"majora" poems
I was asked today "what
are you really into?"
while I was walking to film
class.
He had changed direction
with a flair of drama
and was walking along,
interrogating me.
I had to think.
I wondered how
I would answer his
question, were it posed
by someone I was interested in.
"I like the smell of hormones
colliding, omnipotent in their
decision to do so and in doing
it."
Could I say that?
"I like to feel like a hormone,"
or
"I like being a hormone."
Were these answers?
"I like patting my contracted
******* against the *****
majora of my partner."
"I like sewing," I might say.
That is, the idea
that if I push
and she opens
both testicles
and ******** may pop inside.
Like a **** needle pulling
a ***** thread
through a tight weave.
I laugh, imagining what the little man
would say, but
he doesn't know why.
"Stitch her up, Doctor!"
I'm
laughing.
He just says "you know, I'm into
chemistry, biology. Just tell me what
you're into."
I've been silent.
Is he still walking with me?
All I think to say is
"music" pointing to the earbuds
dangling over my chest, song
interrupted
by his pedantry.
He says "you've always liked music"
as if we've had this conversation before.
As if we know each other.
And it seems like he will follow me
to class.
And sit by me.
And talk about chemistry
and biology
while we discuss Singin' in the Rain.
Hormones, sewing and music.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 12:50 AM UTC
I wanted to feel his hands
massaging me once more,
rubbing out the pain & stress of my day(s).
I wanted to look into his beautiful eyes
that always said
"I Love You My Queen"
I wanted to once again
entwine our fingers
as we held close
our bodies while we laid & talked.
I want to kiss his lips,
feel
our
tongues dance again.
I wanted to run my fingers
once more thew his curly hair....
I want to hear him whisper once more
Good morning my love,
as he came home
from a night of work....
I wanted to feel him
kiss my forehead
and
say baby
I'll fight for you,
for Us!
Like he once was willing to do...
I wanted him to
be there when
His 1st born!
HIS SON
came outta me,
I wanted him to watch as
my opening stretched wide
for the life we conceived
started to break free,
wanted to look at him watching
me struggle
( for my & our sons life)
Wanted him to watch me
cry out with each contraction,
as my body sweating
and
shook from hot to cold
with hot flashes & chills,
I wanted him to see
my legs spread far apart,
my bottom hanging it seems~
slightly off the bed
my feet wrecked up on stirrups
as my ***** minora** opens wider ,
stretching it's self as well as my labia majora....
As our sons head slowly emerges out of me,
I wanted him to watch me
as I watched him
"catch His 1stborn....
His only SON!
I wanted us to cry laugh & hug each other
as our child is placed in my arms....
Him kissing me on my forehead
once more teary eyed with
that proud new daddy
look men tend to get.........
I wanted this and so much more.....
I no longer want it thou!
Realities hit
&
I'm better off
doing this on my own!
**Always Me Ayeshah **
Dec 4, 2010
Dec 4, 2010 at 12:31 AM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
Your suspicious vital signs,
Can work with me anytime,
I will be your servant,
Telling me that I'm outta line,
Shivers running down my spine,
I want you cause your perfect,
Rainbows strikes iconic pose,
Basing off the lies you told,
Searching for majora's mask,
Might as well keep that chapter closed,
This dusty book is really old,
Did you really have to ask,
We all have red insides,
No one takes the time to look,
Beauty isn't everything,
On the outside,
But that's why your overlooked,
Better read a book.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 2:22 AM UTC
A mask and a face are virtually the same to me and whenever everything comes crashing around me, it's not the mask the leaves but the face that bleeds, leaving perforated scars as masqueraded lies, and I will swear to you that I am fine.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 11:27 AM UTC
I'd forgotten how big the sky was
How full of possiblity was a life filled with flight
Yes, Majora's
When that moon was hanging over me in such a way
It made it impossible to see the night from day
And to separate the time from the potential life
Be it without a countdown or accursed limit
But of a life outside of the dream far away
Feb 12, 2019
Feb 12, 2019 at 6:23 PM UTC
If you knew this was your last day on earth,
would you spend it wisely with complete worth?
Honestly I’m scared of what my answer would be,
If I’d wallow in regret or just check out early.
Once you’ve breathed fresh air,
how do you go back to drowning?
In my youth I could never care
but lately I’m always frowning.
I tried to **** every single brain cell,
I no longer wished for feelings of thought,
no one asked so I never got to tell,
all these lingering regrets that I’ve got.
Dawn of the final day.
the sun arrives but will never stay.
Twenty four hours remain,
my death rattle will be in vain.
Long ago I lost hope in salvation,
and my dreams were trampled for belief,
so I dressed it up in mindless intoxication,
oh, how well it decorated my eternal grief.
How do I explain that the reason I’m leaving,
was the same reason that I stayed?
I’m tired of starving and done with dry heaving,
it feels like my internal organs have been flayed,
and put out on display.
Once you feel the sun rise,
how do you return back to the night?
When defeat’s visible in your eyes,
‘cause mind and body are both done with the fight.
I tried to **** every single brain cell,
yet there’s still more than enough left to haunt me,
will they survive the fall out, only time will tell,
I have a feeling one will remain only to keep taunting.
Dawn of the final day,
knees were made for grovelling not to pray.
Twenty four hours remain,
maybe time can fit in some rain.
I’m never happy with what life gives me
though I admit I haven’t been given much.
I feel only coldness in my surroundings,
but have felt warmth from a strangers touch.
Everyday I think “this is the end
I can’t possibly keep on going”
My spine broken before it could bend,
and I was plucked before I started growing.
So drag my corpse to the ocean
‘cause it was always my dream for there to rest,
I’ll die drowning in every emotion,
but only sadness will fill my chest.
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 7:58 PM UTC
J 'atterris sur la planète Vulvae
En haut du Mont de Vénus
Vulvae c'est le coeur battant de ma Muse.
Ma muse est un dragon à quatre-vingt-huit têtes
Et chacune de ses têtes me sourit
Et m'offre là un thé vert, là une camomille
Là un morceau de pain, là un verre d'eau de vie de mirabelle,
Là un ballon de vin clairet
Et comme je ne veux peiner aucune de ses têtes
Qui tournoient autour de moi
Je les cajole toutes en faisant une fumaison de musc
Ainsi comme les abeilles les têtes se calment sevrées .
Des quatre-vingt-huit têtes de ma muse
Qui défilent sur le podium
En me faisant les yeux doux de Chimène
Celle que je préfère c'est la numéro trois
Bien sûr je ne le lui ai jamais dit
Je ne veux fâcher personne
et surtout les numéros dix-neuf et quatorze,
Ces succédanés de ma Muse,
Dont j'apprécie les atours virevoltants de jaune et orange.
Mais Coconchine c'est ma tête préférée
Mon mannequin à moi
Ne me demandez pas pourquoi
Sa ***** minora
Sa ***** majora
Sa flore vaginale
Son petit air coquin et absent en même temps
Tout concourt à ce que ce soit ma prima donna.
C'est peut-être sa couleur qui me chavire
Ce bleu océan ou outre-mer
Je sens que la cyprine qui en coulera
Déteindra sur mes lèvres
Soudain bleues à l 'unisson de ses envies.
C'est une énigme
Et son énigme me fascine.
C'est un condensé de Vulvae
La vulve de ma Muse.
C'est la Vulve rêvée, fantasmée
Intemporelle comme une pierre gravée
Une vulve versatile, gredine.
Faussement pudique
Elle bat des cils
Et volette comme une nymphe
De morpho bleu et léger
Au-dessus des orphies qui volettent elles aussi.
Elle m'invite,
Elle m'a choisi,
Je suis l'Elu,
Son cheval barbu
Elle me désire,
Elle me charrie
Dans les tourbillons de la cyprine
Qui m'entrouvre la porte de son vestibule
et en pénétrant dans ce labyrinthe
Je grave de mon silex
Les flammes bleues du feu qui me dévore.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 11:28 AM UTC
Well I write poetry and post
It
I capture feelings in flows and yes I know this
But who am I?
Is NeroameeAlucard another persona I created?
Or me... The real me trying to escape it's mental containment?
I'm having a crises involving my self forged identities
it's alien to me to try to just be myself
when hiding behind my masks forged on feelings
But having to face the world without a mask?
that would be like Majora not having wrath
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 4:40 PM UTC