"hymen" poems
*in the end,
your *****
is just another
piece of you
that he *******
broke.*
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
where solar lips are parted
and crescent ******* hardened
cobalt fire licks your name off its oldest breath
this ****** hollow bends its neck through thermal skies and sand
scarlet waves of heat off your (sweet ancestral) hand
come inside, the door is open. the answer's always yes
Medusa’s gaze would turn to sand
if she knew the stony glories spanned
within rock candy walls ablaze
flood plains carry hydrogen freight
from your abyss' collapsing weight
the broken ***** flowers rusting in the haze
long stem bows in the cut orchestral
steal blood from the times ancestral
the ink has spilled and left a stain
under folded layers of skin
that the mirror reflects from views within
your eyes are naked lights, innumerable and plain.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
The first time I made love to my mind
When love escaped from the gaps
Between our silences and overthinkings
I saw the naked mind.
We sailed from thousand cuddles of imprudence
To a long warm kiss of sanity.
While I dwindled in her arms of fool's paradise
No sleep just one long weary night,
Her ****** reeked of loneliness
I licked it. Hoping to taste ingenuity,
it was the aftertaste of forsaken feelings
that made me ***** her
till she stopped moaning neon dreams.
Somewhere in my walkabouts in her
I created deep craters of memories
Which she took for love bites
were, in fact, scars for life.
We were virgins on our quests
Thirsting our way through wanting and longing......
She made me swallow lust
Slowly. Heavily downtown.
And fingered it, the ***** of thoughts
Ruptured.
And she bled musings.
And Phantasmagoria exuding from her holes
And Spurting into mine like a cascade of brooding melancholy.....
And.... And....
The night my mind lost its virginity,
I sat down to write.
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 6:21 AM UTC
I’m an apricot , ripe on the tree - ready for picking
I am a cherry , offering to be popped
3 tequila shots or the equivalent of a blurred memory inside me
my heart is bleeding a little at the acts my body is moving through
i am bleeding a little at the acts my body is moving through
i bleed for 4 days , 5 days.
i am amazed that he pulled out. i find that incredible -
as if a man is wild in the act of mergence and unable to control himself ,
ideas of male/female roles imprinted on me
from parents , **** and public school - where girls are made into women
at 13 ,
we discuss when we will “lose our virginity” i say 15 if i’m ready (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
i should expect him to *** inside me , because i am the subservient woman and he should do as he pleases
i think it magical his heightened awareness -
i see his majestic beauty on his well formed muscles
and the hotel room his family owns , or the kick *** motorbike he drives and the supply of beachfront joints.
and still it is now 1 year later that i am in pain.
a fire on my heart and a sick feeling in my stomach
i am sick because i swallowed the lies and hated myself , i truly believed i was worth that level of respect. the fire burns swiftly in my heart because i am enraged and sorrowful at my ignorance. I am partly ashamed at my lack of empathy
for myself and partly in awe at my magnificence.
We look at virginity as pure , unsoiled.
Pure. Unsoiled.
**** Subconsciously telling our mothers , sisters , aunties and grandma’s that they are ***** for exercising their basic ****** function. Shaming us for feeling pleasure.....the connotations are different for brothers , fathers , uncles and grandpas. A pat of well done on the back , you are now a “man”.............well .. i’ll be ****** it amazes me how these sly , low blows are hidden right in plain sight.
well fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk that !
I know i love myself now
with the respect i would rain down upon any other fellow being .
i wish : for them and me to be able to love without fear, disgust and shame.
i wish to allow my energy from that moment to feed others who need help along their path of self-love.
Now my cosmic womb is treated with respect and reverence
enjoying myself freely.
Oh but , i will say thank you , and a sensi bow , for the lesson learnt.
Never again will i put others on a pedestal they have not earnt.
Especially if it has anything to do with my *****
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 10:29 AM UTC
What is ***
Society paints it as an equation
***** plus ******
***********
What is virginity?
A concept made up
To keep girls locked down
The breaking of the *****
Then do lesbians have ***
Are they still virgins?
Is their *** invalid?
No.
Oral counts.
********* counts.
**** counts.
*** is ***
**** is ****
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 4:26 AM UTC
It drives me insane when people see me holding a girls hand and ask
“So who’s the guy? You know, who wears the pants?”
I want to scream and say WE ARE LESBIANS. Firstly, neither of us are ever wearing any pants. I want to scream and say WE ARE LESBIANS, and i’m angry because lesbian does not always have to mean woman but where did you get man from? I’m angry because maybe sometimes one of us does identify as a guy. A gay boi with an I. A soft boy. A proud hairy legged 5”4 boy. A drinking pints in the pub with my dad and us both liking that same woman’s tattoo boy. A cries every day boy. A feels cool when drinking beer boy. A boy that had to teach themself to like beer boy. A boy who sometimes does not feel like a boy. A boy. A boy. Oh boy. Boys. You see, this question is confusing for me because when I was fourteen, my boyfriend and I would joke that I was the one wearing the pants, even though at that point I was very much still wearing skirts and hiding behind butt-length hair and also watching the L Word in secret when I got home from school but that’s besides the point. This question is obviously as confusing for you as it is for me because in your mind you see two pairs of **** holding hands on the tube and think: Lesbians. Now, which one’s the man? And I think to myself, there are two ways to answer this: Number 1: So I know lesbian is supposed to mean woman on woman, two vaginas, ********** strap-ons, veganism, art degrees (and a lot of this is true but let’s not stereotype). So I know that to you, although we appear to be two women, two snap-back wearing, sports-bra bearing- I mean I thought about writing ***** tearing here but it just doesn’t seem appropriate- women, the funny thing is that erm, you see, gender and sexuality: as different as my dad to my mum’s other ex-husband. We are not a man and a woman. We are two people and what do pants have to do with it? We are two people and why does one of us always have to be a man? We are two people and the awkward part of the point i’m making is that sometimes I don’t feel like a woman but you wouldn’t know that so let me say: we are not a man and a woman. We did not ask for your confrontation, we are not your designated driver, your answer sheet to an exam you haven’t sat yet, your house party when your parents go away, your girlfriend that you think is obliged to **** your **** even though you will not go anywhere near her **** You are not our three year old son who asks too many inappropriate questions. To you, we are strangers and to answer your question, you seem to think that you’re wearing the pants here. So wear them. By the way, Number 2: **** off.
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 12:13 PM UTC
Friend Rockstar,
Listen, yield to a robust think-tank,
earlobes skidding against wheat and grain.
Terrible story, yes, what happened to that little girl.
Sterile teddy nightgowns weeping in the squad car windows.
Teacher – Teacher, do you harken my yodels for grace?
I’ve never been maternal.
Put the game on. Abortion.
That’s what I’m about.
Grab a bra. Sling some weight.
That’s what I’m about.
Some housefly wings on a weathered corn cob.
Some downhome, homegrown twang for those fancy, fussy britches.
Muddy workboots. Sweat-soaked collars.
That’s what I’m about.
Him done made me read, sir.
What sacraments did we write today?
I can still remember my first broken bone.
I can still remember my first broken *****
That could be what this is all about.
Mary, Mary, you can be contrite,
so knife – so critter – so laze – so stalked.
Who fertilized your seeds? Who reared your sprouts?
Cockle shells and silver bells, honey,
can’t grow up
to be pretty little maids all in a row.
Sterile teddy nightgowns – green bells in gaseous gardens.
Friend Rockstar, you may have to sleep.
This restless harbor is a shivering anecdote spilled from a belly,
a vast, deep cavern with love notes written in milk.
Your fried, stern smile was a flaking fingernail adjacent to the crack in the flowerpot.
Some garden, I say.
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 7:12 PM UTC
The last time we had *** it caused something of a
deforestation, I realized that I love men so much that I could not
possibly do their work for them. Double the amount of
calluses on my fingers and toes than there should have been:
two for every inch of hair cascading my back
when fifty-year olds would grab me and make an ocean of trees.
I cannot count how many times we have left someone
ourselves or others for ourselves, there is no difference because I
feel goodbyes in the same way that I do when I think about
missing my subway train or having hot tea
burn my esophagus on the way down. We leave people as often
as I fall in love with my thirty-six inches of hair cascading.
Moments that did not matter, forgetting I was the one who
could have a second heartbeat in my belly
even stronger than the pulse felt in any man’s ****
I do not want to remember you as the man who broke my heart
not long after breaking my ***** so I emptied everything
for you and pretended it was only the phone bill
I racked up that we had a problem with.
Every call amounted to a page worth of reasons why we did not
break up when maybe we should have, there were fifty
year olds making my hair cascade like rain down my back.
A precious later reminded me that I am a woman
and so I do not have to be empty:
as full as a god, there could be two lives inside of me from you.
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 1:36 AM UTC
I sold smack on a playground today
biding time to scrounge the rent--
Two months ago I had never even seen the stuff.
I'd never procured it for personal use,
let alone sold it.
Now I'm a full-time pusher of prescriptions
for problems that can't be cured,
a modern-day snake-oil salesmen
schlepping panaceas for every conceivable ill.
*Trying to cope with depression?
This'll give you a shot in the arm!
Your boyfriend just broke your heart
mere weeks after breaking your *****
Here's a ***** that you can depend on*...
I thought I was better than this,
but who can afford scruples
with bills to pay?
Internally
I struggle to compete
with people who would never deign to take note of me.
My revenge is in undermining their immaculate lives,
a pill-peddling Socrates
keeping creditors at bay.
I'd always envisioned being someone's hero--
at least being remembered for an act of creation.
Instead I'm an enzyme for eradication.
A cancer cell at best--
A ****** wrecking ball.
One day I woke up a sidekick
to a heroine that's never saved anyone...
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 12:53 AM UTC
O ***** king.
***** O ***** king,
what bitter thing is this?
what shaft, tearing my heart?
what scar, what light, what fire
searing my eye-balls and my eyes with flame?
nameless, O spoken name,
king, lord, speak blameless *****
Why do you blind my eyes?
why do you dart and pulse
till all the dark is home,
then find my soul
and ruthless draw it back?
scaling the scaleless,
opening the dark?
speak, nameless, power and might;
when will you leave me quite?
when will you break my wings
or leave them utterly free
to scale heaven endlessly?
A bitter, broken thing,
my heart, O ***** lord,
yet neither drought nor sword
baffles men quite,
why must they feign to fear
my ****** glance?
feigned utterly or real
why do they shrink?
my trance frightens them,
breaks the dance,
empties the market-place;
if I but pass they fall
back, frantically;
must always people mock?
unless they shrink and reel
as in the temple
at your uttered will.
O ***** king,
lord, greatest, power, might,
look for my face is dark,
burnt with your light,
your fire, O ***** lord;
is there none left
can equal me
in ecstasy, desire?
is there none left
can bear with me
the kiss of your white fire?
is there not one,
Phrygian or frenzied Greek,
poet, song-swept, or bard,
one meet to take from me
this bitter power of song,
one fit to speak, *****
your praises, lord?
May I not wed
as you have wed?
may it not break, beauty,
from out my hands, my head, my feet?
may Love not lie beside me
till his heat
burn me to ash?
may he not comfort me, then,
spent of all that fire and heat,
still, ashen-white and cool
as the wet laurels,
white, before your feet
step on the mountain-slope,
before your fiery hand
lift up the mantle
covering flower and land,
as a man lifts,
O ***** from his bride,
(cowering with woman eyes,) the veil?
O ***** lord, be kind.
2.9k
September speaks in dull sand flecks
and billowing my stiffened skirt to kneecaps
rested on for prayer, grinded on for ***
It pokes and I’ll awake –
I am just like a ***** in the autumn morn
first torn, the first born of a hundred
encounters of which I would not believe
it could be the opus of.
Ladies lose physical barriers, but they
do not evade a September when orchards are
trimmed and all that’s beneath is unveiled:
see it with my glass eye. No dust inside.
See it with your honey bulbs –
the foothills, the knees married to the floor
where stars first aligned, so I ****** you off.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC
I can't quite wrap it around my head
**** polishing hobgoblin
Gobbling hot fudge banana split sundaes
topped with ***** cherry toppings
What I'm looking for
Just on the tip of my tongue
Just the tip
I can almost put my finger in it
*On it
Oops!
A slip of the lips
Verbally retching
Wretched word *****
Armed with an armada of double entendres
Sensationally double penetrating your ear canals!
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 7:57 PM UTC
did you, even now, hope
to shut your eyes to so huge a crime,
my treacherous one, to think you could
stilly withdraw from my kingdom?
did our love not once hold you?
our ardent vows? or even I, Dido,
preparing to succumb barbaric death?
how could you, callous you!,
take wing to prepare your fleet in winter
—i’m sure to run aground—
when Boreas thrashes against the heavens?
but, if you weren’t pursuing unfamiliar soil
or incited to father a distant nation,
if ancient Ilium sturdily grimed through the war,
would you keep piercing the
wave-washed oceans in your armada?
why do you elude me; is it
because i have acceded irreality?
am i worthless, now?—i implore you!
by these tears, and your troth,
by our wedding vows, and this oath
before ***** we began:
if i deserve anything good from you,
or if you think, i was good enough
for you; pity this household
decaying before us! it was once yours, too.
and if my prayers are still yours,
gut them from my mind!
for now the Libyans and Numidians
hate me! dear Tyre is virulent!
as my honour and once-righteous
stature has vanished, just as i was
about to touch my constellated infamy.
for what destiny, my foreign one,
do you set me aside; ever-knowing
my imminent death?
seeing that only your name endures
from this union, why do i bother to keep living?
am i waiting for my brother, Pygmalion,
to destroy my Carthage’s walls, or a
Gætulian Iarbus to make me his concubine?
if only you gave me a son,
a little Æneas to play in my courts,
a boy to remind me of you;
only then, perhaps,
would i not be so utterly
violated, and
consumed.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
What's in a name?
Let me tell you a story,
Of how my life changed,
And how my name changed,
Every time it appeared on the newspaper.
Replaced by a pseudonym,
Something to do with courage,
I was namelessly admired, slandered, and debated over,
Media’s Exclusive Coverage!
The newspaper headline read in big block letters:
“14 YEAR OLD GIRL SAVES SIX KINDERGARTNERS”,
That made me smile.
Just maybe I thought we had come that extra mile.
But no for I noticed,
My name was changed,
And the Printing Department was not at fault.
That’s just how my country dealt with ****** assault.
I never asked them to hide my name,
They had presumed, of course, that I was ashamed,
Of saving lives. It took me a minute to remember,
I had called Jyoti Nirbhaya for years.
I wanted them to know who I was,
Hiding I thought was for criminals,
Until I realized that I WAS one when,
On returning from the hospital I saw,
Pain in my mother’s,
Anger in my father’s,
And disgust in my relatives’ eyes.
No idea why a part of me had come expecting pride.
In school my “friends” guiltily refrained from talking to me,
Neither were my teachers too happy to see,
That I had returned to the same school,
Bringing with me my painful story,
Which I had mistaken as one of glory.
And when I went to receive the “Bravery Award”,
Only the trophy didn’t read compensation award.
They looked at me with too kind eyes calling me a “hero”
Their smiles told me they meant violated.
As I received the award,
I saw they were trying really hard,
To not let it show,
That they wanted me to know,
The difference between:
Bullet marks on the chest to bite marks on the breast,
Blue around the eyes to blue around the thighs,
Scratches on the fists to cuts on the wrists,
Loud screams in the cold to muffled screams against the cold,
The red of the torn ligament to the red of the torn *****
The difference between a soldier’s and a victim’s blood.
And suddenly I felt as if I was,
The rescued,
Not the rescuer,
The maimed,
Not the fighter,
The oppressed,
Not the rebel,
The hostage,
Not the warrior,
I thought myself to be.
What’s in a name?
Apparently, a lot.
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 11:36 AM UTC
~
Bala^ comments:
"alignment - any which way one can if possible to make
****** and *********** simultaneously happen,
without any best position plan"
~
*may all the gods bless you, Bala,
for waking me at 4:33 with this poetic induction
coaxed from my spinal fluid sanity
with perfected clarity
my own circadian rhythm masters internal,
the most reliably unreliable human container technology teachers,
semi-skilled in the entrainment arts for this impoverished body mine,
deem it appropriate that early morn messages of
propitious possibility be greeted immediately
entrapped, awaken me at four AM with great glee,
because these elusives^^ know exactly what stirs
this being's cochlear cockles into birthing a
poetic cookie ******** ***********
your message meme provoking, inducing,
be honest man - simply seducing, my within
by your teasing words from without*
"without any best position plan"
*not to confuse the mere appearance of a routine
as worthy of the entitlement of "plan,"
much as the poem's own vanity chooses it own alignment
the relationship, the relativity -
always the
flexing flummoxing freaking insatiable pleasuring
when your thrusting unplanned message
****** and bests my brain,
releasing a fully formed, instantaneous parrying poem
from an aroused, passing, unsanitized, second of sanity
for no better *** than this...
as per the unplan?
this tissued life,
this in and out
of punching and counterpunching continuous,
but rarely contiguous,
for we are never aligned for more than a moment,
the moment that almost always goes unnoticed,
for the heart's ***** tissues,
are mostly torn by how life
uses us roughly
so here is an aligned confession fecundity
this poetry gig, my salve,
to tenderize the daily redness,
the irritation residual of having no plan
however these fingerprints decided for you,
to present, upon completion,
this soft-spoken loud ***********
a peaking, not a leaking,
** ** ** - a screaming
hallelujah, i'm aligned!
the man found albeit briefly
a beat, a plan and its verbal, herbal,
best solution
may all the gods bless you, Bala,
for waking me at 4:33 with this poetic induction
coaxed from my spinal fluid sanity
with perfected clarity
the man and his plan, for a mega-second
his best,
unplanned but got and given,
in poetic planetary alignment
positioned
as are you and I -
the thousands of miles of distance tween us
as you read this
collage collapse
into a singular synapse
of ****** and ***********
hallelujah, we are aligned!
~
**disclaimer:
anything you say to me, can and will be used
for a poem**
~
5:55am
April 1, 2017
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 4:16 PM UTC
i tried to eat my whole heart raw once.
but i could not stomach it. could not stomach the noxious ventricles down my throat, could not swallow the bollus of unfleshly pink carnage.
so i broke it into pieces and i blamed you instead, because it seemed easier to say you broke me than to say that i ever loved you.
i.
this is how you broke me :
whenever i thought of you ******* her i would think of dying inside.
dying is a blessing.
dying is the movie that i am too young to watch but too old to resist. dying is divinity, it is paradisical death in slow motion, an entity mushrooming in between the eyes of a decaying rabbit. it is tears being ****** back into the eyes of a small girl, legs apart, ***** ripped, the fruitlessness of futility bleeding out like saliva from a mouth. dying is being idle, dying is being able to think without questioning existence, dying is a moth, paled by smoke.
it is that tuesday night i promised myself i would never write again
if all i wrote was about you.
ii.
this is how i broke myself :
whenever i thought of you dying inside her, i would think of *******
******* is a blessing.
******* is the reason an orchid can sing without a stigma. ******* is the malformation of your tongue when you say " i hate myself, because i hate you, but i hate you more. ". ******* is about three blocks away from love. ******* and love are probably secret **** buddies. ******* is saying you love her. ******* is saying you love me. ******* is that heart-shaped bruise that you left on my wrist, that tuesday night you ***** me and called it love. ******* is telling me i am not her.
this disposition of 'her', the realisation she plays a better 'her', than i play 'her', the realisation that she stole 'her' from me, when'her' was a dream both of us could hope to fake.
iii.
why people are kept broken:
you once told me, while ashing out a cigarette on my neck,
"it is better to stay broken so nothing else can ever break you again."
Feb 19, 2011
Feb 19, 2011 at 3:06 PM UTC
Where the church bell gapes
at its golden discs gain the airy steep.
Where the eagle deposits its
majestic soar, a mass of feather and
talon--Empyrean's doormat.
Where Icarus stroked wax wing
through the sepia ambiance of his
mind.
Where the hermit broke 'neath after
decade of reclusion.
Where star discloseth foci to
dime the dead of space.
Where striven peace's tangled root
whistles extolling.
Where an aerodynamic corpus
unsheathed horizon, parting palpebras....
surging the seen, unseen.
All's apparent aqua blue, transparent
***** outspread portent pregnant of
blessing.
O sky--every soul's once-over,
immaculate conceptions...ex nihilo.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 11:26 PM UTC
Arabs are on their knees
Command them left and right, whatever you please
The female goddess with her divinity
But she mustn't succumb to her desires
Cursed with a voidhole, a witch with no flying stick
Strike the strings and they will shiver
Their Gods with invested interest in genitalia,
Debating vice and virtue
Perverted thoughts, oh, let them pass
As she rubs her blood oozed inner thighs
I can hear the delicate moans and quivers
Society under her thumb
Quickening breath, fast paced heart and wide spread legs
At last, the land of promised *******
Virginity fetishists with holy manuscripts
Tribal war, the darkest of blood
Mount your ******* to the highest heights
Reach their moral mountains and hijack their sanity
Fear stricken by your circular thumb-motions
For they will associate ***** blood with vanity
Ignorance at their gates
No light escapes, shattered lives
Facts infecting their pride
Worshiped not for her intellect nor beauty
But for the voidhole she carries
In the desert sand, she remains a liability
Until she becomes a miserable bride
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
It is May Day
Not a sign of the tulips blooming
The sun won’t stay behind the clouds forever,
Said the weatherman
What the hell do they know”.
I woke up with the intention of burning
The African scented candle stick: forgetting
That I didn’t purchased them yesterday:
Darkness fell upon this May morn
The air is cold and gloomy: somehow my
Favorite visitors took time from the morning routine,
Landed on my window and sang to me
I texted my brother and reminded him
To water the roses,
Trimmed the dry leaves,
On my outdoor patio upstairs
I remember May Day long ago
When I finally broke the *****
I have pondered about that old lover
From time to time: with a genuine smile
So far my memories is kind to me,
There is a picture of a rooster on the kitchen wall
it reminds me of my grandmother kitchen
Where food wasn’t an abundant
Despite adversity:
but lots of love was there in that old house:
Dark sky can dampen one spirit.
However, a hot cup of coffee, a keyboard
Can boost ones energy,
Composing a poem, a happy poetess
Or a game of slots can brings out the art of creativity
As she takes on the morning with a few
Words, a few lines, hoping to put a smile
On the faces of sadness
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 10:25 AM UTC
*I wish we met when her tarmac road was still mellow
Then when she still danced to the Congolese tune "Mbelo",
I wish we met when she could not stare in the eyes
Right when she was too shy to tell any lies,
I wish we met when she was still under her Mama's apron strings
So innocent, when she still trusted human beings,
I wish we met when she did church each and every Sunday
And had no thought of bearing a guilty conscience someday,
I wish we met when she saw the world for her best, not her worst
When the balloon of her ***** wasn't yet burst,
I wish we met when her future was still blinding bright
Wish I'd seen her in the dawns of her life, not the nights
When she knew no whiskeys or beers but only Fanta and Sprite
So that she wouldn't get herself in trouble and drunken fights,
I wish we met when she still had dry “unkisssed’’ lips
When she thought kisses were an unhealthy swap of saliva,
I wish we met when she hadn't developed attractive hips
When she wasn't a depressed Heart-wreck survivor,
I wish we met when she still believed in fantasy and fairy tales
And had a honest fascination for cowry shells,
I wish we met when she flamboyantly wore her natural African hair
When she still thought herself naturally beautiful and fair,
I wish we met when studies hadn't corrupted her mind and stolen all her hours
When she still smiled at the sight of frail petals of red rose flowers,
Wish we met when the movie title that described her ******* isn't “Olympus
Has Fallen”
But probably “Hard Boiled”, “Only the Strong” or “Swollen”,
I wish we met when she had faith in things like weddings, when her soul was
a spring of hope
When she hadn't lost respect for such societal norms preferring to elope,
I wish we met when she still respected danger
And risked not accepting courtesy from every rich stranger,
I wish we met when she believed true love existed in the world
Maybe then she'd believe my each and every word,
I wish we met when she still honestly needed a friend
I’m sure I’d be there to love and care for her till the end.*
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 3:19 AM UTC
Once it's broken, the maidenhead,
It cannot again be ever mended,
When in the light wall of a peach--
In that fine part--there is a breach.
or who knoweth how to stitch *****
Together like words with an hyphen?
Feb 22, 2012
Feb 22, 2012 at 5:12 AM UTC
The Moralists tell us that Loving is Sinning,
And always are prating about and about it,
But as Love of Existence itself’s the beginning,
Say, what would Existence itself be without it?
They argue the point with much furious Invective,
Though perhaps ’twere no difficult task to confute it;
But if Venus and ***** should once prove defective,
Pray who would there be to defend or dispute it?
1.5k
I haven't been happy
in a long time.
I'm not sure I even
know how to be happy without
being surrounded by other people.
You see I'm in a relationship
and I have never been this happy.
When I'm with him that is.
But I have a problem with
cheating.
There are girls with
fire in their eyes
and flower beds in their
nails and there are guys
with a dark look
that says I won't be able
to walk.
And the only reason I haven't
left my love yet is just that.
Love. I don't know a lot
about it. But I know that
I can't ignore it.
I may be cold, but I am
not heartless.
I have a lack of feeling.
My mom said I have no empathy.
I told her I must be a psychopath.
She just shook her head
and corrected me, sociopath.
Maybe when a man decided he wanted to
break my ***** without my
permission, I think I lost a part
of myself.
I went into my head because my words
were no longer being listened to.
I went to a place where
nothing mattered because I couldn't
stand a place where it did.
I haven't left that place yet.
My therapist says it's
Dissociation disorder. She says I have
PTSD. I have a personality disorder,
and a mental disorder equal to being
bipolar on crack.
So don't tell me that I wasn't *****
Don't tell me I asked for it.
Don't tell me I wanted it.
Don't tell me that **** does
not matter.
Becuase if it didn't it wouldn't
have a name classifying it as something
other than ***
I would be okay. I wouldn't be this
loony case who needs her
medication so that she doesn't
have flashbacks and feel her
wrists being held down again.
I think this explains why I can't
be faithful. I'm lost in a universe
where nothing matters, and nothing
is real. I don't know how to feel
love when it's not by my side
and I think that's why I always need
to be by his side.
Because when I'm alone I don't exist.
I am grey and everything is just a
black hole.
I am a shape shifter
and I don't even know
myself. I don't think anybody
really knows me.
I am liquid that has been
melted in his hot abusive
gaze. And I am mercury.
A girl with firework kisses
said that I was toxic.
So I guess the metaphor fits.
I just wish I understood why
I can't be real.
I feel like Pinocchio and I just
want to be a real boy.
When I am held in someone's arms
and attached to someone else's
lips I am a leech and I'm *******
color out of them hoping
that the feeling of being
alive stays.
But I really wish that I could
just be real
and faithful.
I just want to make him as
happy as he makes me.
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 11:53 AM UTC
Last night I had a dream I was a guy.
I was having *** and I slept with a ******
I took off her clothes
and put them on the floor
Like a stupid student during a mathematics test
She didn't know what to do
I just stared at the ******* and looked at her legs
My eyes searched for the ***** they could see the position which it is supposed to be but
all they could find was J Coles album "FOREST HILL"
Like virgins don't shave.
Our Lips pressing hard against each other
Prescribed her a ****** Book,
I gave her that tongue exercise like read me I want you
Touching her like grabbing her **** like making her wet
Took it from the neck, made her ******* a computer and took a MegaByte
I left her with Love But's or Love Bites I'm not sure.
Now comes the problem I can't find the *****
I had to find a comb and do some deforestation
Now I found it, I liked the ***** so I licked the ***** I licked the ***** the ***** was wet so I liked the *****
One finger inside the ***** so tight
The ***** so tight the ***** a ******
Well I had a **** so I gave her a ****
I brought it closer to her face
She just sat there and stared at me like a ************
***** that ain't no microphone
My needs were in want had to satisfy them
Testosterone is a hormone which makes the **** so hard, so hard so hard I ****** the ***** so hard so hard
I broke the ***** so hard I'm sad
I took her innocence
But it felt good so good so bad
I broke a ******
Maybe I made the ****** pregnant
I did not use no ****** but that was my choice.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 11:53 AM UTC
Goddess terrain: contoured
curves slope gently down
to pale ******* pointing
Cleft soft thighs dividing
pink downy peaches
open to fern …
…fringed vale where a
secret orchid-shaped
cave spreads wide…
…its probe luring
lips beyond
the folds of …
…Venus’ veils.
I gaze content
in finding
Hymen’s
inviting petals.
Tobias
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 12:35 PM UTC