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Composed on 01:33, 27/02/2017 using Hello Poetry's 'Words' algorithm. We still don't assume this means something.
Urmila Jan 2018
Within my soul I’ve found yours
Are they different?
They are one, they are one with the cosmos,
But our sub souls have a strong gravity acting on them,
A gravity unexplained by science,
A gravity we’ve chosen to name love,
Scientifically oxytocin creates this feeling, but oxytocin is a by product of this very gravity,
What we choose to believe is up to us
The sky is blue
Love is the fifth dimension
A day will come, far far away,
A collective surge of this gravity,
Will pull all creatures together,
There will be no anti love - no hunger no wars,
This dimension we only experienced in parts,
Will save us from our own destruction
erin barton Aug 2013
love is an illusion
it’s just oxytocin;
a chemical in the brain
it’s not real
but the
magnocellular neurosecretory cells
must be very good
at making it
and the posterior lobe
must be very good
at releasing it
into my blood
because it feels
pretty **** real
to me
Randi G Feb 2015
Little pieces of you flow through my veins among the plasma and blood cells. Bits of you bump into molecules of oxygen and they smile. My heart loves you. It pumps you through my ventricles and asks my body not to filter any of you out. My brain sends out constant oxytocin in your presence and my hippocampus keeps memories of your touch within easy reach. My body loves you just as much as I do.
Jessica Golich Sep 2014
A mermaid swimming through alluring and mysterious seas with locks agleam
Encountering luminous dreams as her heart whispers ancient melodic themes
A soul beaming with brilliance; if only she acknowledged the significance of her commendable resilience
Just like the moon, going through phases; mind aiming to make sense of the manifestations articulately awakened through these audacious vibrations
Strange yet undeniable phenomenon - elegantly enduring ambivalent sentiments and soaring through desolate temperaments
Pheromones and oxytocin; the potion creating the commotion between this interwoven devotion towards harmonic onward motion
GfS Jun 2015
I was like every other scientist
for love to me was just
a neural reaction to a certain
stimulus presented to an individual,
just a hormonal response of a person
to a certain situation laid out to them
Like a configuration of ****** muscle
tissue of one results to an increase
of serotonin, dopamine, and for some,
oxytocin of another
At times, one would affiliate this
****** muscle configuration
to that of pentahydroxyhexanal (sugar)
and that was discombobulating

I could not understand how
a smile becomes sweet

and yet at that moment
when I saw you smile
I immediately understood
that science
science cannot explain this

This feeling I have when I see you
Madeleine Toerne Feb 2014
Released in full.
Booming, thrashing, moving around, impenetrable.
Unrequited oxytocin.
Breathing out of mouth and nose.
Hormonal inspiration, and sensations that are insatiable.
Creativity blooming out of pleasurable pain.
Emphasis on the pain.
The unsatisfied, insatiable, pain.
Distracting and sickening but most of all,
more than anything,
freeing.
Allowing, and being.  
Human beings are ****** beings.
Brielle Byrne Jul 2014
This addiction 
has the worst withdrawals.
They leave you feeling
completely empty and 
alone
until you get
the next hit.

Shaking in anticipation,
preparing for the next fix.
Face forward, inhale.
Hear your heart race through my head.
Pounding anxiously,
waiting.

Finally,
the collision creates a moment of pure ecstasy
in my addict body.
Pressed in close
to confuse your heartbeat
and the motion of your lungs.

The worst withdrawls,
but the best high.
Dré Jul 2019
Oxytocin lovers is really all we are,
for how could we claim to love each other
when to love is to hold onto collapsing shells,
sustained only by the reliance upon one another.

I could only really love you whole,
for half-empty,
I would surely expect you to fill me
with all the things I fail to give myself.
Megan Joseph Sep 2019
love is a drug;
once you have a taste
you can't get enough.
maybe that's why I am afraid,
afraid to take a sip,
a bite,
a whiff,
of love.
i might overdose.
Graced Lightning Feb 2015
Text her. Send her messages that she won't know how to respond to. she'll read them and put her phone down. Stare at the read receipt for hours until you realize she's not picking the phone back up, she doesn't have anything to say to you.

Eat lots of chocolate. It has serotonin in it, the happy chemical. When you cuddle with her, your brain releases oxytocin. As long as you eat enough chocolate (and throw it up) you won't miss the oxytocin one bit.

Bleed. When she tells you that she cuts herself, cut deeper. This is guerrilla warfare now, and for every shot fired you must fire back.

Read your messages. Laugh at the nicknames she used. "Princess". "Baby". "Darlin". You were never her princess, never her baby. She was the child and you were merely her plaything.

Make art. Write dumb poetry about falling in and out of love, take photographs of your ****** thighs, paint a picture using only shades of red. Let her figure out what all these things mean.

Drink. Green tea, *****, over-priced lattes. Stay up all night crying. Wear stilettos. Sit in art museums all alone and wonder if being a starving artist is as much fun as it sounds. Take long showers and harmonize with your favorite songs through your tears. Use heavier, blacker eyeliner. Spend time on yourself. Adopt a cat. But most of all, remember this:

You can only love one person. Choose yourself
Graff1980 Jul 2015
There is a painful vacuum
Not a naked desire but still
A longing unfulfilled
That hollows the soul
It is why babies wail
Why old men wake crying
From beginning to end

We evolved to be touched
Skin on skin does not need to be
A ****** frenzy
A hug, a handshake
And pat on the back
Or a hand on his shoulder

The old man waits
The silence of isolation breaks
Oxytocin rushes through his system
Rebooting forgotten feelings
Restoring diminished capacities
It does not return all abilities
But enlivens deadened synapses
Yes it is very cerebral

Without it we wither away
Stewing in mental and physical decay
So, have you touched someone today?
kristian Feb 2021
your touch releases a chemical
that nurtures my brain
into thinking love is
what exists between
the two of us
but as dreadfull as the
night can feel
one touch does
not turn these bodies
into shadows
Coop Lee Mar 2014
i love/    the water.
gonna set my sights
on a sunny californian day.

thought of you,
oxytocin coursing the grooves of my brain.
and you/      in rising colors.

i love/     that.
that polyeurithmic song of again and again
our bodies.

dark parked cars.
neighborhood bedroom lights, on then off.
we continue/      in tongues.

i love/    the sand and scent
of life. of finding ourselves,
in ourselves.
previously published in the Camroc Press Review
http://www.camrocpressreview.com/2012/06/coop-lee.html
Anthony McKee May 2013
Is a chemical your body releases
When you hug someone for twenty seconds
Or more. It churns through the bloodstream, direct to the
Brain, as we hold to each other
Tightly, intertwined. You gain more trust
In the other person that way. Or so Wikipedia said.
I feel your hot breath sting below my cheek, the hairs
Prickle with something –
Something I wouldn’t want to disclose with you right now.

A dull roar from the pit of my stomach acknowledges itself:
‘Beastly, beastly’ I cry. I say it again. No one hears. I am left
In the shadows of my own dreams, dragged down by ribbons
That coil and recoil themselves around my ankles.
Just one more breath. Just one...

When we hug for twenty seconds or more
Is it released? Or is it something else?
Unto Him I am glued
my King of Prussia.
oxytocin- dopamine dilated
his pupils inside his blue green
as I entered Him, eons ago,
and never came out
He left but returned to my abode
for me or his Tequila.
I wanted to fall down crying beg him to take me with him to his heaven
Saving me from the hellish existence
But pain was greater then tears to convince HIM.
~~
Into his song YESTERDAY I merged 
and with one voice we often sing it
from that time on and on.
I became his song his moon and stars.
Although our fame sleeps
as beauty rested in a glass coffin;
with one leap across the gap
chaos that one butcher
with medical ignorant lies
opened up and three
 of us got evaporated.

With one song each in heart
we bridged that chasm.
In his art we thrive yet for long.

To Him to his heart of gold
I slowly walk to, his ancient bride.
Into our holy temple of forever,
straight to his heart and open arms
United in one single thought.
Our own Taj Majal
to reign we did plan to build.

Into mine eye pupils, grasping
all of his substance in
his light projecting all was received
My intergalactic time traveler.
Interchangeable we are.

In me he finds more than wisdom
he finds truth a true artist.
Our true love bittersweet.

Before Him I Joyfully crumble kneeling
As he embraces my swollen
teary eyes and merging me
Into to his heart and arms
I surrender grace, charm
and complete trust.
There!
In confining solitude
In the darkest of mine nights
My brightest sunny days
it's him I hear, love and seek.
I understand, worship
and adore him forever more
He's my true love! Luna tell Him!
That I love him the most.
~~~~~~
Mr. And Mrs Andrew
And Karijinbba.
All rights reserved
https://youtu.be/6JlGL88HG8c
i believe in a thing called love,

in toxic oxytocin tears and

jagged daggers of emotions

that hit hard and quick and deep

leaving lovers dazed and aroused

on kitchen tiles and sticky dance floors.

i do believe in love, i do,

in blood filled love potions

you put so much of yourself into it

that she just has to love you

she has to, she must,

and she does, she does,

ugly crying but ****,

for you, all for you,

please just hold on

she pleads -

mucus filled tears cascading down her face,

*******,

thighs,

pooling on the floor,

making the doctors both cringe with disgust and

simultaneously lean forward with interest

swaying in non-existent breeze -

and you die with your first kiss in your fist

and a piebald smile that splinters her inside forever

but i guess that isn't your fault, right?

i do believe in love, i do, i do,

in unfettered devotions

in ****-that-guy,

the quality relationship improvement show,

because you want to be a lover

but the guy ain't right

so just make him up

and use a real guy as his outside

you love him sanded, smoothed, buffed, painted

with rims and an inexplicable 48 inch lcd screen

you'll officially get hitched but don't cry

divorce is common and either way it doesn't matter

just look pretty and make sure to squint.

i do believe love, i do

i believe in

poisoning yourself for Juliet

rather than taking her pulse

to taking dear John's heart and

jumping on it happily

because you love him sooooo much

but like, the world has conspired against you,

not with guns and bombs and videotape

but with, like, freely made decisions,

peer pressure and jagermeister  

his blood makes pretty patterns on your

milk white thighs and i guess that

he sticks around for the show

oh boy, i believe in love, i do, that

6 and 9 aren't meant to be together

they just fit, that

there's no place for 'pure' in love cos it's all

pain and *** and spit

as for 'star crossed lovers'

the stars are always crossed

else eclipses would be boring and

each lost lover on a course

i do believe in love, i do,

in the sweetheart who lispes

licking earlobes and bottom lip biting

of metal snakes, happy fates

and piscean traits,

exuding high fructose glucose syrup

instead of saliva

so kiss them carefully or you'll

sugar high and sugar low

and sugar crash and burn

with every cosmic turn and

oh, i believe in love, lovers, oh i do, i do,

in the swirls of black and white that

play ying and yang

that kiss and grate and fornicate

forming a pasty grey

declaring that their grey is the

greyest, greatest, gayest grey

i do believe in love, i do,

bridezilla has destroyed new york in the

quest for the perfect dress as

otherwise her,

sorry,

their,

day will be ruined

milan and paris are shaking in their loius vuittons

praying they will be passed over

oh anna wintour,

just one more working day

please let the cake be next on it's list,

deliver us, oh lagerfeld, from

polyester blend shrouds in hideous off white,

amen.

but yeah,

i do believe in love, i do,

in philosophers that never tire

who'll be debating whether

kpattz, robsten, or my name for it,

sorry, them,

pattenwart,

really love each other

or are merely feeding off the media **** storm

to soothe their fragile bodies

and appease their shiny deities.

so yeah, i know what it involves

every ingredient labelled and shelved

sampled and sicked up and

given 5 star reviews on amazon

with words of advice

and i do believe in love.

i do.

oh, i do

so friends,

hold out your bleeding hearts

apply some anti-skeptic

your wounds will heal in 30 days

give or take a century.
Question Reality Jun 2015
The question isn’t
why we hurt ourselves,
but why you don’t.  
Are you so full
of happy chemicals
gushing sweet syrup
candy coming
in your mouth?
Lucky you
able to ignore
all the goings on
we sense
animal pain
repeated unreasonable
demands compulsory
convulsing guts requiring
repetition compulsions
over and above
all the *******
you shrug off.
*******
go ahead
your head
clear of the mud
our feet stick in
cut free
the only way
to escape,
the only way
to stick around.
Matthew Cuellar Jun 2010
Serotonin
Oxytocin
mu-2
Kappa
Melatonin
Acetylcholine
Dopamine
Ep­inephrine

Your love is a drug
your touch is an addiction
with pupil dilation
and body feeling free
I really do
even scientifically get high
when you are next to me

The hormones and pheromones
flow in through my nose
sink into my skin
and flow through
then out again
as we lay entwined
smelling
tasting
and touching each other.

To explain love
is both intangible
illogical
and unknown
while at the same time
a scientific
and physiological study
of the way our bodies interact.

True love
versus
lust and arousal
which is more addicting
and which is something worth predicting?

These must be the reasons
why when we are together
we cannot seem to think
we just want to sleep
we laugh about nothing
and smile for miles
we both go limp
and hard at the same time
sending us both on a ride
that leaves us flying high

I must say
that addiction runs in my family
and I am not sure
I will ever be able to give you up.
Worse than nicotine
caffeine
pills
and alcohol
Your love truly is a drug
and I will never leave you under the rug.

It is said that what is between two people,
is something no other will understand
even the most in depth conversation
can never explain
….and yet here I am
writing ten times a day
to try and convey this feeling to others
all in complete
pride and vain.
Written By Matthew Cuellar
Athena Pepe Nov 2015
Matter can not be created nor destroyed.
Is it the same with love? I wonder.
Perhaps just our love.

One does not create it,
rather falls into it,
proving it's existence.

Love is never lost,
changed only.

It is a chemical reaction,
serotonin
and oxytocin.

The dynamics of our love have shifted.
Once drowning in a volatile sea,
I was obsessed.

Then lying on a dry cracked bed
just as damaging.
Where did the love go?

Into you.
Osmosis of love
through parted lips,
gyrating hips.
In progress
The Black Beast Mar 2020
Candle 1

Part 1

A lonely standing candle
Burning slow and dancing free.
It flickers light across the room
On a naked, you and me.

Our eyes are locked together,
Shadows dancing everywhere.
I lightly graze your cheekbone
As I brush aside your hair.

Your lips quiver in waiting,
Sending shivers to your toes.
Your breath begins to quicken
As our distance starts to close.

Oxytocin fills your body
And you feel yourself set free
As you feel my lips make contact,
And surrender yours to me.

Part 2

Soft and warm as candlelight.
Moist as summer rain.
Our lips divide for one last breath
Before they join again.

A rush now overcomes us
As they merge together fast.
Our teeth, like little soldiers
As our tongues race to get past.

Your arms grab my head tightly
As they don't want me to leave.
My beard tickles you slightly
As our heads just bob and weave.

As the candle wick burns lower,
My lips lower down your skin.
First the neck and then the chest.
Let the escapade begin.

Part 3

With my lips above your cleavage
My hands graze along your side,
'Til they softly cup your *******,
Which are beautiful and wide.

You feel a soft massage start as
Your underboob is tight.
My lips stil slowly falling
'Til your ******* are in sight.

Your fingers knotted in my hair,
Your legs around my waist.
As my tongue begins to circle
Before getting its first taste.

A quiet moan as my lips kiss
And **** upon your nips.
A few more moments, then it's time
To move down to your hips.

Part 4

This candle, nearly finished,
So, the lower I must get.
Your leg lock loosens on me
As you start to pant and sweat.

It starts with long sweet kisses,
Then a jiggle of the ****.
As my arms lock round your thighs and
Pull my face right into it.

My fingers spread you open
As I take on one last breath.
And dive in to taste the sweet treat,
'Til ****** or death.

A loud moan and long shiver
As my tongue now finds its mark.
And so, the candle burns away,
With us breathless in the dark.



Candle 2

Part 1

You light a second candle
And announce that it's my turn.
That I should lay upon my back
And let this candle this burn.

This view of you beside the light,
I simply, cannot speak.
My eyes and jaw snap open as
My muscles all fall weak.

Half lit by waltzing ambers, while,
The shadows claim the rest.
Not to jump up now and take you
Is a difficult request.

My time to wait is over as
You join me on the floor.
Making sure that as you fall our
Yearning lips collide once more.

Part 2

The wave of kissing deepens.
Your hand scrapes me as it falls.
First, my chest, and then my abs,
And then it ends up on my *****.

Our mouths pay no attention to
What's happening below.
As your hand now grips my shaft and
Starts the rhythm off real slow.

My wood becomes pure iron as
I feel your tempo surge.
And my breath becomes more stuttered
As you hold me on the verge.

You kindly ease down on your pace
And pull from one last kiss.
And as your head gets lower down
I know I'll enjoy this.

Part 3

You lick along the shaft and then
You loosen up your grip,
As your eyes engage my member
And you spit upon the tip.

Your mouth now claims it's dinner
As you gobble up my taint
And the sudden ******* motion
Makes me start to feel all faint

The slurping noises louden as
Your neck goes to and fro
With each mouthful getting deeper
As you find a steady flow.

My fingers link around your hair.
Your throat feels my quick ******.
Then while you gag and catch your breath
You turn and then adjust

Part 4

Your lip service keeps coming
As you keep your stable pace.
The only difference now is that
You're sitting on my face.

My mouth now back to action as
My tongue begins to weave.
My hands spread your cheeks open so
My nose has space to breathe.

Your flattened ******* lay dormant as
Your **** now starts to twerk.
And you grind your **** pumpum
Over one ecstatic smirk.

Our need for foreplay, over,
As we finish on our snack,
As the candle wax runs empty and
The room returns to black



Candle 3

Part 1

I vanish in the darkness and
You roll onto your spine.
You hear the sound of a match strike,
And see the candle shine.

You see me jump towards you as
You spread your legs apart.
You giggle as you clearly see
I cannot wait to start.

Your lips begin to open as
My tip begins to breach.
My arms hold on your waist as you
Soon lose the skill of speech.

The steadfast pump continues with
No need to yet go fast.
Let us endure every moment
As we feel each second last.

Part 2

Your eagerness is striking as
You push me to the ground.
As you start the task of riding
And regain the gift of sound.

Your moaning echoes round us as
You struggle to pronounce,
Now your pace sets out to quicken
And your ******* commence to bounce.

As your stamina decreases you
Decide to turn about.
And you pull a full 180
Without letting me slip out.

You then continue bouncing with
More power in each ******.
As our minds are lost to time and
Our control is lost to lust.

Part 3

I sternly lean you forward then
I kneel behind your rear.
Quickly getting back to business
But I take it up a gear.

I hold on tightly with both hands.
You feel me deep inside.
As your ******* hang low and jiggle on
With each and every stride.

Your head now rests on your crossed arms.
No strength to hold your pose.
As the ramming still continues
In the dimly lit shadows.

Our breaths are long and staggered with
Our bodies drenched in sweat.
So I choose to change position as
It isn't over yet.

Part 4

I lift you to the wall and hold
My fingers to your throat,
As I resume the insertion
And your brain begins to float.

A gasp of air revives you as
My hand loosens its grip.
But an intense rush consumes you
As you start to twitch and drip.

I let you sit upon the floor
And offer out my *****.
You swiftly take it in your mouth
And suckle on this load.

A ****** overcomes me and
I blow inside your jaw.
As the light begins to flicker
And the candle burns no more.



Candle 4

Part 1

The final wick ignited as
Together, we lay still.
The time of action, over as
We both have had our fill.

Our ribcages expanding as
Our lungs almost break out.
Overworked and undernourished as
We rest from our workout.

Your head is resting on my arm,
Your eyes stare at my chest.
They mark out a new spot for you
To use as an armrest.

A light cascade of fingertips
Caress across my side
As your hand takes its position
At the place that you had eyed.

Part 2

I see your cheeky smile as
I feel your tickle too
As i let out a quick giggle
And then try to tickle you.

A quick under and over as
Your hand comes up to block
Within moments it is over
As our fingers clasp and lock.

A sudden change of vibe now as
Our pupils lock as one.
As we both, within this moment,
Have been hit with shock and stun.

Our heads both drawn together as
We again lose control.
As our lips are reunited
And our tongues start their patrol.

Part 3

With our bodies spent and aching
The smooch doesn't last too long
As you lift your head and smile at
The thought of nothing wrong

I can see the candle dancing as
Your eyes reflect its glow
As our hands continue clutching as
We both will not let go.

My brain records this moment that
I never will forget.
How beautiful you look right now
Still covered in your sweat.

You rest your head below my neck,
An ear upon my frame.
As you listen to my heartbeat
And you hear it call your name.

Part 4

Your eyelids start to weaken and
Your breaths start to extend
Soon you feel your body slipping
And your consciousness, transcend.

A light snore soon escapes you and
I cannot help but grin,
As I don't want to disturb you
As you sleep upon my skin.

My arm is dead and stinging so
I try to change my stance.
I slide it out as I try not
To wake you up by chance.

I cuddle up beside you as
The room goes void of light.
I kiss your hair and then I wish
Sweet dreams for you tonight.
September Jan 2014
chemical cocktail—
serotonin, dopamine, oxytocin, etcetera.
i'd write you a poem but i'd rather
spend my time in bed drinking
this chemical cocktail
with you.
It's all looking up love.
Dust Bowl Feb 2015
I watch my best friend's heart break  in front of me.
I watch the way her shoulders roll forward, as if she's hoping her spine will break through her skin.
She wants to be the one to stab her back this time.

And though I can hear the remains of her once perfect heart rattling through her ribcage,
Some part of her still won't let go.
I always rolled my eyes at her confidence, but now I'm left wondering where the hell it went.
She ******* knows better.
I know she does.

She asks me what she should do, and in that moment I want to grab her shoulders.  
I want to beg her.
Beg her not to do this to herself.
Tell her she deserves better.
**** that
I want to scream it at her.
So loud in her face that it echoes out her ears.
I want to yell "**** him"at the top of my lungs.
Because no matter what he says
No one will ever LOVE HER as much as SHE DOES.

I want to show her every scar on my body.
Lift the curtain on the childhood she didn't get to see on our play dates.  
I want to walk her through my memories,
let her feel the regret,
let her feel the way I screamed at 4 in the morning.
I want her to hear the sound of no one answering.

I want her to see loneliness through my eyes.
Feel the hard thud of settling.
To finally know what it's like to rot alone in a casket while you're breathing into your lover's neck.

I want her to know my pain,
in the hopes she will run as fast as she can in the opposite direction.
so that maybe she wont end up like me,
at least not yet.

So when she asks me what she should do,
I tell her
"I should've ran."
Dimension.
Compound medium (Neurotransmission [receptor])

Apotheon.
Aminergic media (Trace-Amines [TAAR])

Entheon.
Monoaminergic media (Monoamine Releasing Agents[MAO])

Ataraxia ex Entheogenesis.
Dimethytryptamine[rgic] particle[s] (Pituitary [DMT])

Psychedelion/Absurdia.
Glutamatergic medium (Recurrent Feedback Excitation [Classically 5-HT,2A])

Intracommuneon Macro.
Glutamate particle ([NMDA, AMPA, KAR])

Empathion.
Serotonin particle ([5-HT1-7]).

Horizon Cyclica.
Melatonin particle ([MT1-3])

Sympatheon/Parasympatheon.
Choline/Acetylcholine particle ([mAChRs, nAChRs])

Vigilaeon.
Histamine particle ([H1-4])

Logike.
Dopamine particle ([D1-4])

Stimulatus Minor.
Adenosine particle ([A1-3])

Entactus Major.
Adrenergic particles ([alpha1-2&beta1-3;])

Inhibitus Micro.
Glycine particle ([GlyR])

Intoxicatum Socialite.
gamma-Hydroxybutyric Acid particle ([GHB])

Antipathion.
Sigmaergic particulate ([sigma1&sigma2;])

Opus Opiatus .
Opioidergic particles ([OP1-4])

Aponia ex Apotheotelos.
Oxytocin particle (Pituitary [Hypothalamus-Hypophysis])

Inebriatus Dissociate.
gamma-Aminobutyric Acid particle ([GABA-A&B;]

Aetherion.
Cannabinoidergic particles ([CB1&2])
{[Che]M[icall]-Theory}
zebra Nov 2021
I've been reading a lot of nonsense about ****** objectification, like objectification is some kind of moral transgression. It's not, unless you want to indict others and yourself for thought crimes.
The term objectification is unfortunately mistaken as a stand in for ****** exploitation. 
 
 Objectification, for some, makes us feel attractive and desired, that we are beautiful, that we attract love and admiration, that we are recognized for our magnetism by strangers. That's certainly one of the motives for working out, watching the waistline and dressing well. 
For others it is about the understandable resistance of an unwanted approach, gaze, or suggestive body language, and while it may create within us a feeling of resistance, it is inherent in the human drama that has always been a part of us and, of course, these two experiences are not mutually exclusive.
But one thing objectification is not, is ****, manhandling, or ****** exploitation. We are all human beings, irrespective of our gender, ****** preferences or ****** sensibilities, with a commonality of desires for love and passion, and while we need to respect each other, we also don't do ourselves and others any favors by being to distressed or rabid about feeling another's heat for us.
Many of us are a great swooning web that wants to swallow and be swallowed in lust and love in search of a special someone, a kind of pre-objectification, for the purpose of future recognition.
****** OBJECTIFICATION is described as "the act of treating a person solely as an object of ****** desire". Objectification more broadly means treating a person as a commodity or an object, without regard to their personality or dignity:  sometimes referred to as "the zipless ****", a phrase coined by Erica Jong in the book "Fear of Flying". As described by her: -"It is a ****** encounter between strangers that has the swift compression of a dream and is seemingly free of all remorse and guilt. It is absolutely pure, there is no power game and it is free of ulterior motives". It has also been described as the perfect one night stand.
She cumed like a cinematic hissing pillow of flames
 
 The point of confusion is that the concept of objectification is mistaken for exploitation, and while sometimes associated, they are radically distinct from one another. Objectification is a DNA-driven biochemical prime directive to create .
Wetter than an otters pocket
 
****** EXPLOITATION: is a crime, meaning taking ****** advantage of another person without effective consent, and includes, without limitation, causing or attempting to cause the incapacitation of another person in order to gain a ****** advantage over such other person; causing the prostitution, or trafficking of another person; recording, photographing or transmitting identifiable images of private ****** activity or knowingly and intentionally exposing another person to a significant risk of a sexually transmitted infection.
OBJECTIFICATION: 
When we find another attractive, the brain has a tendency to flip out in a kind of eclipse as in a black out, like an electrical short perhaps, causing physical symptoms like heart rate increase, asinine nervous talking, sweaty palms, dry mouth, jumpy stomach, hot flashes, or more broadly speaking in a confused gibberish inspired by a spectacular entrancement of obsessive haywire desire. Objectification is the first door we walk though when we recognize our desire for another.
HYPOTHALMUS: part of the brain plays a masterful role in this, stimulating the production of the *** hormones testosterone and estrogen from the ****** and ovaries While these chemicals are often stereotyped as being "male" and "female," respectively, both play a role in men and women. As it turns out, testosterone increases libido in just about everyone. The effects are less pronounced with estrogen, but some women report being more sexually motivated around the time they ovulate, when estrogen levels are highest, which is why men tend to be more sexually aggressive. Women who are introduced to Testosterone for the purpose of body-building or gender change are often astonished by the huge uptick of libidonous desire.
Eeeeek, I could eat you like cherry pie !!!!!
"According to a team of scientists led by Dr. Helen Fisher at Rutgers, desire is broken down into three categories: lust, attraction, and attachment. Each one of these attributes is characterized by its own set of hormones activated by the brain"
LUST… Is driven primarily by Testosterone and Estrogen
ATTRTACTION… dopamine, norepinephrine, and serotonin motivate attraction
ATTACHMENT… oxytocin and vasopressin mediate attachment.
LOVE…When combined these three take us from us from pure objectification to the wholly trinity of love. ~~~~~
ARE YOU OBJECTIFYING ME
are you objectifying me?
i can bench 300 lbs. ten times
I'm a rich artist with a graduate degree
sun tanned
good teeth
driving a new BMW six series
with a rag top
big keen blue eyes
like a pretty girl
wavy hair
smooth *****
seven inch *****
nice ***
with the tender heart of a poet 
and a square jaw
want to wine and dine you
always smiling
bay *** kisses
silky tee shirts
Hawaiian 
luau vacations
or is it off to my castle 
in the 
Carpathians
impeccable manners
i smell like lavender coconut butter cream
live in a grand house
on 
beach front property
mucho bucks in the bank
nice as spice
you will never have to worry again
are you objectifying me?
GOOD
because I'm objectifying you
and id rather not hear anymore about it
lets not argue with nature
its like a rock falling
arguing with gravity
all the way down.

https://medium.com/@4zebra2u/******-objectification-the-lie-that-keeps-on-lying-fb79223d016f
JD Relznak Feb 2019
Oxytocin
She stayed with me the other night.
She slept in my bed
And I held her close.
The comfort of another
Little spoon.
Such sweetness.
I lay there half asleep
In case I fall asleep completely
And awake from a dream
That was never real.
She lights up my mind
And I’m afraid of losing that.
The terror of solitude.
Enough is enough isn’t it?
Wanting more is selfish.
But I do sometimes.
Body bypasses brain.
Broken. Bewildered. Bemused.
Addicted to a feeling?
A chemical process?
Action. Reaction. Repeat.
I just want to laugh and live.
I’m alive and dead inside.
She likes me enough.
But does she love me?
And what do I love?
The comfort of a feeling?
8-17-2018
Edward Coles Jun 2015
I remember the first time I *******,
I thought I was having a seizure-
or that I had somehow malfunctioned the Matrix
and had broken through
a fold of reality;
some white-noise ladder to greater plains,
throbbing, animal convulsions,
and a peak that only death
could overpower.

I remember crashing into shame
upon my return, versus the smug welcome
of oxytocin and my adult life;
not knowing to what extent
my ***** would dominate my mind;

you know, I cannot write a poem
without noticing my loneliness,
all the ******* I have left behind.
For that moment, in my New Found ******,
I was paralysed at the thought of a sober life,
and ever since that moment,
ever since that night,
I have been searching for those higher plains
in the lowest branches of myself.

Now I smoke my fill and redden my eyes
to bleed out old anxieties,
dry up old tears whilst softening scars
that I have collected over years
spent indoors, hiding from danger.
I remember the first time I *******,
how it came to me by accident,
a repeated motion of unknown emotions;
the undulations in her breath;
even now I still sit by myself,
and make love out of whatever is left.
(C) 26.05.2015
TC Oct 2014
capsized beating purple algorithm
for a heart,
cross-nit aspirations
still taste dirt on my teeth,
the mission creep of eager eyed poets,
carry a briefcase with my levi's --
close cut cigarette encounters,
all brick shantytown of a friendship
them lovelies run on endless,
it's starting to get cold outside.

restless sprites circle our *****
exhaling greek mythopoeics
every sure footed step.
alcoholism echoes in my skin
a depth charge i cannot cut out,
we all have broken thoughts here,
all have blind spots in our stomachs,
they read like a preacher's insecurities:
burly things we warm ourselves with,
the winters sting bitter.

something is wrong with me,
sinkhole of ambition and honey kisses,
all the great thinkers **** themselves,
it's the staunch lack of spotlight,
way the earth drips lackadaisical-like
we just call it a perfect orbit.
shake my hand and feel a goldilocks pulse
anemic shards of a cornered animal,
we cut right
to the bone
here, or so we tell ourselves.

and love is always the answer?
that sure footed toothy angel
so beautiful, it couldn't just be our
churlish blood,
frothing and calming,
frothing and calming,
electrons rise and fall to create light,
they still circle an untapped atrocity
perfectly,
like this, like it must be
god
or something close. something
stopping them from running, free
from bonds ionic or otherwise,
bare feet
beating the pavement until there are
no more stones to throw.

firstborns of the universe,
each star is a setting sun,
blinks staggered,
still grew us up quicker than most,
there is no aphrodisiac like heliocentrism.

them bones cut good
doped up on oxytocin,
those empty thoughts still rattling,
dig sharp -- then nice and numb.

and we cutthroat and glossy,
sharper than ever.

walk outside
smoke a cigarette
know how much you love her,
look at the stars --

it's ******* beautiful isn't it
Ila Jul 2023
I’m addicted to you
The very act of talking to you sends toxins through my brain
Some may call them oxytocin,
I call to poison

They say that talking to you sends an oxytocin rush to the brain,
The happy hormone
And with that I’m addicted.

Stuck with thoughts of you
A lasting memory coursing through my veins where you one ran through

Blood replaced by you

You sustain me

I don’t want to stop this addiction
It’s the only thing that keeps me living

It’s the finest act of self destruction
Choosing to get addicted to you

Knowing that I am and yet doing nothing to stop it

Breathing in the sweet toxins I’ve grown to love

You’ll be the death of me
As addiction takes its victim
So will you too
"Loving you was the greatest act of self destruction"
mûre Oct 2013
You were the greatest neuronal reorganization to ever happen,
of course I don't know who I am anymore.

What was plastic seems changed to stone in a gargoyle brain and beneath a microscope the shimmering glia spell out your name over and over in little green lights, fossilizing the neurons that say:

Him.

The earth has an edge. Nobody wants to fall off.

So call me Homer, because the gods themselves could not convince me my situation's a sphere there's far too much fear in this flattened plane that understands only primitive desires and just wants you near.

Everyone knows the romanced brain could be mistaken for a ******* addict's.

But perhaps if you look more closely into my eyes you will see my irises have turned stormy, that cyclones of energy are becoming patterns that scribble and scribble arcane suggestions for a new cartography. A new story. A new being.

Supplies needed:
One strong pencil.
Enough oxytocin to unlearn an addiction.

Enough optimism to overcome an affliction, my diction is code for the way you kissed me and it underlines every sentence like the way a voice rises when asking a question.

I have so many questions.

And even though the notion of who I will be when I am not you terrifies me, like Cathy and Heathcliff I will not be doomed to roam the moors, already I know there's endlessly more, and with or without you the best is yet to come. Just as they say. No, I don't know what's in store. But I think that's okay.

Turn golden, Grey Matter, light up 'til you burn.

Reboot.
Restart.
Rewire.

*Relearn.
A primitive attempt at beat poetry.
KD Miller Sep 2015
?
2/24/2015

  The magpies sang up in the rushes– it was the second hottest day of that winter, the gilded winter specific silver sun (for the light seems brass or golden other times) parading through the glass of cars and storefronts and painting people's faces as they looked through.

  This light seems to be extremely influential in visual memory– in fact, I daresay if it were not for the light I would not be writing this.
  Wallace Stevens stated plainly and succinctly once, sweetly ochre, that the origin of love is one often hotly pursued, but its fluttering fashion has so distinct a shade, at its birth, that one can immediately tell.

  And so speaking on the similar topic of distinct fluttering things, Adrienne Rich said herself that love is given much poetic attention- that lust, too, is a jewel. And is it not? It seems more at times that *** removed from love or emotional background is more interesting.

     After all, weren't princedoms in the past running to the brim with more ******* children than actual heirs? Weren't steppe chateaus and inconspicuous inns in the ravine crawling cities put in place for politicians' mistresses?

     Digressing, these were all thoughts sitting on my shelf sitting in the Mitsubishi backseat. "This space is... surprisingly big eh?" I remarked, puffing on a perique, and he'd laughed a little, and I didn't realize what I said, and so then I laughed more.

   Is it possible to separate the after *** phenomenon found in one stemming from casual circumstances from the one in an emotional commitment? The sweet subtleties came to the surface for the very first time since I'd last loved.

    What subtleties? It may sound puerile, but a particular kiss– we were discussing the epitome of innocence in nature and I said that the range is the only place I feel a riveting sense of Puritan complacency. With this he was so struck he kissed me- no more nor less than 3 seconds. It is a very particular kiss that cannot be described- not a ****** one, but one that proves humans are physically social animals.

   It took us both by surprise. This casual sense of security and flushed faces and closure that i hadn't felt with any other casual passive passing people, I felt, was closely tied to a platonic love and admiration.

  Dopamine and oxytocin are released upon ******. It goes back to my Freudian beliefs of human reproduction being exclusive Machiavellian. The reason that oxytocin is released specifically is because it bonds- in fact, it makes the partners want to physically stay together, so in the eyes of biology they can make more children.

  Funny how science works, and funny how that's the way things were programmed to be, however humans as insolent as always found aways around. But the body prevails and so the sense of casual confidence and closeness endured.

   There has never been an instance where I have been more sure that I am not romantically interested in a person, and yet I feel this platonic adoration as strong as my romantic feelings- of course there is something tweaked, if it wasn't, It wouldn't be platonic.
  I have to ask myself if platonic love challenges romantic love, or it is a completely different name all on itself. Or perhaps I  should consider that the reason I am looking at this so hazily was because of the silver winter light.
This is good writing, but a trash concept. Found in my drafts
Lust, attraction.. attachment.
I'm at the mercy of biochemistry.
Cupid with his arrow, shot my soul.
In a ridiculous fashion.

It makes no sense.. is it supposed to?
Flushes cheeks, my hearts racing.. hands are clammy.
Never met a soul I was close to.

The dopamine, could be the nicotine.
I'm blinded.. such a beautiful face
The adrenalin & serotonin coursing through my veins.
I find I'm tempted, temporarily insane.

Cupids star struck victim.
Vasopressin & oxytocin in my nervous system.
Tell me are these the drugs for long term commitment?

I just had to laugh.. in my experience, good things never last.
Like the ocean, my love for you was vast.
I guess cupid missed his shot
The time has come, your love went past.

Like*******, I'm sure there's a better way.
It was all just chemicals anyway..
**** love or whatever it means, Just to keep someone around who eventually leaves
Jenn Coke May 2016
Drug; he controls my brain.
He stirs an irresistible blend of chemicals in my body and convinces me to fall for him; he increases blood flow to the primitive areas of my brain and activates the circuits responsible for love and desire.

Adrenaline; he balances my stress.
He keeps my heart strong and healthy as thoughts of him and us dominate me and excite me, prompting me to get tachycardia (fast heart rate above 100 bpm) and my blood pressure to rise.

Dopamine; he regulates my focus.
He stimulates desire and triggers pleasure in me; I remember everything about us, then forget about my surroundings; I am motivated to please him, then I daydream and become unable to stay on task.

Serotonin; he stabilizes my mood.
He charms and induces me to perspire and relax, crave and distance him, lose and gain sleep, feel pain and relief, get happy and upset, and decrease and increase my immune system functions.

Medication; he forces my loveswept cells to go haywire.
He has cured my lovesickness, shooed away my regrets, helped me move on from my past, boosted my (self-)confidence, made me look forward to tomorrow, and offered me a ticket to bliss.

Oxytocin; he enables me to produce lovestruck hormones.
He affects my moral molecules as he attracts my undivided attention, pushes me to trust him, raises attachment and empathy, brings psychological stability, and encourages me to want to be closer to him.

Vasopressin; he causes me to secrete lovetastic chemicals.
He renders me monogamous and continues to have me hooked onto him; he makes me thirst for him, display amorous behavior, defend him and us, and maintain a strong partnership.
Attempt at playing around with love and science.
mûre Oct 2012
August nights are deceptive
in almost every way.

Chivalry may only go so far
two blocks in the dark.
Pausing in natural progression
cross-legged pavement within a 70s orange halo
to pet the neighborhood cat and to measure
the circumstances of the crossroads.
To measure up the exhausted opponents
of the oldest colosseum.

your frown spoke only negations
betrayed by your truth-or-dare eyes.
whites revealing an ancient wound,
irises concealing an urgency
that spread to me on the sidewalk
like purple chalk on the driveway
Or tendrils of ink in water.

I watch the Janus of your being
oscillate like glass
afraid of breaking itself.

The mouth that denies
is the mouth that calls its own bluff
Renouncing its resolve all over
damp trembling skin and
the high of oxytocin.

I'll... I'll see you again tomorrow?

August nights are deceptive
in almost every way.

— The End —