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John Leuven Apr 2014
Frances Justine, with eyes of bella blue,
with tipsy gait and freely-falling shambles of a step,
half-awake, half-dreaming in the onset of a rush
of seeping winds' complaints unto the painted walls of bleach.
A phantom dressed in sighing silk, a glimmer-dress unbound,
her fingers wrapped in lace and fragile trimmings of the earth;
a sonic trembling synchronized with evening humming low,
this tapping placed upon a table -- forests in the flow.

Frances Justine,
the pretty,
the proud --
had relished these demeanors for a lady most in love;
how liquid are her movements as she dances in the wait
of gales that hope take her far, to continents away.

Away, so far away, from this pertinent monsoon,
her setting heart thus painted with the phases of the moon,
it floats, but not for long, the sky's
half-empty and half-full;

there, Frances Justine darkly was
just waiting to be whole.
Kimberly Serena Dec 2014
Justine whispers in delirium
of Mediterranean summers
of lunar carriages
and pulsating drummers

Where exists rapture
congregates hosts
closing curtains on time
while releasing their ghosts

They who play chess with death
in vineyards of veins
are tangled in torment
and lamented remains

Vessels of reapers
who crucify hearts
host on the gentle
lacerate souls apart
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
i remember, she used to pronounce her name as: just tina... even though the french would have said: just teen... or ju steen.*

and my my, what a headache,
feels a lot like a diabetic's nightmare,
no food for the whole day,
some water and some alcohol -
what could possibly go wrong?

and there i was, dreaming of a hoisin
sauce duck tortilla wrap...
but did i get it?
no...
       caesar chicken tortilla wrap
instead...
   and torrential rain,
******* down buckets of pears...

and what else?
   ah, it's nearing october and i'm
still found wearing shorts and
sandals...
      and so it was, memories of justine,
running barefoot with her in the rain...

justine? aunt, who was only about
5 years older than me...
      her dad was my grandmother's brother...
don't ask...

it just reminded me of that day we
fell ill after running barefoot in the rain,
as i munched my caesar infused chicken
tortilla wrap, holding a pair of sandals
in the other hand, strolling the the drum-beat
of the rain, amused ever so often
when dipping my feet into puddles,
trying to guess how many
           variations of cement there were...
in guessed about 7 different fibres
    of texture...
  
         i can't tell you how much fun it becomes
reliving old ills -
like walking barefoot in the rain,
         nearing october, in shorts,
   eating a chicken caesar tortilla roll -
complaining about the headache induced
by a dangerous sugar level (from fasting),
twice retorting: and i'm not even a diabetic.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
i can't help what i am...
but what i am not is a spoken word
poet: with that generic exasperation
technique of speaking -
as if, on the verge of crying...

but what i can tell you...
i am a rigid person,
there are 3/4 of me that should
have enlisted in the army,
and only a 1/4 that went to
university...

so... given that i'm such a rigid ******...
i thought i'd tell you about
linear and vertical rhyming...
linear?
oh, that's neat & easy:

.................................... end
.................................... bend
..................................... send
..................................... wend....

basically suffix rhyming...
but! but... what Sylvia Plath
introduced?
   oh, my, god...
      transcendent of
the conceptualization of
"the" box...

her rhyme? alphabetical...
sort of...

        it's more than that...
she didn't pay due diligence on
suffix rhyming -end,
   -ing
    you name it...

you want to know what her rhyme
concept implies?

   **** me, it's sassy...

she was a rhyming weaver...
an interloper...
    words didn't have to necessarily
end in the same boundary
of an echo... echo rhyming
by the standard bearers is one thing...
she made tartan rhymes...

tartan rhyming...
kilt rhyming...

                  and it looked something
equivalent to, this:

  ceremony or Potent -
Still sky, obtuSe -
   one might Say love -
  Suddenly,
        black featherS,
black reSpit -
Season of fatigue,
SpaSmodic,
  deScend...
   Stolidly...
       no effigy... Seem...
pompouS...
                         coarSe copy...
      Bell tongue BirdS...
    Shrined on her SHelf...
too Tough to Finish...
  Seize my Senses...
ToTal neuTrality...
   deScent...
                Sanguine...
  bRick dusk...
Prose...
              plaCe...
            pompouS...
Ne­at kNits...
    weedS obScured...
SHe blenched,
miMic...
   deSpite...
baniSH...
    ******...
too tough for knife to finiSH...

      Head...
so profoundly muCH...
       piN legs...
               thoughtS...
So departS...
       S(h)eets...
Sanity...
      Tongue...
Printed Page...
  Twelve...
Sick man's Eye...
nEVER nEVER found
anyWHERE...

goodbye goodbye...
      eXclamation...
the First point...
            GHost...
   Signify...
cuckoo-land of color fields,
CRisp CUsp...
    
        the girl's dancing!
she's dancing barefoot...
no, i can't fall in love with her...
she's, dead!

    but can you see
rhyming vertically?
   all the lettering,
in capital letters?
  deviancy...
   it doesn't agree to your
box standard form of
rhyme, linearly...
  it's vertical rhyming,
it's juxtapositions on a scale
that might elongate
the winding tongue of a snake
in, anything but maracas
rattling...
sssssssssssssssssssssss.....
a wet snare...
   she's teasing...
she has escaped
the tradition of
the traditional guise of rhyme...
she has invoked
rhyme, but as an intermediating
attachment...
          forget the rigid
end-
                   -ing
with a "worthy"
   sympathiz-
                                        -ing...

what a gall...
she makes the housewives of America's
1950s twice as vampire-like,
and thrice as Stepford material...
   lucky blond to leave so much
"crap" behind...
   i could pick the maggots
from her head and make it
a day's worth of fishing
on the banks of Vistula...

she's dancing in the rain,
and all i have is my Cameo cinema
moment
with my cousin, Justine,
running barefoot where
i grew up on the cement...
and then cuddling together,
getting warmer
over one worth of an afternoon...

last time i heard...
her son Leo was born on
the 15th of May,
my birthday...
  but we've fallen out...
when her husband
put a **** under my father's
self-employment
enterprise...
   and undertook
a practice of stealing workers
from him...
great move... when you join
a family...

        nice memory though...
wish my cousin Justin all the luck
she can muster...
but when it comes to family
friendliness?
none....
                 went to her brother's
wedding... was interrogated by
her brother's best man...

   Polish drunk talk...
let's just say...
his date?
   was flashing her underwear
at me from under her magic carpet
ride of a skirt while we
smoke cigarettes and finished
off drinks, being accused of...
trying... to seriously...
hide her... exhibitionism...

   so i started punching myself
in the face to find target practice
should i ever come across
any more Polacks, drunk,
at a family wedding...
   you never know...

           hell... if ******* wanna tango...
we'll... ******* tango! ha ha.
now all i need is the raw
material... my knuckles
are either furry...
or they're itchy...
  can't exactly knock-out
my neighbors dog...
   i need a ******* mug of
a mouthwash advert...
with a grin that's, seriously
asking for a few missing teeth
to rekindle a smile!
Justine Louisy Jul 2020
Mummy used to buy me hair grease,
for my hair was a seismic wave of crease.
The scalp crying sweat,
the tantrums were the onset.

Wide tooth comb have mercy on the nots,
nests of lies and cheeky clots.
The flurries of dandruff deposit,
the skeletons in the closet.

Mummy brought out the blue magic,
the long strands thirsty to become ethic.
Such a wave of moisture,
like the silkiness of an oyster.

A perfect layer of braided Cornrows,
blended amongst the tropical mangoes.

Mummy says to me you’re a woman now,
be prepared and ready to plough,
the knotty hairs of your little ones.

Go and buy the same hair grease,
to ensure their naughty traits mature into peace.

Justine Louisy

Copyright ©Justine Louisy 2016
All Rights Reserved
So... I’ve mentioned about braids but now let’s talk about the preparation of Afro hair and the goodness of hair grease (metaphorically speaking 😁😅) enjoy!!
featherfingers Oct 2013
Breathe.

Inhale deep.
Let the afternoon sink
into your tired lungs
on golden wings of daylight
and ease.

Breathe.

Exhale slow.
Let oxygen, nitrogen,
carbon dioxide and pollution
whisper from your bloodstream
and mingle with the trees.

Purify.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Breathe.

Count to five (for me).

One:
stretch each muscle of your fingertips--
first knuckle,
second knuckle,
third.

Two:
curl your toes inside your shoes;
feel your socks stretch
inch by
inch.

Three:
spell your name until it sticks;
seven letters raindance
just to comfort
you.

Four:
Tell me where you live,
how the squeak-springed couch sinks
under the weight of family
and love.

Five:
close for me your tired eyes;
shifting patterns of stars wrap your dark
in brightness
and calm.

Then breathe.
Inhale deep and exhale slow.
Untie the knots from your shoulders,
and open the cage to your chest.

Breathe.
032017

Isa, Dalawa, tatlo, apat, lima, Anim, Pito? Tama ba?
Pasensya kana,
Hindi ko na kasi mabilang ang ating mga away at tampuhan.
Nahihiya na nga ako sayo eh, Kasi hindi dapat ito yung iyong nararanasan.

Alam ko sobra-sobra na yung mga sakit na naidulot ko sayo
Wala na yung mga pangako na sinabing tutuparin ko
Yung mga "***** tayo jan, ***** tayo dito"
Yung "Susulitin natin ang oras pag balik mo sa piling ko"
Dapat pala sinulit ko na ang oras habang nandito kapa sa piling ko.

Naalala ko pa yung araw na paalis kana
para tuparin yung pangarap mo
Kahit masakit sakin na lumisan ka
ikaw ay aking suportado
Kahit na alam kong matagal yun
pilit nating sinasabi na saglit ka lang, Na kayang kaya natin
Hanggang sa dumating na tayo sa hindi natin kaya.

Ang "sakit"
Salitang nanggaling na parehas sa ating dalawa
Yung tipong mahal na mahal pa natin yung isat isa
pero parang hindi na
Yung kahit hindi ikaw yung problema
sayo na napupunta
Hindi ko alam kung dapat bang wakasan na
Pero nagdesisyon tayo na kayanin pa.

Lumipas ang ilang araw
bumabalik na tayo sa dati
Nag-iintindihan na ulit
minsan pa nga nag bobolahan
Sabi ko pa sa sarili ko nun… YES!!! Wala na tong katapusan
Ngunit NAUDLOT ang ating walang katapusan.

Bumabalik na naman si justine sa kanyang dating ugali
Magdodota tapos hating gabi na naman uuwi
Tatawag ka sa aking telepono pero hindi ko nasasagot
Hanggang sa tumagal tagal na,
Hindi ko na sinasagot.

Ang hirap lang kasi maging masaya nang wala ka pisikal
Ang hirap magtiis na yung yakap
ay babasahin ko na lang at hindi na literal
Kaya nililibang ang sarili kahit na mali na ang paraan
Kahit na alam kong mali yun na dahilan
Hindi ko pa rin tinigilan.

Sabi ko sa sarili ko
maayos din lahat ng ito pag nakauwi kana
Nagkakaganito lang tayo dahil hindi tayo magkasama
Nag-aalala pagkat hindi sigurado sa ginagawa ng isa
Kahit iilang araw nalang
tiisin pa natin, pakiusap ko sayo
Maliliwanagan din naman
kapag nagtagpo na and dalawang puso.

May isa lang akong hiling na sana ay tuparin mo
Sa laban na ito,
Wag ka sanang matuto na sumuko.
(c) JS

This piece made me cry. Alam ko, di ka mahilig magsulat. Minsan, akala ko gusto mo na lang sumuko sa laban natin. Pero salamat, kasi nandyan ka pa rin. Salamat kasi mahal mo pa rin.

I glorify the Lord sa lahat ng mga nangyayari. Higit ang pagmamahal Niya for us. Yung pag-ibig na to, it's a shower of His grace. Thank You Jesus!
you were just a teen

but i was less than that

i was so confused on how to act

i looked at you and your long blonde hair

and somehow found myself in there.



your confusion left me feeling sure

your hand in mine, i felt secure

and I know it must’ve hurt that
all people wanted was
more more more


and-
i know you never needed anyone

after you lost your drug

but when a relationship dies, death still can’t conquer love

and love was all around you

but you purposely sought out hate

inhaled it down, held it in,

and for once, i couldn’t relate


i watched you plan your fate

through your destruction and watched you spiral

and when i went to pull you out

you let out this sickly smile

as if begging me to let you be

convincing yourself this was your destiny

as if pain in these doses was keeping you alive

who was this person i saw inside?



and all those times you attacked me with your eyes

and all those times you had me stuck in your lines

you were just ******* with our minds

cuz you enjoyed this maniacal ride



i still
would
reach for your hand

to bring you back,
it was always my plan

but with walls so thick and made of stone

to save you, i learned, i had to leave you alone.
zebra Feb 2022
You can't talk about love without talking about its absence, deceit, desire and perversions.
Despite Justines intention to live a virtuous and moral life
she repeatedly encounters debauched and depraved individuals who demean her in every sense of the word.

Justine is brutally and incessantly violated, yet always eager and docile with big ******* eyes like portals of magic.
Using lunar rituals and oneiric transmissions she masturbates incessantly in alley doorways while imagining being backdoored in a bathtub of oiled men - and time will not take that away.

A queen of pinups and a scape goat without a safe word
She is held hostage by desire interlocking her with a **** vampire
living in a stone-cold chamber who texted pitiful Instagram posts about beautiful scarification, the pleasures of narcissism and beauty that left her always feeling like her own undertaker.

How does it work to protect yourself from yourself in this bitter city of the mind where silver flies, pocked faces and little worthless pennies in knotted dreams hum into the cells of your mottled brain?
Mike Essig Feb 2017
You have abandoned purity for perfection.
Even the blind have moments of clarity
but you ***** around like the Cyclops
feeling nowhere for noman while
affecting a quiet, moronic expression.
You can't knit without needles,
but you have mislaid the point and
so things unravel into random skeins.
Your typewriter rattles only in reverse.
Bards stub their toes and wail.
You hear them, but pay no attention.
You are listening for the atomic thunderclap.
Nothing less than finale of final will do.
When it explodes at last you will know
the inarticulate, unspeakable name of god.
Perhaps Fred. Perhaps Norma or Justine.
Perhaps merely a very loud Boom...
That will be more than enough for one life.
Justine Louisy Jun 2020
Multiple braids equal multiple roots,
in the direction my fingers scoots.

Loose braids,
robust cornrow braids in a stack,
chanting all the way down my back.

A loose rope,
or a robust bridge.
You know which root to take….

Justine Louisy
Copyright © Justine Louisy 2016
All Rights Reserved
Still remember having braids in my hair (so much more easier to handle 🤣) Would you consider braids? 😊
Connor Thomas Sep 2012
White, calloused hands
Gripping white soft belly
Bushy white hair
Rubbing clean white face

Unfurling smoke rising
Rising like the tide on a full moon
Into blue sky
Blue as the ocean itself

Lakes north of the Twin Cities
Life living liberally under rocks
Death staring darkly from the depths
Moon glowing brightly above

Train brakes screech
The passengers rustle a bit
Black as the night
Hard as a rock

Rampant youths file into the alley
Raging inside
Ranting out
Rigid bones cease

The drug addicts plead mercilessly
With their alter ego
More more more
**** **** ****

The businessmen do their fast walk
And the women do their little sway
Walking dogs and walking strollers
Clinically insane they repeat

Dark blond hair
Ripped jeans
Tighter than skin
Gay shoes

Beautiful brunette
Big *** ****
Smirking smile
She knows she’s hot

Random dudes street talking
Random chicks street banging
Random kids street dealing
Random guys finish the job

Men in work clothes
Buy love symbols for their niece
And rock shows for their nephew
But nothing for their sons

Watching the sunset
Watching the moon rise
Watching the tides roll
Watching you fake it all

Justine took all the pills
She’s passed out on the futon
This basement gives me chills
I think I heard someone call 9-1-1

Someone in uptown died tonight
Shot
On the street
Blood rained like rain

Red towels from the hotel
Stolen again
Marriot’s free swimming pool
Cost me 800 dollars

*** and drugs combined
Rugs and thugs
And enemy teams
Gunshots, gun fights
Jayantee Khare Sep 2017
Jugnu The Firefly  

Once upon a time, there was a little firefly named Jugnu. He was born in the light of the full moon. Everyone celebrated him because; he had sparkling eyes, and a tail that was longer then any other tail in his firefly community.
“We can’t wait till you turn 6 weeks old. We bet because of your tail size you,will shine the brightest at the firefly carnival. It will surely win first prize for our firefly zone.” They would say, as his parents looked on with pride.
When Jugnu was 3 weeks old, when normally a tail would begin the lighting process, nothing happened. He tried changing his diet, and exercising, but no light at all was seen.
It worried little Jugnu but he tried to trust. One day, after a field trip to learn about night-light flying, at school he was bullied. They said, he was a phony, ugly and that his tail was a fake. He came home upset full of self judgements.
“Worry not, sweet child.” His mother said, giving him a firefly hug with her wings. “Remember, you are great just the way you are. Know that there is an inner light within and that never goes out.”
His Father added. “Yes, mother speaks truth. Those who tease are blinded to your greatness even jealous though they may not admit it. The more you give their words power, the more it will disable you. They give you with their harsh words an opportunity to love yourself more. Just ride the energy wind of love and trust all will work out.” He stated, drying his little ones tears.
They all sat together meditating by taking deep breaths for balance. Once done, Jugnu’s parents words began to open his heart and he no longer let his classmates bother him.
Everyday, he continued to eat right, exercise and trust that things would work out. Another week passed and there was no change.
It was getting harder and harder to trust, as the carnival date got closer. Little Jugnu still was filled with doubt.
As the weeks passed, Jugnu even tried adding prayer to his routine. Three weeks, four weeks five weeks passed but still no light appeared.
On the night of the carnival with no light on his tail, Jugnu felt terrible. He judged himself and couldn't bare to face anyone so before the big event, he packed a bag and began to leave the forest.
Jugnu traveled a mile and a half. Suddenly, he stopped and began to cry. By now the sun went down and he knew all the fireflies from the different forests were gathering. It made him feel worse.
When he cried out all his sadness and judgments, a big light appeared in the sky. It moved right in front of him and magically turned into a big firefly fairy.
“Dear one, They call me Justine. I have heard your prayers and have come to help. Though you did your best to trust, eat well and were able to ignore your classmates untruth words, you still carried self judgment and doubt.”
“You must realize you are sacred and weather you light up or not you are a gift with many talents. There is no reason to run away. Just face who you are with love and things will unfold beautifully.”
She took Jugnu under her wings and they flew a while before she spoke again. “The power is in believing in yourself. In sharing the light of love, and being compassionate to all.  And one more thing... but that you must realize yourself.”
They flew all through the country side. The more Jugnu looked at the beauty in the world, the more he felt a warmth build inside.
He saw trees of beauty, majestic mountains and birds who sang grand melodies. He saw rolling green landscapes, and animals moving in harmony.
“I got it! I got it!” he shouted. He knew what was missing. Not only did he need to believe, trust and love BUT, he needed to carry gratitude.
Little Jugnu was ready to return to his community. He thanked the firefly fairy Jolene, and off he went flying at top speed. As he got close to the festivities, he began to shower himself with love.
When Jugnu carried no self doubt, whispering gratitude for all the lessons he learned, he entered his village. Magically, his tail began to shine. It shined in rainbow colors and brighter than anything any firefly had ever seen.
Applause, echoed through the forest. It was an amazing sight whereby there was plenty of light-dance flying, and laughter. He won a trophy for his beautiful tail and it hung tall a top Mother Oak tree.
Next time, you take a walk in the forest be sure to look up. You just might see the shape of a trophy made from fibers of a spiders web and leaves. Then, you know you are in Jugnu’s forest.
As for Jugnu, he had found his inner light and become a master storyteller. He taught old and young the value of love, trust, compassion and gratitude. And he hopes you reading his story learn as well.
Star BG wrote this story on me....i am moved...felt so much  important, honored and liked, that i can't put it in words. Thnx Sbg..grateful.. love you
Justine Louisy Jul 2020
Welcome abroad Thameslink.
Grab a camera a wink at
Shaftsbury’s bootylicious dancers.
Pen in gear and know the answers to
the parade of pub quizzes.
Let your strands of raw seismic frizzes scream
on bonds lightening Thames RIB.
The Louis Vuitton wallet ‘on fleek’ for that crib inside
the Shards slender diamond belly.
Feet stay in groove with that Kidston welly against
the roaring mud at the wireless festival.
Pre dem soulful struts of de Notting hill carnival spicy
spirits, nani wines and **** kisses.
Safari hunt watch out for those hisses on
centre stage of the primeval in the zoo.
Grab my hand and come on boo steady
your bags and steady your feet on the thrilling
ride of Oxford street.
Reminisce its entirety and say goodbye.

As we take in our final view on the London eye.

Justine Louisy
Copyright ©Justine Louisy 2016
All Rights Reserved
Happy Friday folks!! Hope you have a great weekend planned and are keeping safe during these times!! Here’s something to cheer you up... my poetic vision of LONDON 🇬🇧.... if you are planning to go (once COVID restrictions are fully lifted) hope this gives you a good sense of things to do and places to visit 😁🏙😊
Pour te garder toujours à portée des yeux
Je t’ai mise sous verre,
Ma muse courtoise,
Avec encadrement de bois
Stuqué et doré du dix-neuvième siècle
Avec marie-louise,
Jolie gravure du dix-huitième siècle signée

Sigmond Freudeberg, peintre et Antoine Louis Romanet, graveur !
C’est une scène galante :
Tu prends le bain
Et Justine, ta servante t’apporte sur un plateau
Un billet-doux et ta tasse de chocolat chaud
"De la Lettre ou du Chocolat, que préfère Madame?!."
Dit Justine avec le regard complice de l 'entremetteuse.
Ah ma chère Justine, j'ai le coeur bien plus délicat,
Plus faible infiniment, hélas que la poitrine!"
Puisque c’est toi madame
Tu choisirais d’abord la lettre ou le chocolat ?
Justine Louisy Jul 2020
Be the salt lamp,
that purifies the delinquent dust,
and leaves a path of glow,
so the dark can finally see.

Justine Louisy
Copyright © Justine Louisy 2020
All Rights Reserved
Midweek Motivation 💪🏽
tricia lambert Feb 2014
Into the blender-
Pineapple juice, half a carton
Ice, a handful
Coconut cream, a well shaken tin
Bacardi, a goodly dollop

Justine says
I should add half an eggwhite
For the froth
But how the hell do you halve an egg white
So I leave it out.

A few seconds unholy racket
And it’s ready to pour
Into my favourite thick heavy glass
Put the pitcher in the fridge
And take on impulse.
****** good

Brings back a tiled balcony in Puerto Vallarta
A small boy wearing an iguana


Tricia Lambert
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2022
i shifted my preferences greatly, i've move away from a certain stimulant, namely? caffeine, i've abandoned it completely in the form of coffee, this one afternoon i reached my fourth cup having began drinking it in the morning: i felt like my brain was trying to jump out of my head through my forehead: a headache without a headache: strangely possible... i prefer nicotine these days: obviously i smoke less, in order to make this poison more potent, but it works just as well if not better than caffeine: since the first cigarette of the day, after a night's "fast" (i.e. sleep) gives you the disorientating buzz, whereby an awakening stimulation kicks-in...

Wennigton village near Rainham burned to the ground,
Socrates hated the sophists, Ezra Pound
hated the Taoists... me? i hate the sceptics...
pretentious thinking-they're-clever ***-wipes...
i hate the sceptics with a passion:
i don't mind scepticism: i just hate the sceptics...
i can be sceptical in a microcosm about a lot of things:
usually traffic: at a roundabout... whether or not
i will gave enough "boot-licking" strength in my feet
to make it... but scepticism soon dissipates
in me and i just: lunge into the traffic...

even with all the past news about idiotic junior doctors
who were pulled under trucks and died
because they thought cyclists were the Hindu sacred
cows of the traffic hierarchy...
i have a different approach: cyclists can make the best
traffic shepherds... literally...
i've had about 3 motorists shout at me from
their windows... gnats...
you think i didn't speed up to them and start shouting
back?
one good example... i think he was trying to impress
his girlfriend in the passenger-seat...
by the time i caught up with him
   she noticed i was mad as a boar who was fed
beetroots instead of truffles...
'come on *******! mouth off me one more
******* time! stop the car and have a fight!'
****... she already pulled up the window... so i cycled
even more ferociously until i passed them and
turned around and pulled out the middle-finger
weapon of mute expression that's easily to read
if you know what it means...

of all the motorists: there's always one ****-sure idiot:
who's probably popping erectile-dysfunction
pills to sooth his hurting ego...
ego... wow! on my bicycle today i was experiencing
something weird...
it was an IN-BODY experience...
my ego was having a conversation with my ego...
usually ego undermines...
when cycling: oh i can't go on i can't go on blah blah...
but this time round my ego was talking to my ego...
ego (a) was saying the above: that my body
can't take the strain...
but ego (b) was saying: shut the **** up...
this idiot decided to take this route: of all days...

my god! after so many years of drought... the heat-waves...
i went for lunch with my mother...
she drank a Stella Artois and had fish and chips
while i had a Guinness and a burger & chips...
we talked... oh... right... so this is what potentially
dating feels like? you go out with a woman
and talk over food?
                                thank god it was my mother:
i couldn't stomach doing with with a potential partner:
what a ****** cultural artifact of the 20th century...
**** that...
so you go to a restaurant and you talk over food...
in the meantime people do this while also
profiling themselves prior... their interests...
their dislikes... it's all a priori...
and then... it's like reading a menu...
                            you already know everything you'd
otherwise like to find out through
conversation and all the quirks of: conversation
but instead you have profiling: so you already know
what a person likes or dislikes...
can i just eat alone, in peace?
   sure... if my mother asks me to have lunch with her...
but we have seriously things to talk about...
her fathers death... my grandfather's death...
familial estrangement...
with her mother my grandmother:

i didn't know my paternal grandparents...
they abandoned my father so i abandoned a thought
of them...
they're like grey ghouls of a white night of
St. Petersburg... come the zenith of June's longest day...
but we talked an anchor-topic... a sinker...
i didn't just lose a grandfather: i lost a friend...
a tear built up in my eye: glass! glass! think of glass!
thank god: i didn't cry...
the word grandfather coupled with the word friend
is heartbreaking in the right context...

i was getting my root-canal treatment done
when i saw him last...
and then... one month later... gone...
what really hurt? that ***** of a grandmother didn't even
bother to call me to tell me something
was wrong... oh sure... she called me...
the day before he died...
i would have been at his bedside the moment
****-hit the fan...
    my hatred for women: my "hatred"? it sort of imploded...
it reversed itself...
hell... if you get a chance to hate your grandmother
for that sort of trickery... what are you going
to do? me? i just decided it was about time
to love prostitutes...
these creatures who are supposedly least deserving...
and? oh **** me: i'm having a ******* hell of a time
stealing kisses from them...

****'s sake: if someone is dying you tell people that
are your family!
no wonder i didn't think about having children
of my own: given my family's history:
it wouldn't look pretty...
i think there's a curse on my family lineage...
but sure: i can go on a lunch "date" with my mother...
there's nothing Oedipal about that...
is there?
                          i don't think so: if you think so you're (a)
weird... oh...
           but do the same thing with a woman
i'm trying to court into bedroom fun?
   oh no... that's not happening...
*** first... dinner after... i can't **** on a full stomach...
i need one bottle of cider and three sips of
whiskey and a cigarette or two...

seriously! it's an artifact of 20th century mating strategies!
anyone see a man on a horse
dressed up as a refrigerator, i.e. in full body armour
anywhere soon? maybe: sooner?!
i don't... the dynamic has changed... apart from one...
the eternal: the archetypical one:
the one i'm already suckling at...
oh... pristine! it's that expression of kissing
your index middle fingers and thumb
   joined up... kissing them and pursing your lips
and "smooching": i can't write this sound...
an onomatopoeia would be a waste of time...
and while kissing and making that "smooch"
releasing the fingers into an unfold...

                     hold on... what was i talking about?
i learnt this method from my English teacher
at Canon Palmer Catholic School (i'm not catholic...
you sort of have to be CONFIRMED to be catholic...
i was baptised unwillingly, i gave no consent)
                   Ser Tom-as Bunce! Scot... Glaswegian...
he taught by digression... oh man: he was an expert
digressionist... that should be an actual noun in
the Oxford Standard Dict. he digressed a lot...
                         his way of speaking? i think... i'm trying
to imitate by writing... oh forget that Beatnik cut-up
technique... i'm not stitching random things together:
i'm not the origins story of Tristan Tzara pulling out newspaper
clippings out of a top-hat as a Swiss counter protest
to the first world war...
i'm digressing... ooh... it's like that scene from the Lion
King with the three hyenas... DIGRESSING...
i'm DIGRESSING... say it again said one hyena to another:
MUFASA! DIGRESSION! ooh... gives me the ******* chills...

****... i've already lost the plot...
precursor summary...

- familial estrangement
- running with Justine in the rain
- cycling in the rain
- some sort of feeling
- yeah: now i know... the whole modern dating introspection
put me off course...
- there's still a cat, persisting to sleep in my bed...
- what time do i start tomorrow's shift?
4pm? it must be, it's a Thursday...
i'll finish by 11pm... eh... plenty of time to
go back to the brothel and sweet plump plum of a Michaela...
i seriously don't know what awoke my adoration
for these plump plum women...
yeah: i know... all those Renaissance paintings...
all the women were: over-nourished...
- i hate chocolate... but... if i make mint-chocolate
obviously i will not mind adding a few dark chocolate chips...

(intermission, refill, cigarette)

nicotine and the art of light-thinking...
everything about gustave doré etching of
the fall of Lucifer screams at me
to couple it with Muse's Stockholm Syndrome...
a whirlwind of gravity...
i sometimes feel it in my head...
most of the time in my groins:
my stomach is able to digest stake Tartare...

a holy trinity: Dürer... Doré...
   hmm... who was the third? i know there was a third...
painter: obviously... Rodin?

never mind... today was beautiful...
i wasn't expecting it to rain...
i'm used to cycling in hail...
little pebbles of ice hitting your body as if:
***** on the ready: pinch pinch pinch...
but this was different... a summer thunderstorm...
the rain so great by volume i overtook
uncertain motorists pulling in through lack of vision...
it was glorious: after all these heat-waves...
my session began with a cider... reclining on the fake
grass i installed with my ginger "behemoth"
(master and margarita? probably my favourite book,
no... Stendhal's the crimson and the black)

we chilled... he sneaked into my arm pit...
folding himself like a larva of a caterpillar...
grunting...
see? cats and prostitutes alike...
i'd love to see Muse live...
only for a few songs... well... a whole bunch of songs...
who was that third person i was thinking
of in that holy trinity?

Dürer... Doré... oh... wait... maybe i wasn't thinking
about a third person... who did i prefer?
the latter... although: neither are competing...
it's just a cheap-gimmick of making comparisons
of: well: whast's already available...

but the rain? splendorous! awakening!
i was the only cyclist: цyбał
left on the street... manic peddling....
i didn't listen to the weather-forecast...
me lying on the fake-grass with Quorus was
enough to justify my solipsism
that gave me energy to peddle in the adversity...
of rain that obstructed my vision....
but my god... it felt glorious...
after the heat-waves... getting drenched so much...
it reminded me of a certain summer
in Poland...
when my maternal grandmother was still
alive: while the patriarch of my maternal
side of the family died...

it was me and my auntie: we were of similar age...
it was a joke calling her auntie...
we ran into the air and seemingly ran on
water in the summer...
when the rain fell like a monsoon season finale...
barefoot on the concrete...
me and Justine...
too bad she married an ******* that
undermined my father's self-employment
subcontractor stature...
i hated him from the get-go... no ******* chin:
all sunken... top jaw exposing a gap in his lips...
i suppose he could, could... slurp a milkshake...
but if he were donning a shirt...
he'd might have to change it...
because he'd slobber any excess onto it...
a **** of a man... his parents sold saucepans
in a local market place...
they would have survived living in London
for about a week... small-town folk...
live-small: think-big!
there are many, many centres of the universe...
none have to begin with a fixation
on the solitary sun: just ask any solispist...
or don't ask any autistic crazed up frenzy of reflex...

GARKOTŁUK - a person who hits saucepans...
with no intention of becoming a Red Hot Chilli plumber...
plumber?! drummer... oh ****...

i live in a realm of familial estrangement...
me and Justine used to run barefoot in the summer rain...
come back home and get treated by our...
my great-grandmother... her grandmother:
she was my aunt mind you: but we were of similar age...
it was so much fun...
today's cycling session reminded me of those times...
hey presto: me replicating that memory: solo...
they tried living in London for a while...
instead: deciding on going back to ****** land...
opening up a laundry service in Warsaw...
i have cousins that will probably hear of me
as that "weird" cousin living in London...
  
      i have family: i don't have family...
i have a family of gold-diggers...
from my current employment... i've learned:
it's far better to love strangers than
to inherit a blood-line of two-faced
push-overs of hope...
i'm estranged from so much of my familial
ties it's no wonder i prefer the company
of strangers:
my heart has shrunk...
   to the size of a pebble...
  
                just like my grandfather predicted:
his words run along the lines:
makes your heart small... then watch how you'll
have people in your grasp!

facio vester parvus cor:
lapillus: in manus: amore mons...
a pebble in hand: a love of mountains...

familial estrangement is: weird...
what's weirder still: the capacity to loving strangers...
i don't know where this capacity was born
within me...
i simply can...mind you:
the closer i allow someone to entertain
my personal space: the more they hurt me...
best keep them at a distance...
i like cats: they don't require leashes...
just a call: come home... esp. Maine *****...
that's cats... but dogs? people?
leaches... i need leashes...

then again: i don't have a pet cat...
i have a cat companion...
lucky: ******* me not having a wife...
what would i do?
earn more money than is necessary?
i look up at the night sky and wonder:
when will my beard turn into a violin?!
i keep stroking this ****** thing like
it might be an otter:
just before a ******* strokes it back:
by then i'm: happy...

i've watched enough Bergman... that one
about a magician was my favorite:
it sort of reminded me of the French craze
for... le swashbuckle... Le Bossu...
le clapotisflampage!
two hunchbacks in one myth of a nation...

seulement Z français (not française - z'eh,
**** wit pseudo Normans)
françaí...
now i know why i didn't learn Fwench!
too many ******* surds...
letters imitating Thespians: actors of sound
missing...
    what... a ****** language...
perhaps great for thinking to echo thinking itself
via the thought of tables... chairs...
"Judases", i.e. peep-holes...
but in terms of correlating: what is spoken
with what is written?
French is the worst... English at least feels like
a terrible schizophrenic puzzle:
but one, one can work around...
Deutsche is just custard...
but French is the worst... too many surds...
just like the English stress that there are too many
consonants jumbled up in the ****** tongue...
likewise...
too many surds in the French zunge!

what?! no one who said that ever heard
of a game called ping-pong?! no? run Forrest! wun!
then again: no one knows whether i am:
or whether i'm not *******...
it'z: beautiful...
           i'll just finish early and have an early night...
thinking about Michaela for an hour...
her fat thighs and *******... all of her...
     just all of her... like i might think about a full English
breakfast after a day's worth of fasting...
even i am surprised: i like plum plump girls...
Ed Sheeran can sing his shivers song...
me? i'm doing the butcher's load of effort...
100 press-ups... readying myself for the *******...
me go Tarzan crazy feeling her legs wrap around me...
hell... bad luck...
if English girls are not willing to give it up:
living in a nation of joke-nuns...
no wonder i moved my libido elsewhere...
it's a long bye-bye... a very long bye-bye-...
my heart broke once... now?
each time it breaks: it's actually mending;
thank you Romania and your women;

figures... a nut-jobs contemplating feeding elephants
and a choice between cashews and peacans...
hmm! an impossible choice!
i'd prefer some Brazilian bite!

- hmm, the strangeness of women...
i might be a lion: but she's still playing the role
of a mantis: of hearts....
i can absorb the best genetic make-up...
Darwinism makes sense in and with nature,..
but not with man: out and without nature...
man is the epitome of nature:
without it...

             straw-blinded thrown blind-*******
into a commotion of a harvest of wheat....
before you close up your legs i'll re-open
them again:
why? because i can.
Justine Louisy Jul 2020
I know these people.

Their voice box doesn’t even need to be awake.

I know their character by the way their lips are dressed.


A streak of blue,
I know their brain is sweating stress.

A display of rose,
I know their flirtatious fever is always contagious.

A heap of  crust,
I know their anger stings the meaning of trust.

A stream of moisture,
I know their soul sooths and heals the shadows.

A thin size,
I know they seek comfort in a box.

A big size,
I know they feed off centre stage.

A nest of cuts,
I know they want the gift of love.

Justine Louisy
Copyright © Justine Louisy 2020
All Rights Reserved
Justine Louisy Jul 2020
Tickles of the straw fingers,
it will be alright they say.
Wave of the centre wind,
the saint’s at rest on the air’s kisses.
Join us they exclaim.

The scarlet macaw on her acclaimed throne,
art of ranking colours,
colours of a warrior’s triumph.
Rejoice in her name.
Rejoice!
Rejoice!

Bush deer content with the sound of emptiness,
the wolfs an ancient myth.
Bumbles bees retreating from the flowers,
along the yellow brick road.

The sky will never shed a tear
Today.
Tomorrow.
Next week.
Next month.
Next year.
In life.



Gabriel meadow. You are filled with my prospective destiny.
God bless you.

Justine Louisy
Copyright ©Justine Louisy 2016
All Rights Reserved
Something soothing to start off a Thursday morning... enjoy 😊
Justine Louisy Jul 2020
Biro the brave heart,
liberated the wasted words,
that layed lifeless on the rippled land of paper,
imprisoned and not found.

Words that have been fed with feeble fever,
swollen from the neglect injected into its letter limbs.
Neglect from the puzzle prime minister.

But biro the brave heart pen,
together with the motion from his noble ‘hand’ steed,
slowly walking around each word,
in a captivating circle,
made out of incentive ink.

The circle of meaningful medicine,
that cures the words emptiness,
and installs a ventilator
so, it can breathe value.

Words that are ready to breathe value,
the words I am looking for so,
that my figure of speech is finally alive.

Justine Louisy

Copyright © Justine Louisy 2020
All Rights Reserved
I am such a word search enthusiast... so used that as my inspiration for this poem.... enjoy!! 😁
Justine Louisy Aug 2020
I know your young feet have the urge to drive a high heel,
but they cannot feel the heartbeats of the ground of soil,
beating beginnings and growth.
So, abide to this simple troth for your naked feet,
to meet with beginnings and growth,
first.

Justine Louisy
Copyright © Justine Louisy 2020
All Rights Reserved
Ray Suarez Jul 2016
I am going to buy
A ******* cowboy hat
And lick the heels of suicide
For my 25th
I invited all the guys at work
Then followed with a disclaimer
" i am not responsible for any distasteful or aggressive acts i may, and am planning to, commit at this dysfunctional function"
And the kid at work said
"Ill try to make it, i gotta see this, but i made plans with my girlfriend. Im gonna try to get out of it."
"Just bring her along" i suggested
"Im not takin her anywhere near you man, your disgusting" says the kid
And i didnt mind too much
Because i have skin like a vulture
And am currently reading the
Complete works of De Sade
But i have also read Dostoyevsky's
"White Nights"
And i almost cried
But the kid doesn't need to know that
Let him know me only as the wild
Drunk
That he has heard so much about
Those stories are far more interesting
Than love and loneliness anyways.
I laughed.
"Well...let me know if you can ditch the broad man"
I walked to the break room and read
De Sade's list of different ways to eat
Human ****
He sure got creative in prison
It all made me laugh
Then the girl with the dark tangled
Burning forests hair walked in
And she smelled of the
Death of winter
Pulsating green and the sludge of
Forgotten Decembers
And i could  taste
What Justine was trying so hard
To protect
Well....anyways....
Heres to 25 down
And 25 more to go.
I am the fool
Like Ironheart.
K G Aug 2015
Sometimes she gets on with life as a model, She's a funny kinda gal. She likes listening to music and playing chess. She likes to contemplate studying. But when she starts to daydream, Her mind turns straight to socialising.

Sometimes I look at her and I look into her eyes, I notice the way she thinks about me with only a smile, Curved lips she just can't disguise. But she thinks it's studying making her life worthwhile. Why is it so hard for her to decide which she loves more? Studying or... Socialising?She likes to use words like 'quirky' and 'lovely.' She likes to use words about people. But when she stops her talking, Her mind turns straight to depression.

Sometimes I look at her and I look into her eyes, I notice the way she thinks about me with only a smile, Curved lips she just can't disguise. But she thinks it's studying making her life worthwhile. Why is it so hard for her to decide which she loves more? Studying or me?She likes to hang out with Justine and Vitta. But when left alone, Her mind turns straight to her loneliness.
She hates herself and the rude people who stomp on her like ants. But she just thinks back to socialising, And she's happy once again.
Desiree Jackson Mar 2015
Okay you go back and forth in between me Justine and Christian and you get all three of us mad at each other it's ******* that I can't have friends without u dating them and making it to ware we hate each other's ******* guts but you can stop here we all three were bff's before us came alone so ***** be and ***** by.
For real
Justine Louisy Jun 2020
See,
I’m not your normal kind as
it’s difficult to find the
dedication in me.
Yes, I know you payed a small fee,
to buffer your careless cars looks or
to tend to your metal head hooks.

But believe me when I say,
get ready as you better find another way in
dealing with your troubled goods.

Meanwhile, I will confine myself in a multitude of bin lining hoods.

Justine Louisy

Copyright © Justine Louisy 2017
All Rights Reserved
Justine Louisy Jul 2020
So, I have a friend called water,
you can see straight through her most times as
she is so clear in her manner,
but she always has no taste in conversation,
because I can sometimes see,
the traces of dirt she carries with her,
and I’ve come to realise she clearly has no filter.

She often soaks you with shock,
you have to run and sit somewhere tranquil to pacify your stressed heart.
She’s always very cold,
and has to be forced to warm up to you.

People say she’s a healthy fit for you,
but I would think twice before you invite her into your home.

Justine Louisy
Copyright © Justine Louisy 2020
All Rights Reserved
Let’s just say.... water isn’t a great as you think ... be careful of her! 😂
Justine Louisy Jun 2020
Crisp mornings.
The crispness inflamed the soles of my stem.
I shiver at the thought.
The shiver ponders my mind to the last days I ....

Enough.
The succulent hands of the summer breeze is here.
Myself and the other folks sway and cheer,
sitting on the tailored twigs of Oldman the oak tree.
Spencer the sun glazing our trichomes.
Warmth.

We exchange gentle rustling two and fro,
like the sound of an ancient ***** awaiting to uplift the show.
Blackbirds and wood pigeons in the air,
up against each other to strike the berry in the bush goal.
What a perfect life I’m pleased to see.

Maggie magpie why do you perch on my branch so?
your bewitching colours like a piercing cry,
surely I’m not yet to..

The howling of the clouds,
the punches of lightening,
The heavens they open,
good gracious how frightening.

The kicks of the autumn breeze is here.
Stomata is failing.
Stomata is failing.
I’m latching onto the twig,
my ancient armchair.

Carotenoids and Xanthophyll’s,
dehydrated wrinkly skin.
Gut wrenching red anthocyanin,
like lucifer leukaemia stabbing my soul.

Crisp mornings.
I disconnect.
I fall.
I hit.
I lay.
In the flurries of snow,
amongst my other folks.

Oldman the oak tree hospice is empty once again.

RIP

Justine Louisy
Copyright © Justine Louisy 2016
All Rights Reserved
So this poem is one of my older poems when I first started writing around 4 years ago... a metaphorical piece with a lot of context. Hope you enjoy 😊 !!
Justine Louisy Jul 2020
Walk through the rays.
Walk through the rain.
Walk through the wind.
Walk through the sleet.
Walk through the hailstones.
Walk through the snow.

Steadily.

Life comes in all moods,
like the weather.
Take your time,
and walk through each mood,
steadily.

Justine Louisy

Copyright © Justine Louisy 2020
All Rights Reserved
Good morning😊 Midweek motivation!! There is no need to rush. How will you ever embrace and learn from each and every mood of life...
Oskar Erikson Apr 2016
Come and follow.
down, down this hollow.
Tree, tea and other such triviali-
ties?
Let us land in this lettuce land,
swapping vegetable stories
kissing better our sore knees.
Maybe if we try hard enough
we'll find love.

A spark, a candle lit- as
we share our candlelit dinner; whats on the menu?
Deceit pies, cream lies.
and other some such tasties.

We're too hasty.
Just me, talking to just me
or was it Justine?

We'll never know- a beautiful mess.
I guess.
Justine Louisy Jun 2020
My shadows are out there fighting.
The click of my fingers are shouting not
humming at every beat.
The hairs on my head shedding their
curly laughter.
My vision is chasing the intruding floaters.
My throat is frying pins and needles for my supper.
There are eroded rocks in my mouth.

My breath the stench of life.

I hope you smell it as you walk past.


Justine Louisy

Copyright © Justine Louisy 2017
All Rights Reserved
Justine Louisy Jul 2020
Fly kicked from the hot oil,
the one that said,

“I will coat you in goldenness!”

Your soaked by the cloths tears of bleach a
playful bath-time of toxic shrieks.
Not as sweet as you were.

You tremble into the duplicitous trap of Charlotte’s web.
Tangle and twine.
Magic won’t save you.

You can’t hide away from the Pitbull’s saliva squad…..


Kinetic + Kitchen = your fate.

Enjoy!

Justine Louisy
Copyright ©Justine Louisy 2016
All Rights Reserved
Justine Louisy Jul 2020
You are the co – pilot,
That will steer my human fuselage,
whilst my captain eyes are laid to rest in living blindness.

Steering me into the hearts,
of the fragrant families called red roses,
That will make my lungs dance in the smell of love.

Steering me away.
Away from the sharp smoke of the ‘polluting mob’,
That will make my lungs shatter in the smell of abuse.

But I trust in you, nose.

My journey will be safe with you.

Justine Louisy

Copyright © Justine Louisy 2020
All Rights Reserved
Alexander Coy May 2016
Her name is Justine and she
just turned thirty a day go;

'You're over the
hill,' her friends say;

'When are you gonna
settle down?' her parents ask

'Single and
damaged'

is what she translates

She walks to the
pharmacy two, or so
blocks down from her apartment;

Buys a pack of cigarettes,
Yellow American Spirits,
and as she begins to walk toward
the door to leave, she realizes
she forgot to buy a lighter

She turns around and notices
the man behind the counter
has been staring at her ***;

He looks up, as though
he were checking the time
of an imaginary clock posted
on the ceiling;

and then he coughs,
or fakes a cough,
and ask how he is able to help her;

'I forgot
to buy a lighter'
she says

'These are the
only ones we have'
he says
pointing to
a collection
of white Bic lighters
displayed on the counter;

'Nothing else?' she asks,
'I'm superstitious
and I'm definitely not
buying a white one'

'Only ones we have'
he says with a slight
southern undertone
of indifference

'Oh what the hell'
she says, grabbing the lighter
and slamming
it on the counter
'You only live once,
right?'

The man behind the counter
shrugs, 'sure' he says
his glasses sinking
into the sockets of his eyes;
and she notices beads of tears
underneath the ***** of skin,
or is it sweat?

He rings up the lighter
and hands it back to her

She takes it, but not without
keeping an eye on him
till she reaches the exit;

Then she gives him the finger,
peels the package of her pack
of cigarettes and lights one up
for the road
Justine Louisy Jul 2020
Let
Let your feet talk you through your steps forward.

Let your head become the private office space for your brain to work in.

Justine Louisy

Copyright © Justine Louisy 2020
All Rights Reserved
Midweek motivation! Keeping it short and sweet as always 😊 have a great day!
John Hawkins Oct 2017
You sit on that ***** bus seat,
all seraphic and glowing-
hovering above the filth.
The beauty your body possesses
makes my heart flutter
and my eyes avert-
unable to bear the spotless, striking
quality of your shining form.

But beneath That is what?
Under this gleaming exterior what is there:
If we were to peel back the skin of
your perfectly symmetrical face;
dislodge those glittering green eyes
to look within-

into your true essence;
that thing that,
although invisible,
exists inside your faultlessly proportioned
mass of tissue and bone.

Who are you?
Your name doesn't matter.
Jane, Justine, Charlotte;
**** all that.

what are you other than beauty-
other than a twitter handle,
or your favourite food;
Other than your preference of hot beverage.

I want to know you,
YOU

When you breathe,
what do you feel?

When you sit on this bus, gliding through streets
and past buildings,
are you over-whelmed by the magnitude of it all?

When you step from your little man-made cave in the morning
and above you,
instead of a closed off ceiling,
is the seeming boundlessness of space,
Do you wonder how the **** we can all just keep going on
and not loose our minds at the slightest
glimpse of this stark, partial reality?

Tell me all this,
tell me.

You can't.

You're just a ******* a bus,
and I'm just the guy who falls in love with possibilities.
Justine Louisy Jul 2020
You excite my Sahara tongue as it is
slumped lifelessly in the cave of my mouth.

Tickling footsteps of your atomic bubbles,
making my gum groove to the music of fizz.

The fumes of your light lemon creating an alluring
smell to my basic breath.

The soaking sweetness of your body as it slides
down my throat making my blood vessels spring with hyperactivity

and so, my tummy laughs hysterically.

I feel like a child again…

Justine Louisy

Copyright © Justine Louisy 2020
All Rights Reserved

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