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"mms" poems
sun for all the things that you are that i can never be uninhibited, nonchalant, and unexpectedly necessary sometimes you miss the sunlight, almost completely but you make up for it at sundown moon for your constant post-midnight energy boundless, yet fleeting in the way of MMS 3 hours later if i'm lucky sometimes but night-time we each have attention undivided unless you're LARPing then it's different (please don't think i'm being cynical) it's actually cute
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Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 1:51 AM UTC
Sun&Moon
I clear my throat, because that is the thing one has to do to not sound Gay. The vocal cords will vibrate, come awash with a thin liquid film to evince the Tough Male Sound Format for five seconds, so I can answer yes, and no, and say how are you, how have you been, what’s your name to anyone who does not know, to anyone who must not find out. When I talk to myself, It is heard, though: The high pitch, the twang, the flirtations. It sounds honest when I’m alone, singing in the bathroom when I **** When people are with me, I keep it like a password in my wallet. So it knows two things: Hide and unleash, and honestly? It is getting tired of knowing it has two voices for each. I sound like a *** There’s a jump in my As, a wider opening of the mouth when I do my As, the teeth showing with As, the identifying lilt, the **** **** **** of a laugh, the longer tail of end-syllables, the Mms and Ohhs not enough grit: All embedded sound files that can get me killed, that can make me see that I haven’t really stepped out of the closet; I just opened it, and I can close it each time I like, each time I find necessary, like the wallet where I keep my password, like my mouth when I say keep the change in the borrowed voice of an Alpha Dog Anymale. I was inside of my home one time, though. Clasped in my religion of boundaries. And then it started raining, water droplets pelting rooves and shingles and wooden planks, clapping on the boardwalk where plants sit. Closed my eyes. Funny. the rain sounded like a crackling fire.
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Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 12:18 AM UTC
Properties of *** Sounds
I clear my throat, because that is the thing one has to do to not sound Gay. The vocal cords will vibrate, come awash with a thin liquid film to evince the Tough Male Sound Format for five seconds, so I can answer yes, and no, and say how are you, how have you been, what’s your name to anyone who does not know, to anyone who must not find out. When I talk to myself, It is heard, though: The high pitch, the twang, the flirtations. It sounds honest when I’m alone, singing in the bathroom when I **** When people are with me, I keep it like a password in my wallet. So it knows two things: Hide and unleash, and honestly? It is getting tired of knowing it has two voices for each. I sound like a *** There’s a jump in my As, a wider opening of the mouth when I do my As, the teeth showing with As, the identifying lilt, the **** **** **** of a laugh, the longer tail of end-syllables, the Mms and Ohhs not enough grit: All embedded sound files that can get me killed, that can make me see that I haven’t really stepped out of the closet; I just opened it, and I can close it each time I like, each time I find necessary, like the wallet where I keep my password, like my mouth when I say keep the change in the borrowed voice of an Alpha Dog Anymale. I was inside of my home one time, though. Clasped in my religion of boundaries. And then it started raining, water droplets pelting rooves and shingles and wooden planks, clapping on the boardwalk where plants sit. Closed my eyes. Funny. the rain sounded like a crackling fire.
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