"incubator" poems
Before all of this, even after all of this, I will forever be a patriot.
Before the poet in me matured and I started talking like a parrot,
The dogs of war barked and I climbed exile's fence on my own
And there I have dwelled, with nothing tangible to bring me down.
I have been on this fence so long and I will remain there forever!
Especially since the premature child is still in the incubator.
From this vantage point, I have learned never to trust any politician
I've always looked at them with mistrust, disdain, and suspicion,
Before all of this and before I ran and climbed the exile fence,
I was once mercilessly flogged, dragged and made to dance
By drugged up and coerced child soldiers with a rubber cable
They tied and spread me like a dog on the market table
I watched as innocent people were killed with a rusty knife
There, I vowed to become a fence dweller for the rest of my life!
I've been a patriot all my life but I have done it from here..safer.
From here I have seen blood spilled, hearts broken, hopes dashed,
progresses stalled, mullions embezzled, promises broken, lies told
people changed, games played, party surfed, interests prioritized.
And from this vantage point, I have learned never ever to trust any politician
I have always been right...though I have looked on with disdain, suspicion,
and operated with caution but through it all, I have remained a true patriot and a fence dweller.
.✍️©️✍️IvanBrooksPoetry.✍️©️✍️
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 8:03 PM UTC
as a Pisces, I am swimming upstream,
the salmons last run.
fighting, pulling to grip those soft
rocks beneath.
those beasts that keep some stuck.
salmon are based in diversity
needing to have a wide gene
pool, as their kin die quickly
from those rocks.
getting stuck, swimming around and around…
insanity defined,
and time doesn't stop.
so, to the work.
swimming up stream,
dedicated to being a mother.
creator, incubator.
children
stored in the belly of the beast.
preparing to break free,
be set alive, to roam free.
the wombs embrace,
the face of LOVE.
currents of the calls
are so loud, rushing past my gills.
I feel the whooshing sound,
the pressure bearing down, taunting
me out.
calling me out… are you sure,
are you confident?
constant tests to check
and check and check for missteps.
ones that feel out of step.
no more time for those.
the path is clear,
yet
the water is cold,
bearing down on my scales built,
molded for this.
built in this system of birth and death.
choosing each step from above.
below, here I feel at home and
I feel ME breaking out.
she's broken out, there will be clouds,
rain, thunder all the things.
let
it be.
and the beast is free, she
has descended, dug down deep,
anchored, prepared for reception.
just like the trees, they grow so well
with others.
interdependently nourishing the diversity.
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 5:34 AM UTC
Sixty degrees on solstice day.
An incubator.
If we go to the beach we can find all the bones of the dead animals
that are supposed to be buried in the snow
and throw them in the lake.
We can dip our heads in the cold water
to wash away these nasty thoughts
growing on our brains like bacteria in the warm weather,
send them into the lake with the bones and the souls of the dead animals
that are supposed to be buried in the snow.
The supercharged atmosphere
zaps my fingers when I open the car door.
Static electricity.
If I collect all that ecstatic magic
I'll let you hold it in your hands
in a jar
and we can watch it dance.
A hundred million fireflies
that should have died on the lips of
December.
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 5:45 AM UTC
Glances in passing and nothingness,
I'll drop out and take up gardening.
And you are so cool, all German bred,
and sometimes braided. I see you, so
well-read and rather regal. ***** blonde
nuclear, alabaster, aluminum rods -
electricity dripping from the soles of
your shoes. This classroom, my own
ink blotted incubator, the radiator sits,
flatlining. Your jaw as two razor blades,
your shoulder blades, broad, gentle.
I wonder how you look in the morning,
How you look at yourself in the mirror.
Do you practice smiling, and
how often do you wash your hair? Oh,
you exist in glass, and I will not try to
know you. Leaving this poem limited,
and yet. Your jam drop mouth houses all
well-spoken soliloquies, radical requiems.
So, what would happen if we brushed
shoulders in passing? Your little accent.
Accident, we appeared in the same
huddled mass. Literary plugs in the
drain, and your new American. So,
why don't we just go walking on
airplane wings? Some transcontinental
affair. Frequent flyer ******* stranger.
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 5:48 PM UTC
The sirens blared that 4th of July
Officer Duncan gave Mammy a ride
An emergency dash to the hospital
He’s 2 months premature Mammy cried
Deaf, dumb and blind is what the doctors said
To our mother when Sammy was born
But none of us kids ever were told
Until Sammy was stable and grown
Pappy declared that they’d both be fine
Not believing dire news doctors gave
We happily named him Uncle Sam
Trusting in him to be strong and brave
His 1st 5 months in an incubator
Hooked up to every device
In Newton Wellesley Hospital, 1959
A miracle saved his life
Reaching gloved hands through holes in the side
Weighing just a bit over 2 pounds
Looking more like a spindly ET
I was amazed to be hearing breath sounds
Sam worked on doubling his weight by Christmas
Nothing seemed easy or fast
Still Mammy survived the eclampsia
And Sammy went home at last
Returning a few years later
Sammy’s doctor she would find
To show off to all the nurses
Her son NOT deaf, dumb and blind
I so love my brother Sammy
Always felt like a sister and mother
I’d give all I have for the time
Just a minute more with my dear brother
I’d speak to you of those 57 years
Of the great whirligig you carved with your hands
All the times you showed up for me
Through the good and the bad our love stands
You wasted no time hating anybody
Children and dogs always your friends
Quick for a laugh despite any lack
I draw comfort that all your pain ends
The sirens blared once again for you
The ambulance came, the paramedics tried
Racing you trying to save you
All in vain, in the OR you died
Like Tommy’s rock opera is over
Perhaps you paused to speak to a stray dog
While keeping your divine appointment
By reaching right into the hand of God
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 9:12 PM UTC
Parenthood.
My intimate incubator, for the forthcoming foetus;
Are you too, truly feeling this dream?
I’ll become a father and you a mom.
It’s really going to happen soon.
So let’s both cut down on the drinking and stop the drugs.
Find a new way of life and overcome,
Our addictions to the illusions.
This could be a whole new beginning.
Girls just want to have fun, but I have found a woman.
I have someone who wants the commitment
And feels truly safe in,
The knowledge I’m here for her, ‘til death do us part.
This woman is the only one, allowed to get near my heart.
Once upon a time, we were so young and carefree;
She loved to feel the breeze, between her knees.
The passionate rush she got, from ******** a stranger,
Has now passed thankfully; she has no need for another,
Because I am her only lover
And she’s my baby’s mother.
But I can still remember when we first met.
I asked how far are you willing to take this?
What can I not do and is the list only short?
What’s the magic word that says you’ve had too much?
What is the cutoff point?
And do you like to take risks?
We made passionate love, morning, noon and night;
Now we still make passionate love,
But have more than adolescent desire.
We have an understanding, of each other’s bodies;
We have the knowledge, to leave each other satisfied.
For we’ve both been there, for each other,
When we were suffering insufferable pain.
We had both reached the stage in our lives,
When we believed, we would never love again.
We both believed, we couldn’t be happy.
We both had the same desire; to one day have a family.
It was hard for us, to be truly open
And to truly love again after our hearts had been broken.
But we shall overcome, the hurt and the pain;
To rise up each morning, ready to face a new day.
For now we are parents, our world has changed;
Now our love can be shared, with our offspring,
Until the end of our days.
(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 12:35 PM UTC
Abortion access and rights are being slashed and women’s voices silenced by forced pregnancy and poverty..
So when I got my period this month I felt the need to celebrate.
I don’t have to grow a life to participate in an existence I myself can’t justify.
I won’t have to raise a daughter as an incubator for a state of lies.
Jul 13, 2022
Jul 13, 2022 at 10:34 AM UTC
Awe Evie you came here fighting. Pulling the oxygen out of your nose. Trying to get out of the incubator you were not having it little girl. You are such a doll baby with a beautiful face. I love your orange hair I can't wait to see what color it will turn out to be. You are named after me Ms. Evieana Lillian. I'm named after my grandmother which makes you the third. My grandmother had red hair she was biracial just like you. So it's so cute that you have her name orange hair and spunky attitude. I thank you for being strong enough to fight. Wonderful enough to love and a small bundle enough to hug and kiss on. You are my Lilly boo and I thank Jehovah that I got the chance to meet you❤.
Aug 5, 2019
Aug 5, 2019 at 2:52 AM UTC
there are those
who read this stumbling
bumbling
work who are truly
beautiful
compassionate
people
thanks beforehand
for understanding me
without judgement
IN SEARCH OF THE LOST CHORD
i've been searching
all my life
for the lost note
there is a chord in the
cacophonistic chaos
which is my
existence
i simply miss
my otherwise
nimble hands simply
can't bring out
the magic
the music
the majestic
harmonies which
i hear in my mind
but are not translated
to my fingers
i believe it
is due to my assertion
that i was unloved as a child
i was not a planned
pregnancy
my mother fell
on her stomach and
i was a preemie
I was not touched
as an infant due to this
i was in an incubator
i was also
severely neglected as
an older child
due to my mother's
inability to cope
with two very small children
(I was born nearly one year after my sister)
I have also been
TARGETED
for twenty years by
by the
"CHURCH" of SCIENETICS
(name has been changed)
so if I am
slightly dark and
seemingly insane in
certain respects this is why
ONLY GOD CAN HELP ME
I've already learned
not to play my music
drunk or ******
but i am still
in search of the lost chord
♡ love ♡
Catherine
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
Why do I feel compelled
To describe you as imprinted
On the bone face of my skull?
Am I in there, rattling
Around with each curt nod
When you offer me your time?
Hurled against the stretches of the mind
The head's own incubator
Some Palaeolithic cave
Where the only inexperienced scrawlings
Are your portrait
In this cave I have invented film
Starting with a rickety old Zoetrope
Of the first smile; lips bracketing
The teeth, enabling
The tongue, to churn out
The voice, your nuclear voice
Hanging my Nagaskian heart by a hair
I haven't needed irradiation
Like the hand-canter of a harp player
I have been plucking my scalp
Hardly Lilith but perhaps
Deforesting Eden
Will tempt you from Eve.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 5:18 PM UTC
bewilderment, many more women than men, and still so few a man committing polygamy, it's almost like the mirroring of so many men committing suicide; the loss of the practice of polygamy leaves so many men committing suicide prematurely, leaving so many women alive to give the abnormal ratio without an actual diseased cause of death of men, hence the statistics.
just when you start enjoying it,
you stop,
there are so many going to restaurants,
but you're just a turkey
readied for stuffing,
you gorge on it
like traffic in Hinduism with
the holy cow that's a pedestrian
in England...
chomp and chop the food
like a toilet blockage,
you eat it without a palette,
no cheese and crackers after,
no candlelight, no wine,
it's a strange looking necessity,
esp. once digested;
it's as necessary as death for your
engagement: you have to eat,
you have to die...
i eat to add to the insomnia cure
because i should but can't pay alimony
payments because an engagement is
not lawfully enforced...
chemists are natural bachelors,
i told you, but you wouldn't
understand...
you were the ******* of youth,
the girl aged thirteen prone to suicide
and still the many numbers of men
committing to the act of suicide...
the law is in your favour, since you're
the incubator of it, the womb,
any rich **** can provide the Semitic root
of it all, cutting the excess skin of genitalia
of one *** whether ******** or ********
you think you won't get anti-ontological
behaviour? if what was intended was intended
and you play and revise the **** thing,
do you think the answering reason will
not look ridiculous enough to not attract ridicule
like a cow and flies, ready to spawn maggots
in the wet eye sockets?
you must be joking then!
monotheism was born in the halo
of revising mankind, abraham's snipping
isaac's "excess" skin...
it took place there... but revising a second
time with female circumcision...
well, revising humanity like that
gave us all the possible abominations accessible...
how can you teach the origin of man
with that ugly aesthetic of being furry
and a blunted snout of the gorilla
and not wonder why revising man
to an over-eager representation of engaging in ***
not combine into a holocaust...
you steal the sheath of the sword from the sword,
you'll find it constantly warring,
because that's what circumcision did,
it stole the sheath of the sword...
and no, this isn't crude imagery, ******
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 8:28 PM UTC
i am not your blooming flower
i don't belong in your
garden kingdom populated
by perennials and ruled by
thorn stemmed rose bushes
where you go
to seek solace and discover
the bursting lightness of
that sensuous pain when
blood erupts from that
thin line where
the white fatty layer threatens
to spill out into the world
and stain your white carnations.
and i never promised you
that it would be pretty
and that one day you would be
able to look at those sensationless slices
and see more than just
an act of scarification
that i asked for
that i endured
but the physical embodiment of
that internal scream that
bounces off the sides of my chest
and shatters the crystalline lattice
that protects my dispassionate heart
from your touch
as soft as the downy feathers
of the spring's children
emerging from their
incubator eggs to
greet the world where they
will fall before they fly
and i will impale myself on
the pyre of their sacrifice.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 3:22 PM UTC
He is a miracle,
a tiny creature,
laid in an incubator,
he struggles and fights,
better than Mohammed Ali,
he fights to keep the lights alive,
his body fits in his mothers hand,
but she cannot hold him,
just gently strokes his arm,
with a warm fingertip,
she wills him to survive,
a tube down his tiny nose,
supplies his nourishment,
his momma,
she sits and she waits,
and she waits and she sits,
he's too small to cry,
and he cannot look,
but they bonds,
more her, than he,
he is too small to know,
to feel to see,
an unbreakable bond,
she prays and she wishes,
she so wants to kiss him,
for the time being at least,
it's just daddy she kisses.
(C) Livvi
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 4:12 AM UTC
The first was taken before we ever met.
My sister: curled beneath insulated blankets,
a pink bow vaseline-glued to her bald head,
glassy infant eyes turned in the direction
of a picture of me (red striped shirt, my favorite overalls,
velcro shoes). Mom taped it against the outside
of her incubator; so she would know her big brother
even if I wasn’t allowed to visit her yet.
The second shows the two of us at the back door
of our house on Circle Slope Drive. Her palms and nose
pressed firm against the glass as she peers out at Whitney,
the cocker spaniel who became an outside dog
after knocking her over one too many times. My hands are tucked
under her armpits, and I’m using every ounce of my
three-and-a-half-year-old strength to make sure
she don’t teeter back onto her diaper-cushioned ****
The third, a candid from the family trip to Islamorada.
She and I are walking down the pier, on opposing sides
of Ganga, each holding one of her soft grandma hands.
She was our buffer for those eight days,
and years following the trip. We face the sunrise–
electric pink sky dotted with periwinkle wisps.
Later that day, my sister asked me to come look for seashells
with her; I told her I wished I had a little brother instead.
The final, from my college graduation last May.
My sister and I are laughing in the arboretum.
As excited as I was to never again sit in Hamilton 100
or bubble in a Scantron, I was already missing
eating pho and reading poems, making her matzo ball soup
when her throat hurt, and trekking to the taco truck at 1 am.
Neither of us knew then that I would have this job and this desk
with these four photos, and room for more.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 3:35 PM UTC
Your childhood dream
Your teenage dream
Your 20s dream
Your 30s dream
Your 40s dream
Your 50s dream
Measure them in decades
Transfixed before a distorted hall of mirrors
A cycling fun-house
While presidents come and go
Parachute pants, bomber jackets, bangs
When you’re drifting off to sleep
What feeling awakens in your heart?
What small feet run across your translucent landscapes
Cubists blocks of what might have been
Twisting , reforming…, parallax
Like Etcher in motion, Inception
Dark cities floating overhead while eclipses burn red
Do your hands tremble with rage or with despair?
Or do you lie perfectly still, resigned
Practicing for your casket
Selfies of your head sinking into starched pillows
You’re responsible now
Clerks and coroners pat you on the back
The least you can be is responsible
Hunting down dreams in dreary forests
With bow knives and bandanas
Is foolish
Better to fill out your W2s
Calculate your interest and help with homework
Don’t be selfish
Let others burning with madness, desire and discontent
Dream for you
Shape the future for you
Preferable to be content
An anti-pioneer To Nest in paperclips and razors
Satisfied with consolation prizes, Ms. Congeniality
To sink silently down the toilet of trivialities
Floating listlessly like a ****
Flushed out into the polluted ocean of time
But let us not dwell on dreams
Let us drill, let us dance, let us down
Korean BBQ and snap-shot sunsets
Never mind the shadows swirling
Through you, deepening with every tock
Civilization calls - You must be integrated.
Not like days of yore
On the hunt
But wrenched into a mechanical maelstrom
Input into a coded vision
An alien incubator zooming through metallic tubes
You are an app
Of Aborted dreams
Of pragmatic passiveness
Fingered by millions of strangers
To **** time and hope
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 6:59 PM UTC
Wind the clock
Set it back
Way, way, back
Way back to times before.
Before the battle and after the war
Make it bright to see the light
Feel the pleasure
Feel the pain
Sun fades, moon wanes.
Everything stays the same
But keeps movin forward
Draggin feet on the carousel
Tryin to slow the movement.
Blind to the revolution.
The inevitable return
Closer to the end,
Closer to the beginning
Big bang, big crush
Babe in an incubator,
Old man in a respirator
Travel back to move forward
Return and arrive in the same instant
Fast or slow
As long as it moves
and doesn’t go anywhere
just don’t stop.
Crash! Break!
Break out of the circle
Fight against the tumultuous monotony
Of its suffocating embrace
Concentric circles
Drawing in closer and closer
To a cage in the middle
Walls are closing in
What is outside the circle?
Why can’t we get out?
Who are the gate keepers?
Where are they hiding?
How will we break through?
When will we be free?
Dark days and white knights
Lapping life from the doggy dish
Wearing the wind in our eyes
Think it’s a disguise
But truth is transparent
And the façade is opaque beneath
Get out of the circle
Break the line
Stand still and be delivered outside
Be free
But be wary
For outside lie perils unknown
Sanctity, Sacrifice, Solice
Found in the binding of
Saintly moments.
For it shall be
The summations of good intentions
Which will break us out
Aug 17, 2011
Aug 17, 2011 at 8:21 AM UTC
Open your lustful legs
do so when a man begs
Let them spit in your face
‘cause you should know your place
Make their violence portray their passion
since you are born to tolerate this aggression
You are nothing more than some holes
nothing to say, ‘cause it’s the man who controls
Be beautiful, be youthful, be skinny- be tight
Who else is going to show you love tonight?
You are nothing more than a temporary human incubator
“After 18, you expire”, says the **** infused manipulator
Some of us are stuck in blue online vending machines
they pay girls posing like in pervert playboy-zines
Once, I was this carefree and happy sweet little one
now I have to fight against the lust of someone’s son
Aug 28, 2025
Aug 28, 2025 at 6:04 AM UTC
Just a checkup and i’m feeling 30. i’m 30 minutes early and in a hospital that’s an eternity. So my restless eyes wander and my feet move till i step into the reflection of adulthood and youth. Separated by thin glass i stare with blood shot eyes at all the beautiful newborn babies!! “That was me, i was them, how could i have ever been that helpless?” In response to my question the lights flickered and there i was lying helplessly in the incubator! Mother earth looked at me through the glass, she more restless than i, bags under her eyes she said “that was me, i was them, could i have ever been that helpless?” Then darkness and i disappeared, mother earth was now **** naked helpless in the incubator. Through the glass God spoke with fire in His eyes“I Am”.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 10:03 AM UTC
incubator
technological mother
wi-fi our blood vessels
to your eternal link
make us passionate machines
symbiotic connections
programming a love
continuously on update
in lieu of heartbreak
in lieu of heartbreak
in lieu of heartbreak
in lieu of...
fail
buffering
abort
retry
error
Jan 13, 2020
Jan 13, 2020 at 9:14 PM UTC
I am human before I am woman
I was not brought into existence with the sole purpose to give life
I will not fall prey to the social cube that men have made for women
I refuse to be merely an incubator to a rotten society
I am human before I am woman
I am the ocean on windy days because some days I can't be tamed
I am the sky on continuous hot summer days because everyday fire burns inside me
I am the full moon because every now and then I am solitude
And that is human
I have wrapped my desires into dreams and visions
They will push like sunlight through any and every societal duty
that has been placed upon me even before I was born.
My body will wither like the dahlia that it is
and when the moment comes
I will not fear the end
just as I have not feared men
I would have known that I lived as a human
and will find peace and comfort in my existence on this earth
I will look forward to what is in store
This is my choice.
This is my refusal.
This is my proposal to all women and men.
Let us live as beings.
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 3:20 AM UTC
Void
No earth
no space
no form
no shape
but sound
Words cracking the darkness of emptiness’s marshes
leaving foamed streaks of white lashes blazing eternity
And those streaks were the evidence of supreme thought
evaporating like the water that came to be
at the sound
The sound that occurs when one speaks
I was present then
at the disappearance of nothingness
I was in the afterthought of the brown
the green
the blue
the light
If you listened intently you could hear me
fastly approaching
following the sight
of
gray fins
magenta feathers
tan tails
swarthy scales
salmon snouts
ivory tusks
The air felt the dirt rumbling
I was coming at the speed of the hooves
of a thousand bucks
and with the loosened clay from the earth that was displaced
Abba formed a great face
a body of perfection
I was there
I was seed enveloped in water nets of life
free styling a red dance
that would cause the day’s synchronized swimmers to cease
Nothing like a case of the green eyed monster
to take away the memory to breathe
My head was pointed ahead
Body wagging
Jiggling
Shaking
Convulsing
Smelling the musk of the incubator that would grow me
And during the eons of patience
the rise and fall of great nations
a period of tribulation
as those who preceded me are innumerable
there finally came a suited portal
And only her sound
of agreement
to remain committed
find nourishment from only his *****
enabled my form
Though I was already adorned with equipment
to live with
to move
and with the authority of Abba
to speak a sound that
changes atmospheric existence
She was needed
to birth me
nurse me
nurture me
Love me enough to give me back to the One
that knew me before
Before
Before is void
It is no earth
no space
no form
no shape
but sound
Words cracking the darkness of emptiness’s marshes
leaving foamed streaks of white lashes blazing eternity
And those streaks were the evidence of supreme thought
evaporating like the water that came to be
at the sound
The sound that occurs when one speaks
I am from the sound
Let
There
Be
ME.
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 9:46 PM UTC
if i could travel through time only once, i would go back to your birth to kidnap you, keep you hostage in my home, feed you and beat you and brainwash you until the day came when your birth did aswell, then id send you to your birth instead of me, to **** your infant self to death with a barrel of a gun, then to put it in your mouth, but no need. youd drop ded. youd disappear. i guess thered just be the incubator filled with your sloppy child.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 1:16 PM UTC
Blank is the only thought known in the mind's velocity
Blank is the motive for the one to unleash atrocity
Blank becomes the heart as it encases no pain nor joy
Blank merely senses no rudiment in good or evil's ploy
Blank removes the face far from emotion's function
Blank contributes part in the psychotic conjunction
Blank of colour has it not, neither has it not everything
Blank is the incubator of pure evil for its purpose is nothing
Dark has claimed lordship over the temple of God
Dark shall only not grant the self but others the trod
Dark is the illness for which not shall it cease
Dark is the standing bear to the prey upon release
Dark gives the sun's casket at the funeral the seal
Dark senses no illusion in pursuit of what is real
Dark is the siren's song of tempting desire
Dark is the fuel of persuasion to the raging hellfire
Monster has the person become from a transformation much gruesome
In comparison to the lycanthrope's curse from a life so glum
Silence does the killer perform the wait for this moonrise
Wolf does not in he result but psychosis shall evoke demise
Hell is the starting gate for the devil to begin his race on earth
Slaughtered shall be anyone until achieved is the end's worth
Light will not the butcher dwell in for his blade of razor to land
Lightless will the assassin delay in for the lust of death by hand
Cannot you outrun the follower, ceaselessly he follows
Subject you are to this doctor's experiment of gallows
Shadow does for you he wait in for the death strike
Watcher will he portray such a role in his image alike
Closet shall you beware for the demon's haunt it has become
Drains are elsewhere he shall stay for they are fear to some
The primary sense is vision for it has the ability to identify
Application of the sense does it most suit the villain to mortify
The possessed blade is as sharp as the pain to cause the victim's cries
For such an action does pleasure be ensured for the blackest eyes
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
Swell, waving like a swell, a comic sail in our wind-saturated body is the privilege: Prosperity! Make-up, suddenly deliberate naivety between adult chirps Dreamland deception sets a fur trap! Anyone can be hit by an overbearing and light-hearted blow, yet the true Man is the one who is hurt! In the midst of everyday mother-daughter worries, the one who always looks at the future can think of the worries! He who hides, who does not breed usurers in a purposeful way from Life himself, whose unpaid debts remain!
Child-mothers sin with incubator-angels for their inaction, dreading to recognize in the open gates of the Universe the consequences and blood offense if the acute, hot macho guy does not hide in bed with them for the first night of immortality and shame! How many angel deposits are made for them, their parents' sins are also properly repaid: heirs to the throne are irresponsible, so they are born into the swamp!
Why don't Alamuszi try to make bronze-brown-stained, **** bombshell goddesses with anyone, when they know and feel that they may once be the most apt family fathers?! The trick that counts all the tricks of modern seducers is just what a narrow runway can advertise alone! - Sweating in the body armor is intentionally avoided s Prohibited! The universal distillation of oblivion may not be so easy! All the top best of stylists are there just to disguise the sacred truth:
sleepless eye-stars would prefer to sleep rather than the vigilant desire of dazzling spotlights! - The juicy fruit offered on a tray is carried by the mother's breast and yet by a death-scared little girl
Apr 14, 2021
Apr 14, 2021 at 1:59 AM UTC
When I fell back into the cramped nook of your shelf,
you didn't even acknowledge me amidst the other knickers and gnats vying for your attention.
You overlooked the viscous hatred glazing my bronze porcelain.
And after you spit-shined me in an attempt to erase the set-in stain
that so starkly contrasted all of the work that you had put into the cocoa complexion nurtured in the heated vacuum of your built-in incubator,
you showed me off to your friends,
your little nesting doll that had shrunk down to its true form,
so cute and abridged that you could fit its summation in your pocket,
doomed to eternally room with your dusty love shields and dingy photocopies of past mistakes.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 9:35 PM UTC