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Sara Kellie Jul 2018
Lipstick kisses,
we're both wearing red.
I motion her over and onto our bed.
Blood red smeared across our lips.
I keep her enticed, I straddle her hips.
Seductively playing,
I'm touching my lips.
Long acrylic nails,
for us never fails.
I show her a ***** and
she gently wails.

She's waiting,
my sweetheart,
I **** her so much.
We ****, we're on fire
and I wonder,
which of us holds the power.
I, in all honesty is hoping it's her,
'cause then I'll continue this life
in her beautiful blur.

Poetry by Kaydee.
A girl in love with another girl.
Holly Bromley Feb 2018
She lit the flame at the end of his lipstick stained cigarette,
smoking it was like kissing her all over again.
The smoke burnt his eyes and scratched his throat,
attempting to breathe the oxygen just wasn’t there.
She suffocated him.

Their love like a cigarette, set alight and raised to rebellious lips.
Their romantic tragedy like smoking in the rain,
It was painfully beautiful yet short lived.
She became his addiction, little by little she consumed him.
If only he could quit her.
His lungs would not ache when he’s alone.

Unlike his cigarettes, she didn’t come with a warning label on the cover.
She did more damage to him than the cigarettes ever could.

So, he left her and returned to his lipstick stained cigarettes.
She left a hole in him no amount of nicotine could ever fill.
Now he lights cigarettes just to watch them burn.
Lauren Pascual Oct 2018
seated at the backseat
with our song on repeat
she reached for a stick
inside the back pocket
of her faded denim jeans
i heard a familiar flick sound
only to see a lighter on her hand
silence fell upon us
not knowing what to say
i glanced around
trying to find an excuse
not to continue to blatantly stare at her
still, she is all i see
through my peripheral vision
savoring the smoke
letting it all fill her lungs
puffing,
inhaling
yes, a stick could ****
sooner or later
if no one dares to stop her
but what if she's already dying inside?
or what if she's just doing this
to fight the demon
who made its way inside her soul?
chained her heart
no plan of letting it go
i may have seen her burned her throat countless times already
yet, it still feels like the first time
her thin lips pressed against the filter
how i wish it was my lips, instead
[Now Or Never by Halsey is playing in the background.]

There is just something in the way that you hold me.
Something in the tenderness of your lips as they serenade my skin
As they dance gradually across the nape of my neck
"**** your lips they feel so good." I said
"Can you put them all over me?" I asked
"Yes, baby if that's what you like." she said
As she continued to kiss me I said
"As many different forms of love that are present in this universe
I never thought that your style of love would feel so good."
"Love is always present in many different forms." she said
"Love comes in so many different shapes and sizes." she said
"Just take a look at the two of us."
"Don't you see how beautiful we are?" she asked
"Yes." I said
"Can you feel how connected we are right now?" she asked
"Yes." I said
"The atmosphere is majestic." she said
"Our very energy within this room is vibrant and magnetic."
"Your voice, my voice, our voices shake the room with pleasure
every moment that we speak."
"And right now all I wanna do is color your skin with my breath."
"Just wanna cover your body in my lipstick."
She began kissing me in the weakest spot on my body: My *******
She ****** them tight and gentle
softly blowing over them and kissing them
"Mmm yeah." I said as I chuckled in subtle whispers."
"She then got behind me and started kissing the nape of my neck and kissing up and down and across my back while massaging my chest as she held me from behind
rubbing my ******* as she whispered softly in my ears "I love you."
as her breathing became faster and heavier.
"Let's ****." she said
"No need to tell me twice." I said
Madelynn Nieves Sep 2018
Every time
You extend your hand
I reach out to emptiness
Vacant
Words
Toying with my emotions
You play the game
Always winning
With your looks
Pale skin
Red lipstick
Smeared on my collar
Where your head would lie
All of those times you lied
You see it differently
Of course you do
Playing the victim
Saying I’m always attached
And that’s why you would never
Take this dive with me
In reality
Terrified
Of what would happen
If you committed to something
Other than yourself
Sara Kellie Dec 2017
My name is Sara, a transgender chick
Wanted a *****, was given a ****
I hide it in knickers of satin and lace
before sitting down to make-up my face,
Next the prosthetics, I'm using two bits.
Stuck to my chest, they'll do as my ****
Now for my legs I'll put on false tan,
I wouldn't do this if I were a man
Alternative nights, a t-girl delights
to sit on her bed and pull on new tights.
I'll put on a dress, a cute one no less.
Then for my shoes, high heels I choose
A sandal style shoe as every girl knows
not only looks cute, they'll show painted toes
A bit of eyeliner, eyebrow definer,
lipstick and blush, I'm now looking lush.
I stand in the mirror all ready to go,
there's only one question I just have to know.
"Does my *** look big in this?"

Poetry by Kaydee.
I wrote this poem in 2010 shortly after introducing myself as Sara to the world.
Hello Daisies Dec 2018
Dress up your depression
Stockings and lipstick
Dancing and music

No it's all scattered
A mess everywhere
Just keep shedding tears

Mask your pain
With ***** and ***
Clubs and latex

No you're too sheltered
Poor and locked away
Openly showing **** shame

Take it as a specialty
Write pretty plays and poetry
Make meaning for your suffering

No you have no talent
Give up and sleep all day
end it all can't hide the pain
:/
Brady Wright Nov 2018
Delicate whispers tiptoe across tightropes
My eyes flit between skies and
Crawling ivy, seeking so shyly,
Darling, won't you stare through me?
I can feel our branches entwining,
Heartstrings unwinding,
Curling like my toes in bed, but

Instead...

I am taken by beauty,
These curses of duty,
Forever spinning my head
It seems you could take me,
But I must be broken and
Mended, gentle and gilted,
It seems as though enough has been said
Azurel M Jul 2018
You call me
She, Her, Daughter, Girl
Shhhhh...
You speak with a blind mouth,
Look at me, see me
She isn't me,
Only a fantasy that you clutch till your knuckles grow pale.
I'm not broken, I'm free
But you hide behind a veil
Afraid to finally let go of...

Long hair, Lipstick, Lace dress
You question each time I show you my truth,
"Are you trying to hide your femininity?"
No, my femininity is simply not my definition.
Spend a day in my skin, in my cage,
And don't cry when the words start to pierce you like daggers,
Shhhh... Stay silent, don't worry, it's just a phase.
Now do you see that "She" just doesn't make sense?
You speak to me but your voice seems distant,
Bouncing off of me and echoing
Like I am the hollow statue of the girl you used to see.
"I am right in front of you, you know"
But my words are only heard when they come from her lips.

Mother, Children, Wife, Woman
A silent prayer each night for all the things I am not,
Stomach swollen, hair to my waist
The glow of an expecting mother on my face.
Curves, not edges,
Pink, not blue.
Delicate hands grasping the man who stands in my place.

The man who has...
Pants swollen, hair to his brow,
Along his jaw,
Down his legs,
Sprouting from his toes.
Bulged, Buzzed, Boy
Blood on his sheets, not between his legs
A beautiful girl lies beside him
Fresh coat of gel and cologne,
Swirls of shaving cream.
Bare chest, scars, burning skin
Twitch of an Adam's apple when breath comes short,
Nervous fidgets with a tie,
tick tock,
"Pick me up at eight"
"Treat her right" "I will sir"
"Will you be my..."
"You're going to be a father!"
"You are the best daughter we could have asked for"
...."Son" I whispered.
But you didn't hear,
Maybe one day you will.
Any one who can relate to this but can’t say it, I hope I can be your voice.
Stephen E Yocum Nov 2013
In ’68 Hutch and me,
Sitting at the bar drinking
Our third cold beer.
In a semi Fern Bar
Laguna or Newport Beach
Which now, I’m not sure.
It was around nine or so,
A week day night,
The place more empty than not.

She came in alone, made
Entry like the dramatic host of
A TV show. As if she were the
Center piece on the nations
Thanksgiving Dinner Table.
Over dressed to the nines,
Lots of color, heavy make up
She didn’t really need.

Her perfume scent hovered
Around her like a cloud of insects  
On a hot summer night in a wet meadow.
Kind of made my eyes water up.

She perched daintily like a dancer,
Upon a bar stool,
Three empty stools down,
Nodded the bartender her regular order.
A martini, a double it was,
With but a dab of vermouth.
One green olive on a stick.
The glass was prechilled as if
It had been waiting only for her.
She pounded that first one down,
As if the stem wear was a shot glass.
Another full stem glass appeared,
That one also quickly consumed
Two bright red lipstick stains all that
Remained in or on the stemmed glass rim.

Her main task accomplished,
She audibly exhaled,
As if tired or relieved.
I couldn't tell which.
Turned around on her stool to face
Hutch sitting closest to her.
“You boys Marines.” She declared,
More than inquired.
The close chopped hair cuts
giving us away.

Hutch just nodded, he never did say much.
A ****** just back from The Nam,
A dark scary guy of few words.

She opened her fur trimmed cloth coat,
exposing two very nice stocking clad legs,
And just a quick flash of red underpants.
Rotating towards us so we got a better shot.

She announced her name,
like as if we should know it.
Our blank stares informed her we didn’t.
Her face was to me, somewhat familiar.  
From movies in the 40s or 50s.
We were early 20 guys, she much older,
Trying hard to look younger, not succeeding.

Soon she was sitting right next to Hutch,
Two more Martini stems had come and gone,
Her lipstick finger prints upon them.
And still Hutch had not spoken more than
Three or four words.

She bought us a pitcher of brew,
Hutch grunted a short bit of gratitude.
We didn't have to say much, she was in charge.
It was all about her, she rambled on and on
Speaking volumes saying not much at all.
Beating back her crushing obscurity,
With flowery reminiscence recall,
Of glory days, long gone away.
Important for the moment, if only to her.
It was all; “me and I, I did this, I was that,
I slept with him,
And him and him”.
How about so and so?  I asked,
“No Darling not him, he was ***!
Still is.”

It was not long and she was touching Hutch.
On the hand, the shoulder, she was working him
With languid hungry looks from her big baby blues,
And the message could not have been plainer,
Had she held up a large hand lettered sign.

I don’t believe she was a “Working Girl”,
Just someone very lonely seeking to find
Herself, and some company for the night,
All to prove that she was still alive.

Looking at her, I could only think,
How sad and pathetic she seemed,
How desperate her plight.
To humble herself so,
In that dingy bar, among strangers
She did not know, Acting yet, still
On the only stage she could find,
Staring in her own bad ‘B’ movie drama.
In that dingy smelly bar.

Hutch and her left after a hour or so,
He never told me much about it.
He was unofficially AWOL for three days.
I covered for him, kept his name off the
Missing Morning Formation Reports
and the Daily Duty Lists.
No one cared to check. Our unit made up
Of mostly guys back from the war,
A pretty loosey-goosey outfit.

Once in a while now I see an old movie,
most are Black and white, Film Noir stuff,
And there she is, a much younger her,
Looking pretty **** good,
Not real big roles they were,
Claimed she was in the chorus
Of "Singing In The Rain" in '52.
To this, I can not attest,
watched that film several times,
But I never saw her there.

Had parts Playing damsels in distress,
A mobster’s gun moll a time or two,
Or unhappy Play Girls on a bar stool.
I guess it was type casting that done her in.
Or maybe she got a little too long in the tooth..
A sad ending to a short B movie career.
Life ain’t easy, even for a so called “movie star”.
Fame is not all it’s cracked up to be.
A smattering of fame, apparently worth,
Nothing at all.
True stuff from an old guys past.
She had called the Company Office
once or twice, looking for Hutch.
He told us to tell her that he had
been Shipped Out, when he actually
hadn't.

She no doubt found someone else to
tell her story to.

I saw that woman the other day on TV,
an old film on Turner Classic Movies
doing her thing. I sort of wonder what
ever  happened to her, but refuse to
Google it to find out.
Some information you don't need
or what to know.
It did inspire this little Poem Noir write.

Got a letter from Hutch in '70, we were
both out of the Corps. He was headed to
the Arabian Desert as a hired gun, to guard
some pipe line operation. Have no idea what
became of him after that. Hutch was a real hard
case, 14 confirmed kills through a ****** sight.
I hope he made it out of the desert all right,
maybe sitting on a beach someplace recalling
his back in the day three nights with a once
upon a time B movie star. Actually I doubt he
recalls her at all.
Lovers disappoint each other in time
The protestations of eternal love
Those breathless kisses on a summer night -
They leave no lipstick on a shopping list

Lovers disappoint each other in time
The protestations of eternal youth
When even the sell-by dates have faded away
From the shopping lists of our yesterday

We mourn the lips we’ve kissed, the lips we’ve missed

But still…

Would you leave lipstick on my shopping list?
(Dang, that's sappy...!)
jetspecter Jan 6
I’ve come to realize I rather enjoy
scrubbing the stains of lipstick
off glassware at work,
washing harder and harder
so my next guest can
enjoy their drink.

I wish I could say the same about
packing the stains of myself
into boxes (where they always go)
hoping harder and harder
that the next place I live
feels like home.

The lips and intentions of
****** red wine-drinkers—
I trace the kiss prints, carefully,
before drowning them clean.

I want to hear your morning voice,
breaking down into soft sighs.
I want to get inside your all-alone-head.
Intrusive, consuming love.
Amour fou, make me yours.

I thought I’d see the signs, but
I guess I read them wrong.
I hope, like a nice shade of lipstick,
that I leave a lasting impression.
Cindra Carr Jun 2011
She broke her grip on the strap of my heart
Lipstick stained, pale faced caress
Sultry gone long in a high-heeled daze
Slaps of fright in a lost fight
The strap of my heart ***** loosely in time
To pulses of desire as they beat dimmer
Pushed down swagger of hot sighs
Lost cries to last lies
Broken grips on heart straps
She broke me down in fueled up lies
Broke me down in that last caress

cc2011
stopdoopy Sep 2018
Pretty Little Pink,

all wrapped up in silk,

for me.

Beautiful you are,

a gift to gaze upon,

making the hunger grow inside.

My oh my,

you do look delectable, my dear;

and I am starving.
I saw some lipstick and am listening to some music and I just wanted to write something more provocative. Left it gender neutral on purpose. Wish I wrote this depicting something more "filthy" but... ya do what you can.
Tea Oct 2013
You cant tell that behind my red lipstick
And matching clothes I wear a secret
I live out of a bag, but not out of regrets
My life is a story that no one had the time to read yet
Its deep, long but filled to the brim in secrets
Someone sees me and wouldn’t believe me
When I say
I am
homeless
Life happens and that’s okay
I took a chance and it didn't go my way
And I walk through a autumn day and see homeless people
Just
Like
me

I walk through the wit past the deer head painting on the bridge
A homeless man who always sits says
Good morning
I give him a grin and I can tell it made his day
Some kinda sad bearing down, as it begins to rain

I remember when I was moving out into the world
Boxes packed,rain fell in sheets
I gave out boxes of coats, and hope for warm feet
And someone said it was nice of me
Something
died
in me

Would you not do the same for me?
What happened to humanity?
I wonder what would happen
if my friends were different
if a couch wasn't an option
I'll move on then
I see myself in an old mans crazed eyes
As he sits at the bus station voided and deprived
And something inside of me dies a little
When everyone sees
With cast away eyes
Difference in a little
lipstick
Age
Time
A little more life
That didn’t go right
Without this break I wouldn’t have got
The full time job
My way back on top

And they key to his heart
Is as simple as socks
You should look away
Feel some kind of shame
You can at least say good morning
Remember his name
or at least see him as human
I wonder what would happen
If I didn’t have red lipstick
Life had chewed me up a little longer
Would you walk past me
In your Cold steel armor?
homeless
or hopeless
you pick the title
Miss Saitwal Jul 2018
That workaholic lady who's always on call
& keep up with the market cells,
That newly married lady with chunky "red bangles"
talking to her husband with both earphones and blush on.

That man with a big fat stomach filled with his wife's love;
That teen who is on the edge of being deaf
because he can't do without the earphones.

That struggler who always stands at the back door;
That dreamer who's lost looking outside the window;
That person who's scared to get lost so stay active on the maps;
That disturbed mind who is coping up listening to George Michael;
That overworked soul who can crash anywhere.

That lady who choose to sit and freeze to death under a broken A/C unit, rather than stand with a five kilo backpack in a crowded jungle.
That girl who eats like a thief by hiding her food in the bag;
That tall enthusiastic freak who swings
and does gymnastics in a moving bus.

That granny who spot more trends than teens and follows them;
That old man who still can't keep up with the uneven roads
and the confused climate of Bombay.

That teen who lives with/on an Ipod,
instead of the 90s kids who survived on colouring books;
Those kids who believe their job is to fill the voids in the still crowd by surpassing like electrons to the magnetic field.

That man who is inspired by Raju Rastogi from 3 Idiots,
chanting to death and can't stop stressing on his responsibilities;
That entrepreneur with a head held high and red lipstick,
who never believes in a 9 to 5 corporate "mistake",

That blogger who can't think offline and is born to shine on the Gram,
That man who switches from Linkedln to South Indian action movie when the masses exit.
Ria Mehrotra Nov 2018
He asked me to paint him
With the blood on my lips
So I began to kiss
All the broken parts of him
Joel A Doetsch Apr 2012
I wear my emotions on my sleeve

  You ignored the gentle wash label...

bleached them with your stained whites

   as you sat on top of the machine

                           in your underwear

                  enjoying the good vibrations

You even had a cigarette after....
   lipstick stained, hanging from your smile

            Reminding me that it was, after all, my fault
            and I should be more aware of what I leave
lying around

"I'm not Martha F*ing Stewart"

That's the first honest thing you've told me today.
Emma Hill Mar 2017
Genderless with scraped knees and
A lipstick crush on one who bore the same name as me
Uncut brown hair untouched by bleach and
Stealing kisses from my best friend while my parents lied asleep
Lying in the grass with a picture book on faeries
Listening to the wind whistle through our dying trees
Jumping on the bed with my ***** and my bubby
Giggling hand over mouth when my mother called him "hubby"
Daisy chains and he loves me nots
Unbrushed teeth beginning to rot
***** shoes and ***** shoelaces
Visiting imagined places
Pink striped socks and a skirt to mismatch
Waiting for robins eggs to fall or to hatch

O, to be a child and to live within a dream
To lie awake at ten past eight, imagination like a stream
King Panda Feb 2016
I’ll have you know that this started out
as a love poem
but then I got lazy
and distracted when the dog started biting my leg
and I decided that this process wasn’t
worth it all together
and went outside for a smoke

that’s when I tried to call you
but you didn’t answer
I guess it’s Valentine’s Day
and you’re probably
with some other guy who’s more
sensitive than me
but can he smoke as **** as me?
or cough as loud?
or breathe as heavy?
well probably ******* not
and maybe that’s a good thing
that he’s healthy
and doesn’t smell like the inside of a Texas Roadhouse
before they decided that smoking killed everyone
and no one could do it there
no
not even the good looking people

you always said I was good looking
well
above average
and I cooked good too
and that one Valentine’s Day you said
If you asked me to marry you right now, I’d say yes
that was after I killed the bat in the attic
bought you a bouquet of bleeding hearts and
brought home the puppy
since then
my typewriter has busted
and you have left
P.S.
I still have the dog and
I renamed him Juniper
because that’s what happens when you’re
drunk
and sad
and alone

but now I’m happy
smoking a cigarette
listening to my neighbor’s massive wind chime
conk and sway in the crosswind
and I feel as alive as ever
knowing that you’re
wiping off that red lipstick with a poem I wrote you
because your date just got done
and he’s not sleeping over
and you’re just about to
walk to the back patio
and smoke a cigarette
because you want to die
just as bad as I do
you're wearing
bright red lipstick
and a little black
dress but you
are a mess and you
can't even give the
taxi the right address.
You smell of cinnamon
and sugar mixed with
marijuana and when
you laugh I can see
the fillings in the
back of your mouth
and I resist the urge
to touch your cheek
and feel the curves
of your body beneath
your clothes.
I can taste smoke
at the back of
your throat
and I remember the
way you once wrote.
I think maybe
I'll love you
until this *******
has left my veins.
What was your
name again?
These streets
are home to countless rodents
emerging but for a moment
to feed
or breed
or just to breathe the sun

One by one lining up
for the chance to
make something
out of nothing

Who are they and
where do they go
while the city refuses to
sleep

Doors to endless lands
line the avenue
each its own portal to the
unimaginable

A family of four
with the little yapping mutt
or a lonely cat lady
whose entryway wreaks of *****,
a drug dealer
door slamming
every hour on the hour
or an empty snowbird's nest

On the surface everyone is
pretending
they don't have a hole to
crawl back to
or walls that know
every secret

But below the sewer grate
a world filled with
the stench
of what could have been a
good day

Many a barkeep can
shed some life
on these drunkards'
rat king
or at least a story of those who
made it out

Once or twice it'd be grand
to see the bottom of a martini glass
left with a sip or two
instead of the casually tipped
lipstick-clad cocktail,
drained of doubt and despair
until morning warms the
frozen dreams
of those retired to
a paradise unknown
New York City streets
Tea Aug 2012
She walks by without a clue
Her bubbly personality and bright *** shoes
Laughter gush and spills, free and loose
Joyous even in the way she moves

She wears the world as hot as red lipstick
Explores herself and what’s not listed
Follows the rules but just has to break them
Sings in the night, when no one listens

The sun comes out when she’s ready to play
Curls bounce as she walks my way
She doesn't even know

Has never been touched with a lovers kiss
But she loves deeper than anyone I have met
Cares so deep, hugs so sure
Trusts so venerable, loyal for sure
She isn’t the rainbow
A color undiscovered
The flavor of happy, the taste of song
Flies like a bird, dancing in the lawn

Climbing trees, hanging in the park
Sharing her stories, girl likes to talk'
She doesn't even know that she is
My shining star, little piece of bliss
Showing the way when things get hard
Laughing when I cry
Cry when I laugh so hard
She doesn't even know
She’s my window in to happy
When it’s no ware else to be found
My excitement when my life is turned upside down
Noise that needs to happen
Hug I need to have
Person I know will be there
The smiles that’s for sure
Liesel you’re my happy pill
The one for sure cure.
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