, and that scares me even more. There is no running tally of lives you impact or places you go. Maybe it’s time I start accepting that.
Savannah Oct 2018
Pastel skies came crashing down,
Watching sugar coating fade.
In darkness sat sapphires,
Wrapped in soft suede.
Frosting covered words,
Poison puff pastries unpaid.
Seraphic stranger unmasked,
In my honey lavender masquerade.
Rohan Press Sep 2018
we left behind
gated, frosting footsteps:

a pulsing night, pulling
in and out of colour:

you were an
outlined track on our
palms: a myriad of
our voices tangling
as rubber wires:

a crystal in our cloudless breath,
an art i couldn't limn.

you were brittle
and warm: i still

shivered as i brushed
your shoulder.
I think I realise something for the first time:

you're a person I've never met,
but whom I've seen a thousand times.
Lisa Madina Mar 12
this feels different
new
the sounds are pleasant
the faces smile and nod
the colors are extra vibrant
goodbye sluggish mood
I’ve been smiling all day
he has not ****** me off yet
I think this started right after lunch
Someone brought in dessert
little green cubes made from gelatin. cream and frosting
I popped in a few
all at once, actually
it numbed my tongue for the few seconds
then my mind...
Estelle Dec 2018
I just want you to choose me first

I just ******* want you to pay attention

I know I'm needy, but it's me you chose

Or is it?

I don't want anyone else

I don't give a **** about what they all do

Just choose me and nothing else

And I'll do the same



Even amethyst knows how soft you can be when you love me


It makes me scream

But it's so good, the way you love me.


As long as it's only me

Because I'm not a piece of cake for you to destroy while you walk away with frosting in your grasp.
Sorry if this doesn't really make sense...well it does to me so :)
alexa Nov 2018
i cried him a storm of rose petals, the soft leaves blinding him as the thorns press into his sides, he can't see them, he can't feel them, he can't see that i am a violent battlefield, a fallen angel disguised as a soldier, my love is a pile of grenades and the pins are already pulled, and the whole thing will blow up in his face long before he has the chance to pick another rose.

our love is soft on the outside, the color of ballet slippers and the taste of buttercream frosting but when you get past the surface you see our love is hard, solid. we are just a couple of slightly damaged people who haven't felt the sun on their faces in so **** long; they crave the validation, they crave the love hidden between the other's lips, their desire surpasses just that-- it is no longer a want, a desire. our love is a need.

he has used a needle and thread to stitch his name into the blood running through my very body, filled my lungs with only his voice so i often forget how to breathe when he is not with me. i know i have become too reliant, too dependent on his velvet words but i can't stop now, can't back out, and the rose petals are falling from my eyes.
-a.c.b
Jenny Gordon Mar 22
Nope.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXCVI)


I lick my finger slowly, with a sense
In closing as of stealing frosting, pale
As aught compare, th'espresso's foam detail
Tinged subtly with milk's sweetness for intents,
Like that finale suited for it hence,
The rainy blacktop half dried in betrayl,
While minutes tiptoe by on wings more frail
Than insects' glassy touch we note from thence.
Prepare their lunch with baggies for as twere
Thin cleanliness, cuz honey's sticky to
A fault; cube our potato like in tour
What, eh?  I tossed my brother's typed note, knew
Not that twas worth aught, and discuss how poor
Tis that all's typed, not writ by hand.  And you?

21Mar19b
Interesting thought, eh?
Kq Dec 2018
I know so much from who I used to be
and from the ones who watch over me.
As I return and cycle, root, and flow
my knowing, my innard, grows & grows.
The secrets aren’t complex. They are earth.
A knowing each person carries from birth.
I am glad to have siblings in mice & trees.
I am glad to see saplings & frosting & spring.
I am part of a unit much larger than me.
And in this I gain connection and my right to be free.
Do not take it too seriously,
Following a recipe to a tee

Unless you are making
Cupcakes,
No need to fake it
‘Til you make it,
It is a sweet life
You are baking.

A creature of the moment
A pinch of salt
Is the secret

Your concoction
Puffs up in the oven —

The frosting,

Make it
‘Til you become it.
Jamie Lee Oct 2018
Alcohol becomes
More celebratory
Than a birthday cake-
Blowing out a candle from the ends of my
Cigarette,
Stuff it out in the frosting
There's a party waiting
But it's just
Me and you
Lets make people remember us
While we forget
Just have a few,
Band-Aids over the
Bleeding wound
While the band plays,
While the party is confused
Doing no favors for them,
Or for you

I don't want to be “that girl” again,
The target of their dagger eyes-
That triggers their mouths,
Hanging around-
Waiting like a time bomb
A subject for their savage grins-
I'm the unfinished sentence
That keep them laughing,
While the lights dim- when music
Is a bouncing hum,
I'm the roar of the traffic
Swerving over shoulders,
Dodging your
“Hello”
Spitting out a
“Goodbye”
From the holes in my teeth
The inconclusive tragedy  
What happens now?

Anxiety is a twisted writer
I feel it tapping on the keys
Tick-tick-ticking
From the lips of these time bombs
Teeth held in their open jaws-
A silent applause for me
When I leave,
Because this party
Isn't doing any favors for you,
And no favors for me
Curtains closed,
End scene
Is this how it plays out?
Oh, uneducated anxiety,
Who gave you the right
Or the degree
To decide how this
Would play out for me

Maybe I want to do these things
Dress up
Actually feel pretty
Genuinely, with dignity
Smile without a cigarette between
My gritted teeth, my sleepless face
Maybe I want to go to a party someday
Feeling more like a person,
Less like pray in an open field
Or without needing a crutch,
A little alcohol in the blood
To silence the ticking time bombs
I want to dance in this warzone
Without the risk of being shot
By their wicked tongues,
That may even speak kindly of me,
But you don't want me to see that

It's just you and me
Can't loosen the strings you have on me
This party is doing no favors for you,

Or for me

So let's just leave
Lightheart Dec 2018
I ate my first meal at 5pm
Breakfast was chocolate milk that left me nauseous
(of course it did you’re lactose intolerant)
I spent the morning trying not to cry
and then almost cried before I
went into the job that I love
(it makes you so happy?)
the pit of dread in my stomach
really made me want to die
just crawl into a hole
and cry myself to death
is that even possible?
(dehydration can **** you, have you drunk enough today?)
It’s true I live with the symptoms
of a female heart attack
most days
although I haven’t died yet
(but you could at any moment)
the euphoria from work wore off
I almost cried in the grocery store
after admitting I’m sad enough
to eat cake frosting straight from the jar

Sometimes I wonder why I call my anxiety
“High functioning”
(the avoidance is crippling, isn’t it?)
(but something terrible will happen)
or why I thought the depression was better
(nothing really gets better)
(but death would make them sad)
It was a mess but you just have to keep doing your best
Skyla Dec 2018
A memoir:

”~Happy birthday to you ~

“Go on, honey, make a wish!”

You close your eyes, your thoughts are tight.
Give it a second, for the voices to unwind.
Don’t get too comfy, but sit back tight.
Tense, emotionless, walls go up, prepare to fight

What could you wish for? What could it be?
Perhaps a new body, or un-broken eyes that see clearly?
Perhaps the willpower to fast longer, or to purge harder than normal,
Or maybe for the eating disorder to disappear,
But that would be too informal.

Only fifteen, but your thoughts are so mean.
I’m guessing your sixteenth won’t be so sweet.
Always shiver and feel cold, but for me, feel the heat.

I won’t let you off that easy,
so don’t keep your hopes up, sweet-pea.
If your family knew what you were thinking,
They would be horrified, that you’re mentally sinking.
Don’t you dream of shrinking?

Your mother probably thinks you’re wishing for something innocent, like happiness or peace.
Instead, a new shell to inhabit or the strength to not eat
Don’t you see, a simple wish is your reward?
Realistically, you should just wish to be in a morgue.  

No more kissing boys or sneaking out late
No more dinner dates or birthday cake
No more dancing in your room, or eating ice cream
No more memorable laughs or sugar-sweet dreams

So, blow out the candles, honey, make a wish
Lick off the frosting, be sure to clean your dish,
Or your secret will be out, if you don’t finish

So, come on, birthday girl, give it a go
Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them all know
   Put on a show, don’t be exposed
I am your voice, but a friend or a foe?

“Did you make your wish, honey?”

Your eyes glisten with sadness.  

“Yes, mommy, I did.” ~

— The End —