"layer" poems
#
*paint me
with the wet tickle
of your tongue
lingering with affection
savoring my fervent flavor
in bold strokes
of your obsession
color my essence
in heated hues
sending shivers
down my spine
in anticipation
of your warm breath
against my flesh
with every blissful caress
to ensue painted petals
of animation
with your supple lips
gently blur the lines
of my curved hips
softly stroking
the subtle shadows
of warm depth,
blushing
quivering thighs
as I gasp
of breath
plunge in
a primer coated palette
dipping your stiff paintbrush
deep within
the folds of my blanket
manipulating
a trembling image
of your voracious lust.
craze me
again and again
in breathless
****** glow,
your sensual brushstrokes
gently murmuring
layer on layer
in alla prima flow
delve deep
into my eyes
paint splattering
the passion
of my soul
drizzling silken strands
of love
in their entirety,
polishing me whole
and then
in blissful backwash
admire
the tangled limbs
interposed
of your
completed masterpiece
in smiling
sated repose*
#
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 8:21 AM UTC
Paint me in any colour you want,
you wish for
Draw any outline you visualize.
This will fade,
Falling victim to the seasons.
A masterpiece
Within itself,
the intricacy of the strokes
Shall be hidden by
the next masterpiece
That will take its place.
The unsung, the
Unheard
are the ones who draw this,
day
And night.
Going unnoticed,
no one stops to
Consider the combinations,
the contrasts,
Its various interpretations,
almost like
Those of a Rubik's Cube.
Layer,
upon caked layer,
depicts violence,
Craves freedom,
breathes anonymity and
Displays inspiration.
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 7:59 AM UTC
There are five widely known senses.
Sight, hearing, touch, smell and taste.
We've got some minor ones as well, such as balance, temperature and many more.
However, people fail to realise that there's also the sixth major sense. Thoughts themselves.
If we look closely, all these five senses have the same base. Specified cells in eye react to energy of light, cells of ear recieve energy in form of air's vibrations, skin cells pick up energy of mechanical changes, and so tasting and hearing depend on translation of certain substances' chemical energy.
These cells in different organs differ in their structure and the way they appear, however, if we stop looking at them in such small scale, we can see that ALL of the cells or organs responsible for any sense translate the energy.
So, a light enters the eye, certain wavelenght of certain energy stimulates the eye's rod or cone cells with a certain intensity. Then the energy of light is translated to energy of electrical impulse, which goes straight to the brain, creating the sensation of sight.
If it comes to smell, a certain particle enters the nose, binds to a smell receptor cell, and the chemical energy of this particle is, again, translated to energy of electrical impulse, which goes straight to the brain, creating the sensation of smell.
Now, let's move to the crucial part. The sense of thoughts.
During the creation of thought, pathways in our brain that collect memories(and many more known or unknown pathways) connect. First, there's this spark of electricity, that moves all along the neuron and releases a dose of neurotransmitters(amount of different NTs is equiavlent to strength of this spark, basically resulting in "creating" various thoughts).
Then, chemical energy of NEUROTRANSMITTER is translated to energy of electrical impulse, which happens in the brain, creating the sensation of thought.
Therefore the 'sense of thoughts' reacts to and is stimulated by neurotransmitters themselves, with receptors on neurons' membrane being receptors of the stimulus. So, kind of like smell, the stimulus is chemical, compared to sight, where it's electromagnetic wave; anyways the result in all of these is electric impulse in neurons (hence the idea of "thoughts" as a sense, due to the same basic layout; transfer of energy).
The 'smell particle' connects to receptor and is translated to a certain amount of neurotransmitters/certain strenght of neuronal impulse. SO, again, we can see that when the first outer layer of this communication is cut off, we're left only with the neurotransmitters and impulses themselves. Anyway, the transduction of energy remains.
If it comes to "sense of thoughts" the receptor lies within us, whereas in sight or smell or touch it's external. However, does it matter if it's on the surface of skin or under it if it all comes down to neurons of our brain?
When you lie in a dark, silent room, without any external stimuli, you still retain your thoughts, colorful, vivid or complex. All the magic of the brain - still happens. So, how isn't it a separate, full-fledged sense?
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 6:49 AM UTC
today,
i wore it again
and people complimented me
they say red is my color
and it suits me.
today,
it's too thick and dark
did i overapply
no, it's the right amount
just enough
to make them think
i'm fine.
today,
i look at myself
in the mirror,
and they're right
red shines on me,
so i applied
another layer,
and another
until my lips felt too thick,
but my eyes still see
the scars beneath it.
Oct 12, 2019
Oct 12, 2019 at 1:42 AM UTC
our love...
exists.
our love exists,
behind closed doors,
behind four walls
that push up against my lungs
squeezing until I suffocate.
our love exists while you
stand there and stare,
open mouthed
unable to accept
the fact that you denied
a delicate butterfly
the right to take off
that you set fire to a field
of tulips that were begging
for new fallen rain.
you touch me with electricity,
but i am used to this burn.
i am used to this broken feeling;
the feeling after your wings have been
plucked off
and every last layer of skin
has been set on
fire.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 12:56 PM UTC
4am conversations
I'm talking in my sleep
While you are somewhere crying
You say this isn't me.
You say that I have pretty thoughts
And I have pretty words.
But you don't see the under layer
(I'm dying in my sleep)
The scars go down like railroad tracks
(These pills are killing me)
And never seem to cease
(I'm dying in my sleep.)
This heart is barely beating
(How could you say that to me?)
My lungs are last to fail me
I'm singing in my sleep.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 8:40 PM UTC
Sometimes you say
I have oceans in my eyes.
Not once have I thought
That so.
My eyes are thin
And grey;
They are no "silver lining".
The green that lines them
Is not seaweed,
But the mold of a past
Mess.
You have told me my eyes
Are reflective.
But they simply harbor the
Colors of lonely skies
And mismatched loves.
You have described beauty
And freedom
Within my irises.
But I can't see them
Unless there's a layer
Of glass between.
I don't see the oceans.
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 1:14 AM UTC
I want you to be entirely distracted by my surface
the sunlight above me
I want you
I want you content with my forecast of calm waves
each encounter
Follow my subtle guidelines
Behaving as a good mother I"ll command you out of the ocean
if you swim too far from shore
Or if you dare plunge your head under me
Sexually
Remain floating on my surface layer this is where the
honey moon stage lasts
Do not stare into the eyes of a hurricane
storms in me churning off the coast of "you had no clue"
will leave you washed up on Island Nowhere
Absolutely no swimming after sunset
I don't care if you hear the waves sigh all night
In this situation I am God knowing whats best for you
saving you from drowning in my cycle
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 9:49 PM UTC
Clothed green and red
outer layer
protecting the golden
treasure that lies beneath.
Mango,
ambrosia,
fruit of the gods,
placed down upon
our earth
for enlightenment.
One bite
such sweetness
blasting away every
taste bud,
an explosion in the brain,
turning us from human
to pure animalistic joy.
I love
you
mango .
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 4:51 PM UTC
I’m rendered powerless. Just about breathless. I watch as each layer of clothing gravitates toward the floor. Strip off the clothes that enveloped his beauty. My knees begin to fail me. Through his stare it feels as though he’s already probing every crevice of my being. Eye-fingers ravish me. He’s bare. My eyes haven’t left him. He smirks, refusing to leave me a spectator. Clammy hands penetrate the chill of the tile lined room. He strips me. I'm sure he senses me shaking.. goosebumps begin to rise. We step into shower. The tap is high, the temperature hot. The passion as well. He’s capturing me. Rapturing my frame, Grasping me. Gasping for me. He pulls me into him.. into the air. My legs incoherently wrap around him. The hot vapors aren't from the water, but our lust we heed. It’s wet. "Think ya can make it to the bedroom?" My throat closes. Barley touching, the pleasure, pressure, of his words render me unable to respond clearly. I nearly whimper out an answer. The smirk returns. This act meant for cleansing morphs into such a ***** one. I’m miserable within myself, the sheer amount of desire burns. Pushing me to the wall his body presses against me. He pushes into me. His hips. His lips. I feel him sliding in and out, violating, his tongue twisting around my own. His body as well. We’re intertwined...
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 5:20 PM UTC
I had built a wall
Layer by layer
Mortar and stone
Until it was so high
And so strong
I thought no one could break it.
But I overlooked something
Because when I was done
There you were.
You just slipped right past my wall
Without even noticing its presence.
I was too surprised to push you out.
And then a funny thing happened
I was happy
And at peace with the world
And reconsidering my wall
Reconsidering
What I was protecting myself from.
I didn't have much of myself
To give away
But I gave you some of what was left
But not so much
That it would destroy me
To have to take it back.
Because I'd been though that before
I gave away so much
And still most of it is gone.
I've been hurt into being
More cautious with my feelings
Than I used to be.
And it turned out to be
A good thing
A blessing inside a curse
Because when you gave that piece back
It hurt
But I knew it could have been worse.
Because you can't break something
That's already been broken
By another.
There wasn't any part of me I gave you
That you could destroy
I didn't give you that.
I keep my heart close to me
Because it belongs to another
You were only borrowing what I had left.
So I will be fine
Because I've been through worse
And you are not my Kryptonite.
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 12:54 AM UTC
Lovebirds
An old man sat with patience
On the bench he waited for her
He smiled sweetly on her appearance
Hand in hand they walked together.
In the garden full of greens
The lovebirds chatted with laughter
As if they were in movie scenes
The way they looked at each other.
He stroke her hair gently
Her hair clip he'd bought years ago
Still intact she placed it neatly
That is the little pink flamingo.
Pleasant breeze they enjoyed
As they continued walking
Her fragile nature shivered
In her thin floral dress clothing.
He took off his outer layer shirt
Naturally putting it on her shoulders
She joked about wearing a skirt
He thought she was full of wonders.
He recalled her bravery
She reminisced his sacrifices
They've come far in life's journey
Counting their little happiness.
As I watched from a distance
I felt a pinch of sweet jealousy
Witnessing true love's existence
Yet wishing them to stay as lovely.
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 9:45 AM UTC
I LIKE GIRLS I LIKE GIRLS I LIKE GIRLS
it sort of
spills from my tongue,
and makes up my lips.
because everything feels right when we're laying down in bed like this.
I LIKE GIRLS I LIKE GIRLS I LIKE GIRLS
it sort of
shakes in my bones,
and folds over and over inside my head.
because we're both in wedding dresses and i fall in love all over again.
I LIKE GIRLS I LIKE GIRLS I LIKE GIRLS
it sort of
smooths over my skin,
and makes an extra layer of love to drown in.
because this is my life and a girl makes it worth living in.
I LIKE GIRLS I LIKE GIRLS I LIKE GIRLS
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 9:24 AM UTC
Songs of Oregon: No. 1 “Gonna Make You Crazy, That Place”
nuts, crazy peeps
whomever wherever,
regardless of race creed color or gender (did I get ‘em all?)
current state of residence (geo-identified)
a poem - the very same recited,
as a disclaimer, a yellow finger wagging warning:
“Don’t go! If you go, you won’t come back”
now kids, I’m a veteran of foreign travel,
many continents, cold and hot, rivers and seas,
some living, some dead,
some so big they named it Endless,
been to the great cities, Swiss villages,
pyramids, climbed Masada,
danced on grapes (why can’t I recall where)
skied the Alps, trekked the Sinai Desert,
clubbed in Rio, and danced till morn,
on a certain Greek Isle that rhymes with Mickey’s Nose
even been to L.A and San Fran, left poorer
but in sync,
always came home
with my mind decently reshaped
me/ a product of gritty unpretty grime,
streets of normal humans
acting like normal escaped mad persons,
this brutal city island instilled a
layer of fat and smog neath my skin,
a kind of migrating duck-like survival kit,
came with a homing beacon included
the those of you who know me,
perhaps too well, ken we citified islanders
love our beaches (fire hydrants)
cherish our sun dappled blessings
upon on farms (window sill herb gardens)
and sunning settlements (rooftops)
they say our tap water is secretly bottled,
sold in places where the springs purportedly
run crystalline
though we don’t got no pinot, just sweet concord grape,
so sweet, the wine of children and street nodders,
needy for instant sugar highs
so as we new Yorkers proudly
say on our license plates,
prove it or stfup!
so a first hand investigation for which
the taxpayers won’t be charged even a lousy mill,
deemed necessary to put to rest this crazy claiming warning
“Don’t go! If you go, you won’t come back”
guessing must be something in the water and the wine
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC
(tw; hypothermia, death)
Having depression is like being caught out in a blizzard.
At first, the cold seems like nothing.
You're all bundled up in a fluffy coat,
scarf wrapped around your face,
hands slipped into gloves and tucked under your arms.
But then the snow begins to fall,
and the temperature drops,
and it's like the chill is stripping you down, layer by layer,
even though all your layers are still there.
It gets colder, and you start to feel the effects of the chill,
the fierce winter seeping into your bones,
making it seem as though you only walked outside
in a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt.
Your body begins to numb as the cold starts,
the weakest parts of you losing their feeling first.
Your nose,
your ears,
your cheeks and your face and your fingers,
all becoming completely numb,
as if they aren't there anymore.
And then your legs stiffen up,
and you have trouble walking,
even though you try so hard to keep moving,
because you know if you stop, you're doomed.
But you lose your ability to function,
the cold causing almost complete ****** paralysis,
and no matter how hard you try,
it's impossible to keep moving.
You fall to the ground,
curling into a ball in the snow,
trying to keep yourself warm,
but the cold is too much.
And as the hypothermia sets in,
your brain tricks you into thinking you're actually warm,
and you strip off the layers that were the only thing
keeping you alive.
And then it's over.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 11:56 PM UTC
a thin layer
of expensive,
french perfume
on your collarbones,
dripping down
due to the
high temperature
you caused when
you walked into
the room.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 3:04 PM UTC
Flying
above a layer of
cotton clouds, woven white lining clear blue
It looks like a snow-coated hill,
punctured by snowdrifts and gaps
where that blue, clear clear blue
peeks through
Don’t fall through
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 11:16 AM UTC
Those purple circles
Under my eyes
Marks of sleeplessness
I can't disguise
Concealer only covers
The layer of skin
But underneath the makeup
There's still weary eyes within
I haven't slept
Not a wink of rest
Ever since you came
And made this mess.
Sweet Dreams
Apr 16, 2012
Apr 16, 2012 at 2:27 AM UTC
the double-glaze and blackout curtains shield me
from the world's uncertainty.
the panes of glass so sure not to allow its overside to retreat and
seep its liquid coldness to reach me. it's neither
cold nor warm at the touch, unlike me.
i am protected by the double gaze and blackout curtains but
some force that differs from the one that is currently causing
the tree outside sway dangerously close to my perch is
causing my mind and body to be insulated
by a layer of ice.
goosebumps prickle and my arm and leg stubble
raise themselves.
but my mind does not provide for itself thermoregulatory
reflexes, i
must withstand the shiver of my memories.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 2:17 PM UTC
*~~
When so much light around
but you say the dark
I could not understand
my top layer
When I was in the womb
Then, and not
But there was light
Then when I saw your universe that you have made
everything was there
My playing companions
The Sun
The Moon
My beloved,
And that delighted
Night's north star was
on her forehead
Where all of my senses have
grown up
Then at one sudden night of the new moon
I saw a thick overlay on the sky,
between you and me
The North Star has disappeared
I think that you were true
In the dark I find my known world
One by one,
Trying out through the thick layer
It seems to cover the end
As light yellow yolk
See a light-colored tint
which awakens my sixth sense again
A shadowy obsession
Which has yet to create an illusion
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen*
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 1:27 PM UTC
~Christi Michaels~12/2014~
☆⊙☆⊙☆⊙☆
you with an onion
in the palm of your hand
pulling back layers
seeing just who I am
removing the papery
outer shell
the flesh beneath
holding slight color tan
folding back the next
begining to understand
sweet juicy onion
cradled
in the palm of your hand
brave to peel
the next layer
spicey as onions can be
a tear begins to form
a tear just for me
now you are intoxicated
as only an onion can do
you pull back again
translucent flesh
coming through
sweeter and sweeter
I become
as you genlty find my core
you've settled in
found your way
what a delectable
delicious score
☆⊙☆⊙☆⊙☆
Copyright © 2014 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 4:37 PM UTC
Air in my chest is close and warm
But when I have to release it
It's cold and turns to ice
Before my eyes
Just like my own little storm
Frost is beneath my bare feet
And the cold air around me
Is colder than I've ever felt
This winter is brutal
This winter is a slow, methodic beat
Everything around me is dead
Gray and brown, gray and brown
The pattern never seems to end
The flower must have so much courage
To break through the winter's layer of dread
It breaks my heart to see the earth like this
Grieving for past warm days with
sunshine
Yet the sunrise always is there
To remind the earth that she cares
She caresses the barren earth with her golden wrist
Slowly she rises till she covers the earth's every line
She whispers, "it'll be okay,"
And all the trees and blades of grass
Have renewed hope
Hope of days filled with sunshine
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 10:51 PM UTC
I love it when you use me.
Lighting the fire in my soul,
A slave at your bidding.
My clothes; a veil to hide
Your canvas:
The marks, the bruises,
The bite on my lip,
The saliva on my neck,
The rope burns on my wrists.
Signs of love that I wear proudly.
And while I retreat back
To the working life, with suit & tie,
As a professional working man,
Your voice chains me in place.
"I'm not done with you."
With each layer falling to the floor,
In their rightful place,
Again,
I gladly offer every inch of my body to your personal satisfaction.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 7:11 PM UTC
I’m working to unwrap you slowly
To form you up like a theory
To create a habitat for you in my head
My steps grow wider when I see you at the end
Lying, lounging, an old lion
Afternoon sun low and tired
Rays and shadows streak the road like enveloping arms
As I grow closer, you project even further away
I just long to reach you
Rest my head against your ***** and
Sleep against your softness like a pile of feathers
To rest at last.
But at times I think I’ll never reach you,
As I approach you reflect even further away
I wonder that this road is endless, thinning into the distance
The black wires radiate into the air above me
Mutating my simple DNA into something else entirely
A sole purpose survivor, a solider
The cause is more desperate now
They’re buzzing to each other above my head, talking about me
Their scrutiny banging between my ears
The dust becomes a new layer of me, with incredible thirst
Just fields of dehydrated dandelions, just nothing
They soak up the liquid from everything
With their chemical and electrical waves
The fields are screeching as they shrivel up, like dying children
Now it’s all yellow, beige, and far away
It’s all so tiny against the horizon,
For all I know, your silhouette has become a statue by now
Just this long stripe of dirt I treat like a passageway
Just a ladder to a final place of rest
I’m desperate for a stop in my trudging motion
But I know I can’t lie down in this unworthy sand.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 5:52 PM UTC