"oddest" poems
Saw her first at cousin's weddinG,
She looked astonishing I knew where it was headinG
Escorting the bride she came in smilinG
My eyes got glued on her and my heart started poundinG.
Afraid of her brother but she agreed to meeT,
I got there first, where the buses fleeT,
Time and place was on her to fiX,
Excited, I reached before the clock tickS,
There I saw her waving at platform thirty siX.
Time freezed for a while,
Walking towards her a million thoughts ran through my mind,
Was that really her or someone else!?
But that same magical smile and my heart again melts.
Simple, yet pleasant I liked her stylE,
But the best thing was definitely her smilE,
I got lost , stammered in speech for a whilE,
She was confident and I got nervous blood profilE.
The place was new ,
None of us had any clue,
I was sweaty , the day seems hottest,
Perhaps the oddest in the whole August.
Black and white top and she blingS,
Leather sandals and those shiny earingS,
The watch was pink , hairs were perfect readY,
But **** her luggage was real heavY!
Got in a cab, and some comfy place to talK,
She was in a hurry, but i had all the clocK,
She was bold at the same time cooL,
And I was smiling for no reason like a fooL.
More time I wanted to spend,
But getting her home safe and sound was important in the end.
Got her a bus had to bid a good bye,
And my hopes of meeting her soon are sky high! :)
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 4:04 PM UTC
Once upon a day or night -- Wait, it was day, there was a light
a light, which shone upon a moonlit drive so dark and drear.
At keeping track, I'm sadly slacking. Forgive my memory, it is lacking
memoirs of this day of days I could not -- would not -- hear.
But now alas, alan, alack, something gruesome did attack, my dear.
Something's ugly head did rear.
Indistinctly, I remember, was it June? July? November?
Moments burn together as I recollect the fear.
And though he knows it gets to me, he will never set it free,
the truth of all the memories I used to hold so dear.
The truth you chose to hide from me for days, turned months, turned year.
But no, I will not shed one tear.
He held my hard heart high in flutter. Stomachs full of bread and butter.
Our love could not be jaded, for he traded tea from beer.
And though we were the oddest pair, I thought by now he would not care
how people chose to say their puns of nuns and hateful jeer.
Of wolves and sheep, of awkward sleep, of hunters hunting deer.
I thought we had our life in gear.
Sadly, though, I was mistaken. Blast, that awful wretch has taken
my whole soul and everything I previously thought mere.
He broke it off, and with a cough confessed, a darkest truth repressed
of everything, how twas a lie, and that the end was near.
And with four words, a looking glass of sorts he handed me to peer.
These the blue-eyed snake hath spoke: "Honey, I'm a queer."
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 9:13 PM UTC
It turned cold quickly
Almost skipping Autumn
Reluctant to wear a jacket
Or a hat, or gloves
Too distant for my arms
To keep him warm against my chest
He said he never wore a scarf
But if he did, he would go Dr. Who style
I had to laugh as i looked up the reference
Fifteen feet of mismatched stripes
Maybe not the stripes, he said
I happened upon a huge skein of yarn
It felt like a warm blanket in the oddest,
Most interesting colors
Manly, neutral, and perfect for Fall
So i crocheted a scarf and pictured him warm
The pattern in those colors was a mess
I chuckled at why they would make such an ugly pattern
I crocheted every stitch with love
Through arthritic hands that felt no pain
I crocheted a scarf, stopping only when it dragged the floor when i put it on
Two feet short, but ridiculously long
I bordered it in shades of green to match
Not realizing it was variegated into Brown's and maroons along the way
But it matched the odd mix of colors
And finally made it almost pretty to me
I covered myself in perfume
And put it around my neck
As I turned I caught a glimpse in the mirror
It wasn't a horrible amalgamation of hideous colors
It was camouflage, with a matching border
I laughed so hard, and felt so bad
My hillbilly in camouflage
Wearing a scarf way too long
Maybe he would hate it
Maybe he won't wear it
I knew better
So, I packed up his bag of gifts
And sent it to the frozen mountains
He never wore a scarf
He opened it and put it on
It smells like You, he said in blssful remembrances
It's definitely camouflage, he laughed
It's perfect baby, I'll wear it whenever it's cold
And in the picture he sent
I saw its beauty
It wasn't in the patterns of crisscrossing colors
It wasn't in the accidental way
The border perfectly complimented the body
It wasn't in the fact that he would be able
To wrap himself up in me to stay warm
It was in that picture
It was the joy that filled his smile
It was in his eyes that danced in love
It was in the fact that he believes
Because i made it, it's perfect
Yes, i accidentally crocheted a thirteen foot camouflage scarf
And he loves that I can keep him warm.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 4:23 AM UTC
An ode to my beautiful wife
Who is really the love of my life
In all of our years
We've had so few tears
I can't even remember much strife
Now truly she doesn't like cricket
Or my nose, should I stupidly pick it
And the money I spend
Drives her right round the bend
So my wallet, she's no choice but nick it
Yes, we have two kids and six cats
The latter delieverd two rats
but the oddest thing
They decided to bring
To our house were a couple of bats.
We were drinking and watching the telly
When Becksy cat did something smelly
It happened we saw
Her *** was rubbbed raw
And she needed pretroleum jelly.
When the time reaches much after nine
Unless we've been into the wine
It's off to the bed
For resting of head
Hey that's not your pillow, it's mine.
Our daughters are Issy and Jess
They turn cleanliness into a mess
Whatever we do
By quarter past two
We're under some strain and more stress.
We really do love our great daughters
For all of the things that they taught us
And all of the grind
Gets left well behind
When a hug is the best gift they brought us
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 10:37 PM UTC
"I knew this girl once,
she had long hair, so long it whispered tiny kisses along her hips and waist
she had the oddest bluest eyes i'd ever seen, the color of the sky right before it gets completely dark
her thick, long eyelashes framed those eyes, and freckles formed constellations across her cheeks
i could almost draw the big dipper and Orion's belt on her milky white face.
She didn't know i existed but i admired her from afar. I could tell she was educated- She always had some form of poetry in her hand. But of all the things i could have noticed about her i noticed her bookmarks. She would lose them all the time, i would see her chasing after the scraps of paper as they flew through the wind down the street. She'd stick anything in between those pages, wrappers of all sorts, leaves, pennies, shoelaces, once i even saw a page ripped from a different book. It became my favorite game to guess what the next bookmark would be. After awhile she stopped chasing the various bookmarks across the city and she cut all that long hair off, then awhile after that she started using unoriginal, uninspired plain old bookmarks.Then even awhile that she stopped bringing books altogether, until one day she didn't show up. Nobody knew that beautiful, mysterious, bookmark making girl was locked up inside her own mind. Nobody knew she hated her long hair and her freckles and even those baby blues. Nobody knew that she couldn't stand to live in her skin anymore so much that she swallowed a couple pills one night to ease away the pain. Even worse was she didn't know i watched her for so long and thought she was the most interesting human being i'd ever encountered. That girl committed suicide because she hated herself learn from her mistake, my mistake, everyone who ever noticed her bookmarks mistake, and don't do this, don't off yourself with a .45 before you've even had a chance to live" he's desperate now
"please please you don't have to do this" he sputters
I answer simply " I never was much of a bookmark girl, i always dog-eared my pages"
bang
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 6:35 PM UTC
Moo-Cow-Butterfly
Not a happy lass
Stubby little wings
Superfluous mass
Four long stringy legs
Twirly-whirly tongue
Moo-Cow-Butterfly
Highly strung
Weasel-Emu-Rangutan
Fifty shades of fur
Quite the oddest vertebrate
To naturally occur
Burrows in the jungle
Terrified of heights
Weasel-Emu-Rangutan
Restless nights
Labra-Hippo-Jellyfish
Slimy furry blob
Genetic Engineering
**** poor job
Moping on the seabed
Can’t fetch sticks
Labra-Hippo-Jellyfish
Sink like bricks
Chameleon-Begonias
Origin unknown
Disappear rapidly
As soon as they are sown
Neither here or thereabouts
But somewhere in between
Chameleon-Begonias
Seldom Seen
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
I am watching you,
every step, every breath, every word and touch.
yet still I keep a sense of certitude -
that you may believe you have befriended me.
I am a television, a mirror, a frame in your home,
I am a friend you can trust.
I am a child playing swing,
I am the woman you sneak around with,
I am the unexpected friend you trust,
Yet I am the one who snitches on you when we part.
Trust me, you'll think we’ve never met.
Yet when we do, oh man , you’ll know it.
For in the oddest of times, well catch you, grab you,stop you still - Until you cry out, BIG BROTHER , I .. - ....Confess.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 3:10 AM UTC
Papa,
my beautiful papa.
He doesn't look at me anymore.
His smile has disappeared from his face.
Papa's bones are as thin as the weeds out back.
Remember papa?
You made me that handmade bike because you couldn't afford me a real one.
Your hands were the only things that helped me and momma.
The medicine you take, the bed you live in,
Your only depends.
I'm the one you should depend on papa.
I hold your fragile hand as you shake in fear.
Papa, your fever is too high.
On some nights, I sit with you in the oddest hours, keeping a cool damp towel placed on your forehead.
The medicine can only hold you here for so long.
Papa, I can't sleep knowing that you're coughing your life away.
I stay up thinking of the days we use to spend in the blistering sun.
You drinking your ginger beer, giving me a sip.
It was sweet, yet burned on my tongue as it went in the back of my throat.
Warm feeling.
Papa, you were there for me when my days were dark and momma wouldn't be around.
She works a lot more now.
Why does life have to take the only thing I need to live?
Papa, you're getting weaker.
The hammer and nails you use to use, now mock your lack of strength.
Momma can only do so much.
Remember when the holidays would come around and you'd be out so long?
Scorching yourself to find the one gift for me?
Weary and tired you would always be,
you did it for me.
Papa, it's my turn now.
I loved the way you would smell during the mid-summer days.
The burnt cigarettes and fabric sweat was your name brand smell.
Every night,
you would come home beat with sweat beads on your forehead from the hat you wore.
It resembled the long weary hours you worked for that money.
Stale bread bottoms and scarce water was all we had.
Holy socks and beaten shoes was all I needed.
It was all you could afford papa.
Now life is in my hands.
Your sickness is the only tight bond left that's keeping us close.
Papa, you're daydreaming again.
Collarbones and hip bones are not suppose to be visible on you papa.
It's hurting me more than it's hurting you.
Your eyes are glossy.
The hair on your head that was once thick and brown,
has now gone grey and thin.
You're undernourished.
Papa, I can see the fear in your eyes.
You're worried about me and momma.
Don't worry.
Sad how the doctors turn their heads in shame.
They can't do anything.
If you leave me as I'm speaking,
remember that your life has given me great fortune.
Whether it was working till your knuckles bled or staying up all night with me,
just know that you're a wonderful papa.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 8:14 PM UTC
Deathbed Confession
“In 1971 a man calling himself Dan Cooper hijacked
a plane from Portland to Seattle, demanded parachutes
and $200,000 in cash, then jumped into the night with
the money, never to be seen again.” — fbi.gov
So little seemed to be at stake.
The bomb was real; the threat was fake.
Neither was difficult to make.
And I was in my element,
or almost there. Yes, the descent
was cold, but warmer as I went,
and yes it was coal black and raining,
but I had uppers and my training.
I’ve spent my whole life not complaining.
When I could see the woods I wandered
out with the twenties, which I laundered,
safety-deposited, and squandered,
and with the oddest thing — a name
I’d paid for but could never claim,
a private riddle, private fame.
That’s been the hardest part: denial —
remaining of no interest while
the Bureau opened up a file
on every former paratrooper
who in his final morphine stupor
discovered he was D.B. Cooper.
I’m D.B. Cooper. There, I said it.
It’s decent work if you can get it,
but it pays cash. There is no credit,
or blame, or pity in thin air,
and I’ve spent forty winters there.
I’ll take whatever you can spare,
although I don’t suppose the guy
whose last confession is a lie
deserves it any less than I.
This piece is written by Kansas Poet Laureate Henry McHenry. The rights to the poem are completely his.
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 10:44 PM UTC
When I pronounce the word Future,
the first syllable already belongs to the past.
When I pronounce the word Silence,
I destroy it.
When I pronounce the word Nothing,
I make something no non-being can hold.
Wisława Szymborska, translated from the Polish by S. Barańczak & C. Cavanagh
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 4:57 PM UTC
Living like a shadow
Being the odd one out
Remarkable yet unremembered
Floating in my daydreams
Fighting off reality
Forgetting my priorities
Getting carried away
By life's necessities
And blending into the crowd
At the oddest moments
When sticking out is beneficial
Jan 14, 2022
Jan 14, 2022 at 1:41 AM UTC
Bitten by a spider
at the oddest hour.
His whole body throbbing
with his own pulse.
All his insides are charred
but sleep is not a willing
companion.
The eternal coronation,
death as his champion.
Sweating through a thin veil
of details, begging the question,
begging for recognition,
even the most elegant logic is an ugly thing.
In delirium, he tears his journal apart-
that's how an artist starts.
He is ugly,
he is crude,
he drank some poison
down in Greenwood.
he becomes quite faint
when struck with the
quaint notion:
that even the heavy
handed blacksmith
has finesse, and feeling too.
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 9:50 PM UTC
I can still recall
The oddest things
About our embraces
The warmth of her blotchy cheeks;
Swollen like water balloons
Beneath my fingers
The scent of tears and perfume
A salty fume of womanhood
Swirling in my nostrils
The clogged up tone of her congested sniffles
Vaguely feminine snorts
Bouncing around my ears
I can still recall
The oddest things
About our embraces
They were all
So
Sad
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 11:43 PM UTC
I'm not 100 percent positive
But I think my girlfriend is a spy
You might be wondering where I got this idea from
Sit back and I'll explain to you why
She gets calls on her cell phone at the oddest of hours
Tells me she must take this call because it is urgent
Whispers into the receiver, then walks out of the room
So I'm pretty sure she's a secret agent
I ask her out for dinner on the weekends
She tells me there's no way, she just can't
I figure she must be going on a secret mission
Perhaps somewhere in the South of France
I've had plenty of friends tell me they've seen her
Out at different times with different guys
She'd better be careful or she'll blow her cover
As a top notch international spy
Out of curiosity one day I did follow her
When I called and she didn't call back
I saw her at the mall with another man
Whom I assume is her main contact
They were at a corner table in the food court
Sitting together up close face to face
They didn't want any other spy's hearing their secrets
As they make for us this world a safer place
Now that you've heard all the evidence
You now know the reason why
I've come to the only conclusion
That my girlfriend is a spy
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 4:31 PM UTC
My uncle.
Who I love.
Is a peculiar man.
He once told me of the oddest conspiracy.
He said that the reason major governments of the earth don't fight each other constantly, is because the already do.
In space.
Each country has a ship.
Armed and maned to the teeth.
And they just shoot at each other.
Everyday.
And that's how all of the big national disputes were settled.
Star Trek style.
So when I heard this, I tossed my thoughts into the atmosphere.
Letting them swirl and shine among the satellites.
What did they do, up there?
Sitting in their spaceships.
Thinking of each other.
Wondering why they all were stuck in tin can time bombs.
Surrounded by the icy void.
Waiting for their ships to be shot out of the sky.
The debris to fall through children's dreams and shooting stars.
Spitting sparks like ancient dragons.
And these people wait for that.
Hidden from sight and mind.
Only just to shoot at each other.
Over a border, a mans wish, or a loaf of bread.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC
Google someone
on the Good Internet
it could make you smile.
Like your shy neighbor
the one who doesn’t talk much
not a lot of eye contact
at the mailbox
the one who practices his violin
at the oddest hours.
Google him and you discover
he has a glass eye
result of his heroism
in the Na Trang Valley Massacre in Nam
he has an M.A. degree in divinity
his wife and children died in a housefire
when he was away on a business trip
some years ago
and all you can do
in your shameful paranoid way
is google him
to find the dirt
but there isn’t any
and you wish
there was something
sweet about you
on the Good internet.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 7:47 AM UTC
every time i have to list one best friend, you're the one.
i've got others, yes. a couple or three.
but you're the one i always think of.
from back in gym class,
to sneaking out at night to the barn,
[you threw a toad at my face.]
to watching ****** horror movies,
to going to the outer banks,
to staying in grandy one weekend,
[just us and our vices for two and a half days]
to spitting on your barn floor just because,
to relying on luck to keep us from the cops.
from watching you get your tongue pierced,
to you coming with me to get all of mine.
from dealing with that boyfriend of yours,
to dealing with...the lack of mine.
from our future moving out plans,
to our rocky horror plans tonight.
that's us.
you're my number one, through and through.
you knew i didn't want to 'talk about it',
back in august,
you just brought me over and let me stand around.
let me listen to you talk.
that's the best thing anyone did,
that simple distraction was all i needed.
it certainly doesn't help that everyone thinks we're sisters,
our love lives parallel in the oddest ways,
and we just have too much fun together.
i can't put into words what you've done for me.
i mean it, when i tell you, "love youuuuu!"
i mean it, when i say, "best friend."
i do, shelby lynn. i do.
Apr 7, 2011
Apr 7, 2011 at 5:58 PM UTC
found she had broken in
was naked but for my dress shirt
unbuttoned but covering her shoulders
on my bed
reading my copy of Dostoevsky
I had the NY Times in my hand
the cigarette burnt down
my finger like a
reminder to wake up
let it burn
pain had left my being
blonde and sweet , not the blonde of Marilyn
Bridgette but the sanctified
sweet of Faye Dunaway , smoke lingered
wafted tobacco and burnt flesh simmering
told her, anytime, didn't expect this,
she paid me no attention acted
or read like she was engrossed
in the greatest thoughts of social reform
or the realisms of crime and punishments
maybe debating socialism and capitalism
there naked in my shirt
taking the novelists cue I undressed
laid down acting casual worldly when
she asked me the oddest question
you like Dostoevsky
we debated the rest of the day week
night dark and days bright
she left such a sweet scent
on my shirt
the window she busted has never
been fixed
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 6:30 AM UTC
Annoying Noises
waking up hearing voices
inside my deep dark mind
"where are the dead bodies
where is the hole
where is the shovel
did you **** all theses people"
could I have done such a thing
"I'll ask you again
where are the dead bodies
where is the hole
where is the shovel
did you **** all these people"
I can't turn off theses annoying noises,
why is it me hearing voices
"I'll ask you again
where are the dead bodies
where is the hole
where is the shovel
did you **** all these people"
since these voices
won't go away
then I'll make them
go away
The Trailer Park Paper
"two bodies found dead today
from what seems to be a double suicide
man shot with shotgun in mouth
woman found in bed with an empty pill bottle
lying right next to her
the oddest part of this case,
was a skipping album at a certain strange part"
"I'll ask you again
where are the dead bodies
where is the hole
where is the shovel
did you **** all these people"
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 12:11 PM UTC
I find pleasure in the smallest of things
in the glass like wings that a cicada brings
and from the small brown bird in springtime when she sings
I am amazed at the little things
like the slate blue sails of a boat in flight
and a moth who flies into the bright light
I fall in love on a daily basis with feathers I find in the oddest of places
and the ocean spray that splashes the faces
of giggling people in boats at the races
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 7:13 AM UTC
There was the oddest bloke
Who had a bath in Coke
He licked himself dry
And with a little cry
He exploded in a cloud of smoke.
Jul 8, 2012
Jul 8, 2012 at 6:58 AM UTC
Today I met four horsemen, riding on a trail
One looked hungry, one looked ill, and one looked deathly pale
The last one looked so angry, he had war within his eyes
They reigned their steeds, came to a stop, and took me by surprise
"The end is nigh mere mortal" the pale one rasped at me
"Your Lord has come, the Earth is done, there's nowhere you can flee!"
I pondered for a moment, and then a thought occurred
"It’s student rag week, right?" I said, "You all look quite absurd!"
I went on with my journey, and met another stranger
Dressed in a robe, with sandalled feet, he seemed to pose no danger
He raised his hands with palms outstretched, and I observed old scars
Above his head, the oddest thing, a halo bright as stars
"Prepare yourself for Judgment" proclaimed he in a lofty voice
He opened a book, took a quick look, then said *"Oh right, you're nice!
First one today"* he muttered, "Most go the other way"
"Of course they do!" I forced a smile, and slowly backed away
I bade farewell politely, and he hurriedly wandered on
"It takes all sorts", I mused, feeling glad that he had gone
I resumed my journey eagerly, looking forward to it's end
And all was good, right up until, I went around a bend
The path was blocked with walking dead, flesh hanging from their bones
The younger ones, despite their state, were using mobile phones!
One told me that his name was Elvis, and he used to be a singer
But he stared at me, so hungrily, that I didn't dare to linger
When finally I made it home, I grabbed a bottle of *****
I sat right down, switched on TV, and flicked onto the news
"Breaking Story! The end is here, The Apocalypse has begun!"
The reporter seemed excited, and was waving round a gun
Shots rang out and sirens wailed, not all of them on TV
I heard commotion, in the street, a bit too close for me
I took a glug of whisky, and it tasted mighty fine
"If the world was going to end", I said, "I'm sure there'd be a sign ..."
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 7:34 PM UTC
Just imagine?
If legal segregation came back in modern time?
Or placed on the legislature?
Just think of the uproar?
If that race in love with guns now?
They would be extremely in love with them more.
It just wouldn't go over.
This group that treated like second class by some.
Would put that group in place?
They have to face facts?
Just like the protest of Black Live Matters?
Where?
We see many refusing to acknowledge their truth that minorities quick to get killed by officers appearing like Bull Connor squad.
And just like logic offered about slaves seeking their freedom.
You find that race giving oddest reasons for in place segregation.
We aware that many hard workers in society?
Never been many executives with the suits?
And we can paint a picture of this various group.
Segregation, never served an honest purpose?
Just for intimidation fear.
And now that one group facing the blunt reality of life.
They speak of their rage and stupidity that many minorities surpassing them.
We see this with many politicians seeking votes?
They know when to manipulate this group simply for votes.
It's not the Latinos taking their jobs?
Or anything any African Americans have done.
It just they trying to rule once more.
And finding many less fortunate races not going.
So legal segregation just their dream.
Jun 24, 2019
Jun 24, 2019 at 4:08 PM UTC
They called me a temptress
Rolling the dessert cart out always makes people say the oddest thing
You’re a temptress
I always assumed they were talking about the desserts
The ones I’ve repeated so many times I can rattle them off from memory without the cart in front of me
I never thought they’d be talking about me
I am dessert
I am cake
Not chocolate, I’m not dark enough to be called by such an unimaginative and racist name
Cheesecake
White and pale because I’d never dare to tan without bottoms on
Light brown just around the edges because I can’t help if those bottoms happen to be a little cheeky
Cake for the way my *** looks in the leggings I wear nearly everyday
Cake because I know you’re watching when I tip myself into the freezer to scoop ice cream
Cake for the way the girls tap it as they go by
I am cheesecake
I have creme brûlée skin
Light until I lay out in the sun, under the broiler
Browned to perfection
Covered in darker spots where the heat was too intense, freckles dancing across my cheeks
I am a creme brûlée
I have a cobbler mouth
Pink, nearly red lips
A perfect circle right before I kiss
Sweet and supple like a raspberry
Tangy like a cranberry if I bite
(I have yet to find a boy that doesn’t enjoy that)
Words, sticky sweet, spill out like melted ice cream
I am a cobbler
I have key lime eyes
The centers lined with pumpkin
Sometimes they turn blueberry
It changes with the seasons
(The pies are seasonal too)
I have pie eyes
Maybe when they said temptress they were talking about me
Cake that could be called chocolate when it’s wrapped in black dress pants
Creme brûlée skin that’s all covered up but my face and my hands
But see, see my freckles
See how they cover every inch of me
Cobbler mouth asking if there’s anything else you may want
If you want something to drink with that
My voice dripping out two pitches higher, sticky sweet
Blueberry eyes, almost always, the blue of my shirt brings it out
Even if I’ve only seen that flavor served once
Maybe I am dessert
Dessert
The first thing that gets dropped
Always last choice
Those who say they’ll save room still start with a main course
Dessert
Only eaten if your main course didn’t fill you up, wasn’t satisfying enough for you
Only touched if your girlfriend or your last **** or your lonely aren’t satisfying enough for you
Dessert
If you’re full would you like one to go
Keep me in your pocket, save me for another day
I’ll wait, I don’t know how not to
Dessert
They always called me a temptress
I always assumed they were taking about the desserts
I am dessert
Maybe they were talking about me
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 11:59 PM UTC