"originality" poems
“Moby **** Herman Melville
<•>
~for the lost at sea~
after a year of saltwater absence and abstinence,
return to the island caught between two land forks
surrounded by river-heading flows
bound for the ocean great joining
the Atlantic welcomes the fresh water fools,
bringing with them hopefully, but hopeless gifts of obeisances,
peace-offerings endeavoring to keep their infinite souls
sea accepts them then drowns the
warm newcomers in the unaccustomed
deep cold salinity, which
sometimes erodes
sometimes preserving
their former freshwater cold originality
I’m called to depart my beach shoreline unarmed,
no kayak, sunfish or glass bottomed boat needed,
walk on water and my toes, ten eyes to see the bottom,
no depth perception limitation,
reading the floor’s topography,
millions of minion’s stories infinite,
many Munch screaming
god’s foot, heavy upon my shoulders,
a daytime travel guide, hired for me,
not a friendly travel companion, nope,
God a pusher showing off a drug called deep water salvation,
designated for the masses, can handle large parties
my in-camera brain eyes,
record everything for playback -
the lost and unburied, bone crossword puzzles
walk shore to ship, on soles to souls,
is this my new-summer nature welcome back greeting?
puzzled at the awesomeness of vastness,
conclude this clarification for me of the occluded-deep,
is a stern reminder of my insignificant existence,
my requirement to walk humbly, spare my sin of vanity, and
forgive my trespasses upon the lives of others
perhaps then the infinite of my soul perchance restored,
older visions clarified and future poems
will write themselves
and sea to it my predecessors
be better remembered
Memorial Day 2018
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 11:53 AM UTC
Time for some originality methinks
this copy paste world of ours, well it stinks
sincerity became a thing of the past
as people got lazy and obsessed with fast
No time for honesty bout the way that you feel
originality gone at the turn of a wheel
a right click here and a left click there
and we use others words to show that we care
Well enough of being lazy and thoughtless I say
Lets go back and do things the old fashioned way
Where you said what you meant
and you meant what you said
And took time to write words
you knew would be read
Its hard to wrap emails in ribbons and bows
As for Facebook and messenger
who knows where that goes
So give me some paper and a pen every time
And I will sit down and think,
and then write you a line
My words may make you smile
and they may make you weep
But I choose them with care
to build something you'll keep.
Apr 22, 2010
Apr 22, 2010 at 6:38 PM UTC
She’s prettier , she’s skinner , she’s thinner , she’s more flawless, she’s this she’s that she’s everything that I can’t ever be… Alright stop! why are you comparing yourself to someone else out there? You’re beautiful in your own way and you better believe it. I know somewhere out there someone is going to make you believe it one day. Don’t be insecure about yourself because everyone is different and face the fact that they aren’t you. Stop comparing yourself and believe that the person in the mirror you see everyday is beautiful. There shouldn’t be a thing you should change, appreciate what you look like because the more you start to believe it the less insecure you’ll start being. Don’t let someone else’s words bring you down. They can tell you that you’re ugly or fat or anything negative. Just drop it because they’re only trying to bring you down and make you feel even more insecure. You should always be the bigger person and ignore it because once you start listening the more you’ll feel insecure and you’ll always start to believe it. God made everyone differently and you came out that way now stop trying to change the originality of who you are from what society wants you to be looking like. You’ll always be beautiful the way you are.
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 4:35 AM UTC
Hello friends & wishing you all a very
An auspicious & prosperous DIWALI.
"You aim always for a new glow for a whole year;
Hard work glows your day for the time
Likewise Light is a glowing nature
It is a hope, faith and light shine in your life,
A Candle glows for an hour;
Matchstick glows for a few seconds;
But a wish glows forever.
Here is my wish for a glowing Diwali and glowing year till next time....
..............HAPPY DIWALI...............
On this auspicious festival of Diwali
I wish & pray that, may everyone Life filled with a Sparking color of happiness & Light of Prosperity. May this world & people of this country live with a calmness & Fortune for love.
Diwali is one of my favorite festival & it is also the festival of light where houses are decorated with candles & many more things, making it a perfect festival, it is also one of the most beautiful festivals celebrated around the world through Indian culture, it seen a metaphor instincts for self-improvement and as well representing for a new beginnings. It involves a strong belief in giving to people in need, and performing every ritual by traditionally, a time for new clothes to be worn & Indian sweets is seen as a varieties of colours and flavours are eaten during the celebrations.
So wish you a happy diwali & May this writing platform of hellopoetry continues as the same mark of living, an originality of making a talent into a magic light.
Again, like every festival I use to mention to invite from my heart to all this cheerful people so I am inviting everyone to be a part of Indian festivals and culture... everyone is most welcome to India..
India is Country to experience different Tradition, with a beauty of joy, beauty of passion, beauty of love , beauty of art & beauty of everything that you have never experienced before...
reality is the real life.. ....
Thank-you..
-Chirayu!.
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 9:45 PM UTC
Hello friends & wishing you a very auspicious & prosperous DIWALI..
..............HAPPY DIWALI...............
On this auspicious festival of Diwali i wish & pray that, may everyone Life filled with a Sparking colors of the happiness & Light of Prosperity. May this world & people of this country live with a calmness & Fortune of love.
Diwali is one of my favorite festival & it is also the festival of light were houses are decorated with candles & it is one of the most beautiful festivals in Indian culture, coincides with Hindu New Year and is seen as a metaphor for self-improvement and as representing new beginnings. It involves a strong belief in giving to people in need, and is also traditionally a time for new clothes to be worn & Indian sweets is a variety of colours and flavours are eaten during the celebrations....May this writing platform of Lettrs continues as the same of making originality of marking a talent into a magic light... so I am inviting everyone to be a part of Indian festivals and culture... everyone are most welcomed to India..India is Country of Carnival with different Tradition, different culture , with beauty of joy, beauty of passion, beauty of love , beauty of art & beauty of everything that you have never experienced before... ....Thank-you..
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 7:14 AM UTC
What a beautiful thing it is !
A Canvas that speaks a lot
Wow ! an artist’s soul
That try to speak a lot
From the window of canvas
To the doors of sky
Till the depth of ocean
In the romancing moonlight
And spreading its vastness
As the fragrance
Of night blooms
Until the sunrise
Again from morning dews
To chirping birds
Snowy mountains
To windy breeze
A moving cloud
And even from rain to rainbow
All is possible
With the tip of a brush
Is a marvellous thing
That depicts an artist’s heart
An art is a creation
Of an artist
Which is made
In different colours
With different paints
And in different shades
But all in one canvas
Makes an effective painting
Which can never die
As an artist’s soul
That is lightning forever
As a magical lantern
Some paintings speaks a lot
Like stories to us
When it starts speaking
The whole image depicts
It’s originality
As an original photo
Of some place
And that really can lost us
Somewhere as in the canvas
Even eyes of a portrait
Speaks a lot
When we stare in that eyes
It seems as the person is gazing
As a living person is standing in front of us
Which feels like a real photo
And it really makes
An unbelievable painting
Which is like giving life
To the non living thing
Within the canvas
By an artist
Or like a flower bloomed
In the hands of an artist
Canvas that speaks a lot
Really shows true heart
Of an artist’s creation
A beautiful creation
By ones own hands
Mesmerise all of us
With no time
Like an original picture
Taken with a camera
Of high resolution
Is something to adore
With the hearts of love
Canvas that speaks a lot
Is a graceful creation
That makes us wonder
Which is a miracle
In hands of an artist
That remains its effect
For life time
And that make
An artist
Different from others
Canvas that speaks a lot
Is a creation of art
When an artist starts
To move his hand on canvas
It starts to speak a lot
From the sincerity of love
To the beauty of a nature
Sparkling eyes of a human
And the depth of a sea
All that beautiful creation
Of Godly things
Is once more painted
With the help of an artist’s brush
Is something that speaks
For a lifetime
With thousands of words
In one image
Is an exemplary
Creation of humane
In a canvas
Canvas that speaks a lot
With voice of heart
Beats in every hearts
And in all eras
An artist is like a lantern
That lightens other lights
And a canvas is a mirror
Of an artist’s soul
That reflects the lights
For lifetime
Which was once lit
By an artist
With a great deal
Who was owned
By an eloquent soul.
Dec 8, 2019
Dec 8, 2019 at 2:21 AM UTC
I am nature
I am open and wild and free
I am the wind rushing down canyons and the hollering in banyans
I am a bird that sings
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things
I am civilization.
The trapped, fluorescent lighting in a library basement.
The cake walks and small talks and forced conversation.
I am the beeps and hums and dirt on bums.
I’m the faraway cell phone that rings.
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things.
I am exuberance
A child giggling loud sounds of joy
Puzzle completers and Christmas toys
Smiles and laughs and leaves of grass
The casino machine that dings
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things
I am anger.
Tears, scares, and not fighting fair.
I am the red in your eyes as you cry.
I am a ghoul that comes out in the night.
I am the cut that won’t cease to sting.
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things.
I am ideas
Originality through and through
Creations of my own evolve in my mind
Great sinewy thoughts searching for actions to bind
Mister Cleans and Daedalus wings
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things
I am silence.
Quiet. Tight. Composure.
Open. Weary. Closure.
I am the stillness of being.
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things.*
I am alive
I set Rube Goldberg machines into action
I contemplate, gravitate, and try not to hate
I breathe and I heave and I believe
I use my eyes to see
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things
I am dead.
I’m a sideshow reflection of the man I could be.
I am lazy cold and clammy.
Hopefully I can get my heart beating again.
Then I could be me, molecules upon cells upon bones against things
Mar 20, 2012
Mar 20, 2012 at 12:05 AM UTC
They say copying is the highest form of flattery
but i think its because you have no originality
always replicating what i do
is it just me
is there any thoughts inside of you
everything you do
is because of someone else
can you really not see it
how can't you tell
we all see right through it
open your eyes and you will too
stop trying to be me
and start being you
copy cat copy cat
annoying little copy rat
copy cat copy cat
mindless spineless poison trap
copy cat copy cat
shady lame copy rat
copy cat copy cat
do you have a brain in tact
Now don't get me wrong i don't think i'm anything that great
not trying to be rude this is not something i want to debate
so now do you get the whole picture
why be a sheep
when you can bite just like a wolf
you've got so much to offer so why be another
a whole entire world out there
so why even care
just be the one you are
with nothing to loose you'll go so far
i know there's more to you
parts i can't see through
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
Ignorance is bliss,
really,
more like Stupidity.
an aspect,
benefiting a person,
like cold sore,
irritating,
an annoyance,
peevish to your life.
Face it, honey,
you’re as fake,
as your personality.
You’re plastic,
I could melt you,
if I truly desired,
setting a lighted match,
to your artificial body.
Please, take some advice,
lay off the make-up,
you look like a clown,
maybe a **********
Tanning is acceptable,
but looking dark orange,
is outrageous.
There is no need to look,
like you just rolled in bag of Doritos,
that’s Snooki’s Job.
There is more to life,
besides appearances,
waking up like P. Diddy,
sweet heart, don’t like be Kesha,
it’s ******
Partying is enjoyable,
but not necessary every night,
consisting of drinking,
frat boys, jocks, pretty boys,
saying “oh my god”,
or “I broke a nail”,
and precarious ***
I know you were raised with Barbies,
but you don’t have to be one.
Barbie is a piece of plastic,
containing no originality,
with an unfeasible body,
and isn’t real,
much like yourself.
Stop with the act,
no one wants to be,
around a person,
who is often intoxicated,
narcissistic,
and a ditzy *****
You can be a girly girl,
but be genuine,
stop being a follower,
if everyone jumps off a bridge,
then you’ll be splattered,
upon the ground with them,
no use to anyone.
My words are probably useless,
going right through the holes,
of yours ears,
attached to the plastic head of yours.
Anyways, I tried,
as excruciating as it was,
to reach out to you,
who are living this life,
of alleged greatness,
more like a travesty,
in my eyes.
Hopefully, you’ll change,
wake up from this social stupor,
become yourself,
regain your individuality,
and cease to be,
a Barbie doll.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 2:54 PM UTC
Are there lawyers in heaven?
who sells fish in a Seven-Eleven?
How do you prove guilt or innocence,
with the devil conspicuous in his absence?
Are there barbers or pastors in Heaven?
Until the End-of-Days, it is unproven;
If we are to do some speculation,
Better to do more charitable donations.
But one profession, I quite understand,
whether in hell or God's Disneyland,
that will not make a good living;
that's doing double entry accounting.
So where do accountants go, you ask;
now you really need an oxygen mask;
In hell, in heaven, or anywhere you look,
there's just no place to cook the books.
Someone may now ask about exorcists,
I hate to answer, but I just can't resist;
ask your grandma or grandpa,
they are in a real big dilemma.
In heaven, no demons to trouble you,
In hell, there are more than quite a few;
In heaven, all are good, so no originality,
In hell, who works for nothing for Eternity?
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 5:09 AM UTC
**I peer at the world
And all I see is
possible impossibilities
fictional realities
counterfeit originality
impotent functionality
locomotive staticity,
and rigid elasticity
beside Beastie humanity...**
*I look at the world
and all there's
are peaceful wars
Less Mores
widely locked doors
criminal laws
a stinking rose
and fragrant "choos"
I look at the world
and sadly I see all those...
I even see stepped on toes
on sand-less shores...*
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 7:35 AM UTC
What I bring to the table is Sensitivity, Sincerity, Compassion,
Honesty and Respect
What I bring to the table is Intelligence, Good Grace and Humour,
Understanding and Confidence
What I bring to the table is Generosity in spirit and Deeds, Calmness and Reflection, Strength, Bravery and Courage
What I bring to the table is a Caring Soul, a Good Heart and Faith,
Loyalty and Truthfulness and Trust
What I bring to the table is Versatility, Competence and Originality
What I bring to the table is the Love of Romeo and Real Passion
unrivalled..........
So tell me why I am being GREEDY if I say I do not care if I eat alone!
Am I to blame if some chose not to see
Am I to blame if stunted pride and ego blinds
Am I to blame if stupidity and foolishness abound
Am I to blame if complexes and insecurities assail some
Am I to blame if dishonesty and fickleness is more appealing
Am I to blame if envy and jealousy blind eyes and minds in others
Am I to blame if they term caring and attentive as clingy
Am I to blame if they term Intelligence and Honesty as arrogance
Am I to blame if they term Strength, Bravery and Courage as Male
Chauvanism
Am I to blame if they term Intelligence Competence and originality
as Controlling
Am I to blame when they lack the Ability to look honestly and truthfully within themselves before pointing their fingers
So tell me why I am being GREEDY if I say I do not care if I eat alone
So tell me why I am being GREEDY if I say I do not care if I eat alone
at my table..........
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 3:33 PM UTC
It is a growing issue
that the amount of metaphors
never used before by the hand of man
is decreasing significantly
and needs to be addressed soon
because the number of poets appearing
out of nowhere
is increasing exponentially
because we all want to
compare our love to the wind
forever competing
for self entitled originality
and instant gratification
until all we have left in this world
is cliche
after cliche
after cliche.
Where will we find ourselves
when we find out
all the words are taken?
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 12:27 PM UTC
Art is either plagiarism or revolution,
but
we've all
heard that
before.
It feels like
originality is impossible
when only given
twenty-six
characters to work with,
and so
these are not
my thoughts,
this does not
belong to me,
I am
writing the same things
that all those before me have written.
We are either replicas or denying it.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 6:17 PM UTC
let's all revel in the duplicity
duplicate posts that lack authenticity
authentic thoughts fall to the simplicity
simple minds are guilty of complicity
a new origin of no originality
original thinking crushed by formality
formal rules lead to our commonality
common perspectives to lower our mentality
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 3:00 PM UTC
[PART ONE]
xeroxed, RT'd and plagiarized
so many times on so many blogs
tween blogs to republican blogs
to blogs in Russia and
blogs no one ever scrolls though...
original content is prey
but I have a warning for they:
overrated, over-shared
content aggregators beware
the lines you swap can
rot and ware
the World Wide Web
does not care.
[PART TWO]
original content
original contests
original continent
original controversy
original coordination between strangers
original calvary riding their connection into the battlefield of internet memes; creating nothing and sharing everything
[COMMENTARY]
original nothing, nowhere, nobody except facebook "Funny Vidoes!" & "Cool Quotes!". 'Like' pages whose sole originality lies within their own existence but nothing they share. They steal from the rest of the web and re-post what they find for out-of-the-loop troglodytes; often done so in inferior context and with no perspective. The 'refried beans' phenomenon, I call it. I find it fitting because 'refried beans' are a double misnomer. The name comes from 'frijoles refritos' - which means 'well-fried' not 'refried'. They are also never traditionally fried more than once. Yet the name sticks, it gets repeated, it gets re-shared and now that's what they are: refried beans. This phenomenon is why I believe art and all original content eventually become so over-shared and overrated that it's no longer interesting but irritating. These three parts of the poem "Original Content" are separated in abstract authorial presentation. The author has clearly expressed his dislike for the disjunct un-imagination of the internet and presents it as such.
[PART THREE]
original authors losing control of their audiences who believe they are the creators and the artist's art is somewhat shareable
original miscommunication between web 1.0 and web 2.0 reality
original alphabet they use to type on their keyboards
original grammar they learned in school
original money their gov't printed
original content they re-post
original refried beans
original content
orginal contet
ogrinal cotent
ognal ctt
oc
.
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 10:01 PM UTC
We were born into a world of shallow minds and deep disturbances of young millennials mimicking mindless mimes because we were told to stay in line but be yourself but follow me but think "originality."
A generation full of copycatting individuals with monotone mindsets mulling over social ladders and trends dictated by invisible monarchs of industry inviting and spoon feeding insecurities masked as improvements.
A generation spending more time pretending not to care than on passions stifled by our peer pressuring playmates who are all prescribed Vyvanse, Adderall, Ritalin for their incurable imaginations deemed "learning disabilities."
A generation of temporary friendships because no one can connect with each other but we can connect to the internet and chat with strangers and share thoughts, photos, and secrets to a virtual audience that loses interest in an entanglement of wires forming a noose around our sincerity.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 2:38 AM UTC
My hooded head casts a shadow
across the overflowing ashtray.
My exhaled smoke is silhouetted on the
handcrafted clay.
In the shape of an oyster,
painted with the colors of
rebellious 21st century youth:
Red. Gold. Green.
With a flare of "originality."
Breeze, light, cold
escorts winter across my
aged face and I see all that my life is:
Tar. Work. Tar. Tar. Sleep.
Work. Tar. Eat. Work. Tar.
Tar. Work. Eat. Work.
Drink coffee.
Tar.
Sleep.
Die.
Is this equation what I am
reduced to?
Simple formula, obsessive compulsive
DREAM.
The exponents of my life,
variables and names:
Tar. to the power of X.
Tar. to the power of M.
But exponents and powers
mean little to drowning men.
Can a man suffocate on
his own routine?
Can a man fashion a noose
from the fibers of his
"adult life?"
Look, Ma!
I'm all growed-up.
I have murdered adventure
and the youth that lives
inside it.
I snapped one too many thin branches,
fell through the thin ice,
and now I am addicted to solid ground.
I will stand on the banks,
watching the children
ice-skate around my ashtray
that overflows with
every "yesterday" and
half-smoked "this one time"
that comprise my
former life.
I am a grown-up now.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 2:01 AM UTC
This Distant Light
by Walid Khazindar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Bitterly cold,
winter clings to the naked trees.
If only you would free
the bright sparrows
from your fingertips
and release a smile―that shy, tentative smile―
from the imprisoned anguish I see.
Sing! Can we not sing
as if we were warm, hand-in-hand,
sheltered by shade from a sweltering sun?
Can you not always remain this way,
stoking the fire: more beautiful than expected, in reverie?
Darkness increases and we must remain vigilant
since this distant light is our sole consolation ...
this imperiled flame, which from the beginning
has constantly flickered,
in danger of going out.
Come to me, closer and closer.
I don't want to be able to tell my hand from yours.
And let's stay awake, lest the snow smother us.
Walid Khazindar was born in Gaza City. He is considered to be one of the very best Palestinian poets; his poetry has been said to be "characterized by metaphoric originality and a novel thematic approach unprecedented in Arabic poetry." He was awarded the first Palestine Prize for Poetry in 1997. Keywords/Tags: Arabic, translation, Arab, Palestine, Palestinian, Gaza, distant, light, flame, fire, autumn, winter, trees, birds, sparrows, fingertips, smile, sing, shade, sun, fire, darkness, hand, hands, snow
May 29, 2020
May 29, 2020 at 4:24 AM UTC
I want a relationship
That's anything but typical
One that defies cliches
And the definition of spontaneous
I want to be so in tune with another
To the point where it feels
As though a piece of me
Has crawled its way into him
Permanently
I want a relationship
That takes a detour from anything
Stereotypical
Such as dinner and a movie for a first date
To thrift store shopping
In the streets of Seattle
At dusk
While ending the night
At a warm cozy cafe
Situated on a quiet corner
In the shadows of the city
Where poetry is either
Softly spoken
Or bitterly belted out
From within one's own soul
On a rugged beaten-up stage
With nothing but a spotlight
Mic
And wooden stool
All while we sip on tea
(Because I don't like coffee)
And reminisce on the moments
Worth remembering
That were made that day together
In between fits of laughter
While secretly dreaming
About the future ones to be made
In the comfort of our minds
As we tightly grasp our warm mugs
In front of our lips
To hide the shy smiles
That dare to make an appearance
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC
Don't believe, for one second,
They'll hear nice things from me.
Were you dying for some kind of originality?
Well, let me just say,
It's still death by stupidity.
I'm telling you now,
I have nothing to say.
No one will hear of your generosity
(though we all benefitted);
Or your loyalty (of which I know firsthand);
Your discretion (none ever accused you of less).
I can't find the words. I'm speechless.
I warned you.
Stop smoking (both)
Stop drinking (especially every morning, afternoon and evening)
Stop being idle (and your posture *****
Stop being a lap dog (stop licking boots)
Stop this slippery slope of a lifestyle (there's ground below)
Stop taking bad advice.
You didn't Stop.
Now you're stopped.
That's all I have to say. Not much. Is it?
Jun 28, 2022
Jun 28, 2022 at 7:31 AM UTC
A writer writes.
A writer writes when he wants to
and when he doesn't.
A writer writes when he is inspired
and when he isn't.
A writer writes when the words are flowing from his mind like moisture off of a waterfall
and when the words are as scarce as republicans in Boston.
A writer writes because he is a writer,
not because there are people who will cheer him on when he is finished.
Sure, most writers dream of the cheers,
but a writer who will be a writer tomorrow
is one who writes even when the fans don’t show up.
A writer writes when everything looks hopeless
and when everything is falling into place.
A writer writes as a baby coohs.
A writer writes as a child plays.
A writer writes as a teenager dreams.
And a writer writes as a grownup worries.
A writer isn't a writer because he was chosen.
A writer writes because it is what he has chosen.
What does a writer write when the words are scarce?
Many scarce words.
What does a writer write when the words are abundant?
Words in abundance.
A writer doesn't wait for inspiration to hit,
he writes until inspiration catches up with him.
A writer doesn't write only when the muse is on duty,
he writes until the muse feels shamed and shows up.
A writer does not seek fame,
though fame often seeks writers.
A writer does not seek fortune,
though fortune too often seeks writers.
A writer doesn't seek anything but the satisfaction of writing,
for fame and fortune are fickle and writing only for them leads to many a blank page.
If I write something meaningful and it is not accepted,
is it no longer meaningful?
If I write words never before combined,
will people rave over my originality,
or complain about my lack of skill?
I am a writer and so it doesn't really matter.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
Dear, let me tenderize you like meat slap the silliness from heat bubbling bubbling bubbling to a boil.
Dear, let me technically arouse you by letting each word escape like exasperation, a depletion of the senses as every finger or pressure point examines your body from head-to-toe.
Dear, let me be no longer ashamed to touch or hold you close, let our breathing and beating submerge into higher thinking.
Incinerating flames that lick the grate.
Dear, let me dive deep into the crevice of your brain, all mushy grey matter, all the same.
Dear, let me slice it open and **** out all the juices, licking licking licking each curve and crevice,
My supple pink snake-like tongue reaching deeper deeper deeper into your mind.
Dear, let me sink into your reality, bit by bit, and piece by piece until cohesiveness lays its eggs inside the deep hole within you.
Dear, let me scratch the surface, trading dimes for dust and pecs for fluff.
Let me swim in the depths of your hectic personality.
Let me get to know you and all your originality.
Let me breathe in your values and slurp up your mature decisions.
Let me caress your life like two bulbous lights that hang from the existence of time.
Let me illuminate you, serenade you, quiz you while ********* your sense of self-esteem.
Dear, let me dream your dreams.
Dear, let me sink my ***** mind games into your wet social brain.
Don’t let the pressure get to you.
Passion may play a key part in the sway!
Let me suckle your sweet thoughts, play with your deriving initiatives.
Let me hold your ideas in the sweat of my thighs, burning with desire to see myself through cobalt eyes.
Let me feel the hot ***** of your ethical intentions and clear apparitions.
Let me analyze your prerogatives and **** with your distribution methods.
Dear, let me fiddle with your political views, (in the “other room”) and tickle your soft solutions on creating a world of doom.
Let me ****** your sustainability, flirt with your progressive mindset, and squeeze your plump ambitions until they burst!
Dear, let me push gently on your sensitive issues with your parents until they become less apparent.
Let me stroke your disagreements with foreign policy until they shriek with mercy!
Let me take you further and touch your blind senses to a pink paranoia of retentive defensive pretenses.
Let me cuddle and snuggle your sense of self-worth and pleasure your brain with mind-bending words.
Dear, let me dance with your intelligence
until we sink into oblivious mind-sex bliss…….
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC