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Lori Jan 2019
Pretty yet wet lashes
Fluttering down my tears
Pretty yet wet lashes
Helping me fly away from fears
Pretty yet wet lashes
Saving me from the mad
Pretty yet wet lashes
Always there when I am sad
Pretty yet wet lashes
Help me go through this alive
Pretty yet wet lashes
I don't know if I'll survive
Pretty yet wet lashes
Fluttering down my tears
Pretty yet wet lashes
Pretty yet wet lashes
Wet wet lashes
Every tear stung
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.
RAJ NANDY Aug 2016
Dear Poet Friends, while trying to retrieve my old poems from ‘’ which is closing down by this year end, I found this love poem of mine which was composed in the year 2010!  Hope you like this short love poem where the beloved begs her lover not to leave, but to spend the night under the ‘shamiana’- which is the ‘canopy cover’ created by her dark eye lashes! Hope you like the same! Thanks, - Raj, New Delhi.  


O my love, please do not insist on leaving me
Instead, keep sitting under the shadows of my
collyrium-laden eye lashes,
Where you shall find peace comfort and
Please do not insist on leaving again, nor be
Sit under the sprawling shamiana* of my
gazelle-like eye lashes,
Which I have spread beside the oasis of my
two brimming eyes, -
Whose bottomless depths reflect my love for
you always!
For here you may bathe to get refreshed,
and sip your sweet vine sitting by my side!
But do not insist on leaving me behind,
to remain alone in the silence of this night!

My love, let us sit and relish these few ephemeral
measured moments,
Granted to us by the munificence of merciless time!
For once gone, these moments shall return no
Whisper softly into my ears those sweet words
of love;
Saying all the while how you love me,
How you cannot live without me, even though
it be against your will!
And transform this into a magical, mystical
For even a falsehood spoken convincingly, and
repeated like a sweet refrain, again, and again,
Assumes the colour of Truth, I heard people say!
But your words shall make this lovelorn life of
mine worthwhile;
And all my efforts to possess you for the night
shall not go in vain!
                                              - Raj Nandy
(* Shamiana = like a tent or a canopy cover)
AUGUST Nov 2018
Sitting on the corner while Starring
At the glances of your smile all over
Cover the room by your face unveiling
Up to this moment, I want to be near,
(you were a mile from here)

Thinking It was cloudy on my mind,
But when you are here by my side
You are making my day as bright
Showing the beauty behind,
(They have nothing to hide,
nothing to hide.)

How deep is the ocean trenches?
How far is the stars throughout the abyss?
How much warm is your embraces?
How much cold Is your lips to kiss?

l don’t much care about counting all of these,
As long as you are with me, you are my bliss

(I could tell,) heaven’s gate is not the place of happiest
And angels are not those prettiest,
Indeed, God is always be the wisest,
For sending me a fallen angel, I’ve caught the brightest, the brightest

Lately, You stole what between these lungs
You open my chest, You let it pour, my bleeding heart
I cant deny, how i feel, you are my crush
I have been stunned on Your eye lashes, (glances, perfume scents, and blushes)

How deep is the ocean trenches?
How far is the stars throughout the abyss?
How much warm is your embraces?
How much cold Is your lips to kiss?

Do I have to care about all of that anymore,
As long as you are with me, what should I have to ask for?

Emerald, jade, diamond, gold and silver,
I guess nothing is forever, unless me and you
In this world of deception, anyone can be a liar
Just remember, Nothing is to fear, I am always here.
.......I am always here.
Honestly, I did not know what is sonnet and how to make one, but I did it unconsciously. It is true that poets have a universal language in terms of making thier poems.

This was Dedicated for Margaret
Pretty little iris
****** white sclera
Despite those tempting lashes
Her lies are getting clearer

Come a little closer
Squeeze a little tighter
She's squinting a little thinner
But her pupils are getting wider

She wants your focus now
Don't trust those golden eyes
It only takes a little peek
To fall for those gorgeous lies
JayceeJellies Nov 2014
The floor,

Against the splashes,
You hear them splat.
Your heart beats furiously.
The girls heart breaks.

She falls.
Eyes shut.
The hits,
Leave cuts.
Her smile,

Against her own will,
She lashes.
"Mother, no!"
slay Aug 2018
Braids in her hair with the beads
So I can always hear her walk away from me
Shorty is a dog like me
No telling when I’ll ever sweep her off her feet

She said, “say less” I was silent
I Guess I had to be reminded
She fell off when my doubts hit
Cause I ain’t never really loved a woman
Until I met you
If I have to confess to you
You’re the only one who got me feelings the feels
Ain’t no other woman
No man I’ve been with
Now I’m asking you to patiently

Hear me cry
Girl, it’s almost over gotta get this out of my system
Say goodnight, girl not so long till youre by my side girl , oh girl

I got this feeling for you
You so unique and you cool
My baby Neek, I’m her fool
She so dramatic, I’m coolin on the way
To her crib, two more lights and bang a left
Like I be banging on the door
Like I be banging on that ***
You so **** precious when you smile
And your nose ring catch the light
From the hallway got the door cracked
You the light of my **** life

Girl, cryyyy
it’s almost over gotta get this out of my system
Say goodnight, girl not so long till youre by my side girl , oh girl

I hit the blunt not to think about you
I wasn’t playing when I said he changed you
***** drop to my knees barstool
And back that *** up let you see it full moon

Gimme some ******* warnin’
You gon’ have me jump out of my skin
Fingers up and down my spine when
You unlatching the clasp of my necklace

Girl, cryyyy
Cause it’s been so long since you were by my side say good niiggghhtttt but truth be told it’s a lie

I’m lying naked in this bed
Thinking of how you look undressed like when them lashes off no ******* on
I taste your name in every breath
pluie d'été May 2014
i think you
are beautiful
and that your eyes
are like a river

your words
fall like drizzle
on the lashes
of my eyes

your smile
makes my heart
into my lap
and weighs
down my steps
haley Oct 2017
when she was eight years old
asked her mother
have you seen the girl with
lashes  like butterflies against sharp cheekbone branches
a dandelion sprouting from sludge covered gutters and streets
streets, where you feel that bitter bland nothingness in your stomach

it feels buttery to stare at her:
see how snow outstretches arms and twirls tippy toes, envies her grace
see how balloon sized raindrops pop, target the freckles on her arm
see how her forehead crinkles when she concentrates, nothing more than a beacon
(self proclaiming)
for she trickles with stars

when she was eight years old
her parent's violent protests slipped bruises under her skin like pennies in a coin slot.
but they could not contain the celestial girl tucked under her ribcage
she would still look at her like she was the breakfast sun on a saturday
whistling by the creak, catching glimpses of dresses from behind the legs of trees.
see how this is special love, sweet as strawberry fields under soft sun
they would never feel on their forked, sour tongues
Chris D Aechtner Sep 2011
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer
was leading a lonely life working nights
at the fukfoorfiffenfimmer factory
where he was in charge of loading crates
full of fukfoorfiffenfimmers, onto cargo cars destined for the city of Cincinnati.

There was such a huge demand for fukfoorfiffenfimmers in the city of Cincinnati,
poor Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer worked his hunnyhush to the bone.

On one of his few holiday weekends,
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer went to a hair salon for a trim.
Here he was attended by a hairdresser named, Henrietta Huckhellopolis.
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer instantly fell for the husky-voiced hairdresser.

Gaining enough gumption and gallasisgoppingguff needed to bypass beating around the bush of courteous courtship,
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer asked Henrietta Huckhellopolis if she wanted to leerlumpaloomp later that evening.

"I would love to leerlumpaloomp later this evening," she replied, batting her long lashes lustily.

And how those two leerlumpaloomped!

They leerlumpaloomped long through the night.
They leerlumpaloomped so loudly,
the neighbours ended up sticking stuffystoils
into their sensilivities, in hopes of drowning out the noise.

Nine months later,
the lovers were blessed with a litter of lullaloonillies—wot with the loud leerlumpaloomping and all.
But, of the seven lullaloonillies, four of them had two lumpalots instead of one.

Bolstering himself against drowning in despair at the prospect of having sired freak lullaloonillies,
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer helped design fukfoorfiffenfimmers especially meant for lullaloonillies who have two lumpalots instead of one.

As the double-lumpalot fukfoorfiffenfimmers
were Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer's idea, the owner of the fukfoorfiffenfimmer factory gave Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer
a forty percent cut of the royalties.

*Fortunately some fairy tales come with a happy ending, because the city of Cincinnati was hit with a record number of lullaloonillies
born with two lumpalots instead of just the one.
The high sales of double-lumpalot fukfoorfiffenfimmers,
enabled Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer and Henrietta Huckhellopolis
to quit their jobs and buy into the fukfoorfiffenfimmer factory.

Yes, after getting married,
Harry Heironymous and Henrietta Huckhellopolis-Huffenhoffer
lived happily hever hafter.
So did the lullaloonillies....

including those with two lumpalots instead of one.
September 6th, 2011
Sanaysha Aug 2018
My body is an ocean.
It's all curves and wave and swirls and caves, my body is an ocean.
My body brings commotion to the motion of the air.
It splashes and flop and tips and tops.
My body is calm.
It's unbothered and not dove into.
My body is an attraction.
An ocean view from far beyond.
My body is ocean.
It's clear blue brings a sunny sky and what knows who.

Just don't fill me up with trash and thrashes of lashes and
Cold hard plastic in my body.
Don't make up lies and tell people I'll drown you with my thighs and not my heart.
Don't call me out for my body and make up unforgettable lies because I'm not all hurricanes and stucked up whirlpools and typhoons full of disaster.
I'm not the hurricanes taking away homes and children.
I'm not a ocean waiting to happening.
I'm not polluted or full of lead, making my feeling undrinkable and my tears unmeaningful.

I'm an ocean full of hope and adventure.

My body is an ocean,
An ocean free to swim in.
Red Starr Jan 2013
Black spiderweb lashes
Drifting down
Red hashed vessels
Hidden from crowds
Pulsing lights
Heartbeat sounds
Arms and soul moving
Rhythm that pounds
Hands are grabbing
Wanting more
The soul says free me
Let me soar
It's about the beat
The ups and the downs
Feel the music
Hear the sound
Not just the sound
The hammering beat
The vibrating floor
The people heat
The sweat
The pain
The tears
The rain
The heat, hot liquid
Dripping through veins
New life given
To soulless names
Nameless faces
Passing through crowds
The beat is all that matters now
The beat, the heat. The bounce, the crowd
They all become one, somehow
You grind, you bend, you sit, you stand
You run the heat
Then you die with the band
Skypath Sep 2014
Metaphors for blue eyes
There's one for every shade of blue
A rainbow of silken language meant to charm
They're as common as the color itself
But recently I've come to realize

Her eyes
Dark, under curling lashes and golden hair
Like crystals flashing from the rough
Dream-catching sunbeams and sparkling
Like the summer sun on a warm pool
A medley of sapphires and diamonds
That I wouldn't trade for the world

His eyes
Fairy pools of magic wonder
The not-so-secret glimmer of bright water
An enchanted river whose glow
Is the bright warmth of an autumn day
Crystalline water that welcomed my touch
The still surface broken when he laughs
Faith and George
DJ Thomas Aug 2010
My first inspiration was ***
passionate life squeezing screaming ***
the thumping wall musicality of ***
exhaustingly inventive sweaty and wet

I wanted to make it a senryu
but for duality the female characterisation
demanded two more lines
each extending to seven syllables

Arousing images captured her moaning
splashing loneliness in unusual collocation

I was first excited by the placement
of a hovering extended enjambement
to give life to my final line
whilst also considering the satisfaction
in using noisy mouthed rhythms

I believe I easily hid the wet aroused context
with a watery semantic field
suggesting she would choke and drown

So in my last line I had ‘pleasures’
as a cutting keriji to make clear
the dominating ****** context
having previously used
a preposition and determiner
to maintain duality*

Exhausted shivers
in windowed naked currents
unfolding sinking
then surfing vital wavelets
drowning screams - pleasures wet bite

copyright© 2010
Wayne H Colegate Sep 2012
The lashes gently flutter, over eyes of crystal blue
I’m waiting so impatiently, to share the world with you.
Your crawl has turned to walking, as winter turns to spring
Every moment the blues eyes stare, there’s something new to bring.
A smile as warm as summer’s sun and a touch as soft as air
Makes a heart in distant rooms, wish that it could share.
I hear your laugh and feel you near, when I dare to dream
Sometimes blue eyed angels, are exactly as they seem.
Your questions go unspoken as does your inner song
But those who know of angels, know this won’t last long.
Your words and songs will soon be heard, by all of us who care
An angels’ voice will carry far and always there to share.
You’ll grow and learn as days go by, giving as you get
My little blue eyed angel, just hasn’t started yet.
Soon your smile will be face to face, warming all you see
I pray my blue eyed angel… that one of them is me.
Copyright Protected.....Wayne H. Colegate- From Reflections On Gravestones and Satin Sheets
veritas Jul 2018
gods and goddesses stilled mid-flight,
immortalized in a glory fast fading.
distilled sunlight filtering through, unheeded,
as a devastating dawn for redemption awakens.

     dust scattering over marble hands, forever supple,
as angels fall from grace,
wings clipped and torn asunder.

the sigh of a thousand lost souls, searching;
the thunder of a thousand chariots, unbridled.

     a wing outstretched, a bow pulled taught;
drawn, not fired.

frozen heroes lifting voices unheard;
     the calm before a storm, a fight unforeseen,
silver linings beckoning victories
of heaven's epics left unsung.

look up into the clouds and you'll see a history unwritten,
for they speak to you in murals
of smeared colors and pure light.

but hush! sweet child,
off you drift into an insincere sleep,
until these stories buried beneath your lips,
     singed, searing, burning away memories of the battles that
   linger ,over your tongue  ,
are no more than a shadow of a flame.

   and as his lashes flutter closed over blue eyes
   and his heavy golden curls fall on white sheets
   she whispers,
        the renaissance was not painted for you.
look up. and then higher than that.
b e mccomb Sep 2018
at 4 in the
morning the sun
is never up
but i usually am

i worry
about things
that are out of
my control
even more about
things that are

get up early
when i work
and earlier
when i don’t
the older i get the
more i learn
sometimes you
need to cry it out

at night
into your pillow
the blankets
wrapped all
around you

sometimes you
need to cry
and cry
and cry

until the morning
sun falls across
the tears dried
under your lashes

and the lump
in your throat has
dissolved so you can
breathe with ease

you need to get up
let hot water
wash it away
let the steam rising
from your mug soften
any sorrow left around
your morning eyes
take a deep breath
don’t mention it
to anyone


i will
copyright 9/7/18 b. e. mccomb
James Jarrett Feb 2014
She swept down from the heavens
To find me
Then eyed me
Lashes long and eyes longing
She kissed like a Goddess
If Goddesses have
Long purple tongues
And swept me off of my feet
I almost fell for her then
But I could tell
It wasn't her
First time
And she had
Other men
Don't kiss a Giraffe if you don't want to be kissed back
She introduced herself, as
Batted her lashes not to be flirtatious ,
But to hide that her eyes were wet.
All around me were blurred, but beautiful faces.
Yet, my eyes only focused on hers
The first that I noticed.

When I bought my first camera,
From that sales-man down in Alabama.
And he taught me how to use it,
He said, "see here son, if I was to take your picture I'd set this camera here on portrait.
But if I took a picture of that pretty little girl 'cross the road"
he said with a smirk
"I'd have to set this here camera on Firework"

It's funny how memories work.
I think of that man now, of his coffee colored skin and straw hat.
I never thought I'd need to know any of that.
but right here and now I set that camera to sunset.
raise it to my eye
And take a picture of
As if she were a colorful sky.
and that's it.
some people deserve more than a portrait.

And I know, I'm going to take her to a dark room.
And see what develops, of her negatives.
But first, I want to hear all about her crazy relatives.
Who gives her, her beauty?
where's she take her dog to groom?
The poodle on her leash is a cutie.
and what does she doodle on her notebooks?
stars or hearts or sugar skulls....
Does she know she's caught me on her fishin' hook?
What's she think of me, I'm sure I look dull.
Why are her teary eyes so full, About to overflow.
There were so many things I wanted to know....
before I took her to a dark room.
But it happened
And all I found in the picture that developed was gloom.
I realized I was her first.
And the best night of my life became my worst.
because I took something from her she didn't want to give.
But I just didn't know that she wouldn't want to live.
Keep reading, this ends beautifully.
beautifully like a sunset ends a day.
But, you have to believe me when I say that's not nearly as beautifully
As Sunset ends my hopes and dreams.
How she ended her own life
With pretty little pink pills.
gripped in her hand they found a picture of me.
And now I know, Sunsets are all about Beautiful Endings.
It's funny how memories work

© copyrighted Nicole Ann Osborn
David Feb 2015
This morning was one of firsts
and one of fists.
My lashes tied together
untwined the way they always do.


For the first time in six years
I had forgotten the date.
I pushed my feet through the maze of layers
as if I had someone to wake up next to
My optimistic attitude wished they were not there
because they were running a little late.

I threw on an outfit...if you can call it that
and went to the store
The violent red that attacked me at the front
brought me the realization that it was in fact
the same day
just a year ago
that I would have prepared for
weeks ahead instead
I made myself a meal and poured a glass of wine
as the white outside made
all of humanity disappear.
...and it was beautiful
I bought myself flowers, and lit candles
I snuggled and rubbed my feet together under a red blanket
and listened to songs about loving yourself.
I feel a little bad
I feel a little good
but most of all
I feel
I know
that before loving all of those lovers all those loves ago
I must be loving to the mornings
when there are just my feet in the bed.

This morning was one of firsts
and one of fists.
My lashes tied together
untwined the way they always do.
...and for that I am grateful.
r Dec 2016
The coldness of morning
penetrates in proportion
to the lonely nights before
and the winds that blow
in from the north
like sadness wrapped
all around me
a coat without pockets
no warmth for my hands
that once held yours
like ashes without fire
and there is ice on my lashes
that burns like the last words
I heard you say to my back
as I walked away out the door.
vircapio gale Aug 2012
boasting of the god of love's attentions,
this magicweaver lures her prey--
conjures forth her whim
seeking quench of fickle thirst within
attempting avenues of guile
numerously failed, and baits another heart
to suit her object's mate,
whose favors hail from Shiva
unto dominion everywhere,
  except at forest hut where Rama--
with Sita --honeymoons in exile
having snapped the cosmic dancer's massive bow
to win her for his wife, yet bound
by family word to wilderness
  in elder-shade of mystic eagle
guarded by their builder,
brother Lakshmana, in whose absence Kamavalli comes
to woo the godlike archer for her own.

little bells on anklets ring--
from creeper snagged
as if in venery yearning,
urgent vines would find their way to rest on skin
and squeeze in verdant rooting underform
prancing by, playfully demure
to enter subdued greenery
of Panchvati's gated yard
to catch the stoic Rama's eye
in invitation flashing for his gaze:
a sculptured form of flawless grace
nubile teeth shining from the forest dark,
a smile unassuming of callipygean sway
beneath the flitting lashes of her iris' swell

baffled there he stirs to praise her openly
as perfect--
despite his inner-goddess-for-a-wife he keeps inside--
with tripping words
welcomes and blesses this new girl,
exalting her with blushing queries,
sylvan surging rush to know
interrogate her mystery,
rapt in wide-eyed wonder verging beatific breath--
but learning of her lineage...
begins to plot their deaths.

banter light,
flirtations with a hidden, cosmic weight to pun against,
his praise asserts its hold
pretending bachelorhood;
his kindly, transauthentic voice resists
and in a sympathetic, skillful tone, promulgates
a drama to entice her eager mind--
ironic fancies of domestic bliss
flow from Rama, subtle jests
become her plight obsessing
into darkness embered with her lust
to truly claim him as her love,
her grandiosity defused in simple
entertainment quipping of their castes
and then with sudden burst entranced in luminescent rays of stunning rustic glow
from cottage comes his wife to claim her presence known.

the blow is dealt: Manmatha lays Kamavalli's fate: to self-disintegrate

jealousy to deafen gods, in cave retreat
to nurse her spite, surrounded in a dance
of serpent flails to sate her woe,
and only feed in ouroboros knotslip pulse
a lump-filled throat of gulping incite forward zest salacious
pungent flare of earth identity of fang and blood
the cry to shudder down a wolfine howl
in blast of animal, from screaming womanhood
the swoon precipitate-- vast height, abysmal fall
on being spurned by one who led her on
into delusion wrapped in sham an alter self
she met in bed a thousand cravings razing sanity
into a hate for moon, for elements themselves,
railing at Manmatha's haze infernal globe within and out
projecting Rama's face transfixing her inept
in wracking convulse whine of every cell,
her being sweating out imagined arms,
palms of his to cup her, lift from hellish pit of stifled longing never known 'til volcanically regrown--
in new love's throws an innocence of honest
selfhood found in him, bizarrely enemied in Lila's
killing spree of ego-dolls of lotus costume tracing all
searching through his fresh phantasm for her quelling salve
his diamond ******* targets for her soul
his broadness engirthing her to moan until her last in ecstasy
unknown asura-brew untold invented only now forever lost,
the moment fondled vastly gone,
his chest but gossamer instead of flesh
the emerald shoulder glimmer fake
the boundless confidence exuded in his
tender skin's encapsulated sinew strength
merely thought on causing pelvic quake
repeating there an apparition for her nearly endless letting out
he comes for her a demon double of her making
demi-god creator-demon vision for her writhing,
abandoned to the ambrosia torment he provides
wailing at the cavern sky her prison boudoir den
enscaled with slither pile coat of snakes, masturbatory wake of swooning still again

through to dawn..
in which psychotic break decides:
Soorpanaka births herself anew--
possession of her goal, or suicide.
the dewy spectra shines reflection of the choice;
rave committal forms its mould--
exhaustion hatches colorspray of plots,
braving mutilation to abduct,
lies and bribes surmounting each before
in ****** propositions to her ever widened bed,
else demonic armies loosed,
infatuate Ravana's heart
with illusory snare of golden Sita's rumored wares
to get her man alone and hew derision
with her desperate charm, by cantrip or war
spawned from deeper lairs of a broken,
fallacious heart, toward matrimony
or destruction bent

Large snowflakes float soundlessly
not a whisper of wind, just muffled footsteps
as she walks down the little town street
he catches sight of her as she looks up,
pearl flakes alighting on her dark lashes.
Her dark hair is highlighted with specks of white
giving her a magical look
he is already in love
before he walks over and says hello
and she smiles up at him.
and is too astounded at how perfect he looks.
She is already in love
before she returns his greeting
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2018
Windy love in youth
Two faces so close and lost
Her hairs blinding me
Carsyn Smith Mar 2014
I was a princess.
Long before the burden of knowledge --
before the reality of life plunged itself deep into me.
Tea parties and *****,
Gowns and pretty jewels,
Braids and long lashes,
We were the rulers of the kingdom.
Walls constructed of plastic kept us safe,
security from the barbarians that lurked outside.
A magic mirror that warped and bent from age,
from magic, to show your future,
which was often a short fat lady.
Thrones that swung back and forth,
so that her majesty does not bore herself.
We guarded our kingdom from the evil outside...
but we forgot to check within our walls.

At some age, we stopped guarding the plastic kingdom.
We stopped looking for the monsters outside --
realizing they were lurking inside of us...
whispering dark things.
Now Aurora is sleeping off a hangover --
that beautiful face streaked with wet mascara
maybe when she wakes up, everything will be better?
Ella is hiding from loan sharks,
wishing for a way out of the slums,
hoping a rich man will sweep her off her feet.
Ariel is running away from home
changing her identity for her new boyfriend,
desperate that no one will come between them.
Snow is sleeping with several men --
mommy issues ran her out of town,
now she's the walking herself to the abortion clinic.
Princesses we were.
Princesses we are.
Princesses we will be.
Abigail Ann Jul 2014
I love how you say my name without even blinking
the way you scold me every time I am overthinking
I'll never forget the way you cover your mouth while we're both laughing
and lastly, the way you traces me every time we're kissing

I love the way you eat your meal together with an extra cup of rice
Thank you cos you show me love without any price
Your tight hugs and warm kisses will always suffice
These memories will always be in my heart til one of us dies

I love how your long lashes flutter
and how you ask me question that makes me wonder
Thank you because we figure things out together
and this is something I'll always remember

I love how you stay awake with me during wee hours
and how you hold and lock me tightly in your arms
I love the way we do things without any force
and this is what I love about you the most.

Hi Babe, this is why I love you
Living is a cross
That any one of the rock-faces

We are drawn
To many seas.
We drown wholesomely
In the failures of confrontation.
The rain
Our doorsteps
Has nothing to do
With the simplest desires
And lacerations
We bring
To the smallest acts
Of living.

The child
On the broken catwalk
Hearing the sounds of our hunger
Without understanding
Throws echoes back
To the earliest abandonments
Of love.

Minor devastations preceding
Resonate the ineffable.
The mothers that wake
At the slightest sound
And the fathers that
Smoke all night
And the rest of us who are
Vigilantes from the demons
Of oppressed sleep
Find at dawn the clearest
Images of bewilderment.
Even the best things
Collapse beneath the weight
Of ignorance.

Living is a fire
That any one of the wave-lashes
The blunt surface and wooden *****
Confined within impenetrable walls
However reverb dangerously.
Numbers reappeared to disorientate me.

It was the lion I sought advice from
For a dove that had been travelling with a rose
With a weight as heavy as its wings
Against the torrent of winds and sky.

I counted the time as if I were a clock.
Gently did it leave while I was not looking,
Its music turned down by long fingers
That lightly grazed the glasses
Like tracing back the steps that I at first hastened.

Never again will I see with my lashes curled by  
Its own Evening Dew.
I only pray that the silver soldier marches
Next to me with armor close to my chest
Close to my eyes so no gaze could ever penetrate.
© Teri Darlene Basallote Yeo
Abby Orbeta Dec 2014
Being raised in a hetero-normative environment, everything was divided into binary. There was no middle ground. Right and Wrong. Black and White. Male and Female. Gay and Lesbian.

One, Two, Three, Four, Five. You were five years old when you first learned the difference between boys and girls. You felt that everything would be so much better if you were a boy. You’d be allowed to run and play and bike as much as you can. You didn’t have to wear itchy dresses or keep your hair braided in place or your face and clothes clean and dirt-free at all times. You refused to wear all the girly dresses and you asked your mom if you could cut your hair short. When she didn’t allow you, you took matters into your own hands and cut your well-constructed plait using craft scissors. They were all horrified, but couldn’t do anything. You suffered 20 belt lashes for your tiny act of rebellion but it was so worth it.

Six, Seven, Eight. You were eight when you began to blossom. Your ******* started growing and your curves begin to form, so you hid them like a shameful secret you wanted to erase. You kept your hair short, your demeanor brash and your clothes baggy. People started calling you “tomboy”. The label didn’t sting. It gave you a sense of pride, it afforded you the acceptance you’ve always wanted.

Nine. You were nine when you first felt attracted to a boy. He was your best friend’s older brother. He was dreamy. He looked like the boys you thought were attractive in Ang TV. But he never noticed you. He only notices the girly girls. You were a girl. Not girly, but still a girl. A different kind of girl. You see nothing wrong with being the way that you are, but you begin to wonder, “is there?”

Ten.  You’re still known as the “tomboy”. It still doesn’t bother you. You go on with your life. Now, you play for your grade’s co-ed soccer team. There is one boy in your class that you’ve been eyeing since September. He was a god. He sported blonde hair that looked like Devon Sawa’s, emerald green eyes that pierce through your soul, he was the smartest kid in class, and you play soccer together. One afternoon, you score the goal that wins the game. The boy with blonde hair and green eyes you’ve been eyeing since September, tackles you to the ground in much delight. He kisses you on the lips for the first time, you were stunned at the gesture. You liked it. Very much. A week later, he begins to call you his girlfriend, but his friends bullied him and called him a ****** for liking someone like you. As the kisses and hugs became more frequent, so did the bullying. Not long after, you broke up.

Ten point five. She enters your life at ten and a half. She had long dark hair and icy grey eyes framed by long thick lashes. Her smile lights up the room and she makes you laugh really hard. She was the first girl you ever held hands with. Her hands were warm and comforting. Her hands entwined with yours made you all tingly inside. You held hands in the library while reading Tiger Beat. You held hands behind the swing during recess. You held hands while walking home to your apartment complex. One afternoon she kisses you on the lips when you get to the door of your apartment building. You run up to your room in silence and lock yourself in for the entire night, confused. You started comparing. Why did her kiss feel better than his?

Almost eleven. You were almost eleven when your best friend’s older brother finally notices you. He notices how smooth your skin is when he grazes against it. How red your lips get when you lick them. He sneaks a peek when you’re changing in your best friend’s bedroom after soccer practice. He examines every curve of your body from your cinched waist that emphasizes your supple ******* to your shapely hips that remind him of hills that have been put on their sides. He examines and memorizes every detail of your body in secret.

Eleven. Your best friend’s older brother catches you and your best friend holding hands and kissing while playing video games. He doesn’t say anything. He did not breathe a word of this to anyone. Not even a soul.

Eleven. He corners you one summer afternoon while you’re waiting for your best friend to come home. He places his hand over your mouth and whispers for you to keep quiet. He uses his strength to pin you down, you fight and fight. You try to scream. No one can hear you. No one is home. He tells you that this is for your own good. This is what is right. He shatters you. He broke you in. He did not stop until you were tamed.

Eleven and a half. You stopped going to your best friend’s house. Your future became bleak.

Twelve, Fourteen, Sixteen. Twelve. Fourteen. Sixteen. Twelve. Fourteen. Sixteen. History repeats itself. The actors are just different. Still, no one can hear your stifled screams. You feel your soul dying. Every. Single. Time.

Sixteen, Seventeen. You decide that you just don’t care anymore. Nothing matters. You don’t matter. You try to end it all. Then she comes along to rescue you. She loves you for who you are and who you want to be. You begin to pick up the pieces. You fall in love with her. Everything is still kept in secret.

Eighteen. Your worldview has changed significantly. You’re now wiser and braver. You walk hand in hand with her in public and you even allow a bit of PDA. You don’t care about the ***** looks you get from everyone else. You slowly begin to feel accepted, yet you are still somewhat hidden.

Nineteen, Twenty, Twenty – one. You fall in love with a man, a woman, a gay man, an extremely straight woman, another man, and the list goes on and on. The whole world admonishes you and tells you to “PICK A SIDE”. Just pick one.  You can’t love both men and women. People start calling you names. Puta. Haliparot. ****. *****. ***** seems to be the crowd favorite.

Twenty – three. Names hurt. Names stick. Labels bother you. Not because you’re not proud for being who you are, but because nothing fits. Nothing feels right. You feel like you’re five again with your well - constructed plait and your craft scissors. You take matters into your own hands. You begin to take charge of your life.

Twenty – five. You’ve finally realized that gender does not matter to you when it comes to love. Love is love. You just have so much of it to give. You find peace even when people don’t understand.

Twenty – seven.  Being raised in a hetero-normative environment, everything was divided into binary. There was no middle ground. Right and Wrong. Black and White. Male and Female. Gay and Lesbian.  You still don’t adhere to any labels. You’re proud that you fall between the cracks. You see, the color - spectrum is wide and bright, but you, you’re just proud to be grey.
c Oct 2018
Painting me
Like one of your French girls
Is a little worse than cliche.
Paint me in your mind
With rose petals for hips
And the most divine night sky
Beneath my lashes.
Speckle pigments across my skin
Freckles like wet sand, stuck.
Color my scars brightest
Impure veins like that of a leaf
Carrying stories, not water.
Paint my smile most of all
Paint it weighed down by stones
Too many for anyone to remember
Yet stretching, brightly
As if to reach the moon.
Above all else, paint me yours.
Lia Feb 2015
her eyes look small and watery red
now without the thick black eyeliner and false lashes
she seems so naked
Jasmine Marie Aug 2012
Your caress is silky and creamy like butter
And my darling, I'm afraid that your lingering touch will give me diabetes
Your heart crumbles like flour when I press mine against it
And beads of sugar hang like dew upon your lashes

Maybe if I blended you up into cookie dough
And baked you at 350 for 15 minutes until you were golden brown
Then I wouldn't be afraid to stroke your resplendent face

Perhaps I wouldn't wince at the thought of pressing my ear against your chest
Just to hear your confectionary heart quiver
And there wouldn't be the slightest trepidation when I kissed your intoxicating tears

But I'm afraid that I'll leave you in for too long
And your saccharine core will harden and reek of soot
And with the slightest touch, you'll be reduced to ash
And your cremated remains will get frightened at the accusatory wail of the smoke detector
And they'll seek refuge in my oven's crevices
Never to be seen again
I felt a need to write again today and so, shazam, poetry.
Kaloseira Nov 2014
Before I sleep, I glimpse at my star.

It twinkles under where my lashes are.

Only to whisper about who you are.

“He’s just a friend my dear” said the star.
C S Cizek Jul 2014
She leaned against a telephone pole
grounded in searing concrete. Her white
dress blew in the balmy breeze like
balcony curtains. Her Merlot lips
and azure lashes popped against
her skin. She wore a citrus perfume
to garnish every hip swing and shoulder
roll with a tropical accent. Like a tambourine,
the silver bangles chimed on her left wrist
with every footstep.
Her heels sunk in the veiny tar patches
that criss-crossed each parking space
several times over.
Aurelia Oct 2018
The slit eyes widen
On the turtle that fell
For the gentle eyes of
A wolf in a shell

A dark liquid drips
Down the fleece of a sheep
Who knew a wolf could
So tenderly weep ?
aj Jun 2014
sweet bright eyes, what can i say?
i wouldn't lie to you if i told you that your light led me down this way.
sweet amber eyes, why can't i stay?
maybe it's better that my heart is nothing more than your prey.

celestial, copper eyes, with lashes that shadow like a veil,
a stare, a glare, physique that could never compare.
lustrous, luminous eyes with the allure of a panther,
it didn't take long to see your eyes bore the answer.

i shake and shiver.
sweet brown eyes, make my soul quiver.
serrated lashes that stab like knives;
sweet bright eyes,
become my soul's reprise
xoK Mar 2014
Inside my brain
There is a tornado
Spinning to infinity and beyond.
God only knows how fast.
My shoulders ache and my feet cramp.
My wrists click
And my eyes go damp.
Inside my brain instead is a monsoon:
A tumultuous storm that rages on.
Waves froth and smash,
Beating against the backs of my eyeballs.
Sometimes they find their way
Down my soft spotted cheeks.
My lashes float to the earth
One by one by one by one.
Would you collect them for me
Like discarded flower petals
Down the aisle of my soul's chapel
And press them into a scrapbook
Full of twisted memories?
Inside my brain is an H2O tornado
Like reckless rainstorm pirouettes.
My swirling view is blurred,
But every so often
I catch a clear picture
Of the glowing whites of your eyes
And I remember to fill my lungs,
Head above the water,
And breathe.
Twirl, twist.
Wind, mist.
But don't panic,
Because every so often
I catch a clear picture
Of you.
LDR life.

— The End —