Who says you can't arm twist yourself into doing practically anything? Victoria Beckham — stylish mum, fashion empire czarina and social diva — took that notion a **** few notches higher as she posted a picture of herself on a sofa on a photo sharing site, leg extended high above her head at 90 degrees. The picture went viral immediately with a huge buzz around her impressive flexibility. She captioned the photo, 'It's amazing what you can do in culottes...those ballet classes are paying off!' (sic) It's not the first time she has showed off her moves. Last year in Singapore too, she kicked her stiletto-clad feet into a high pose as she relaxed on a sofa.

These celebs are advocating it, too...

Posh Spice aka Victoria isn't the only one. British actress Kelly Brook showed of her flexi *** on her sitcom show. Actresses like Reese Witherspoon and Jennifer Aniston have also taken up exercise regimens that stretch their bodies to the limit. Angelina Jolie's workouts are said to include the stability ball leg, squats and kickboxing, known build flexibility and balance. Jessica Biel is a firm follower of her five days a week cardio with strength training and pilates classes that have been credited with getting her such a lean ***. And Megan Fox ensures she is flexible, too.

Advantages of being stretchy

Being flexible and stretching out is not the realm of just gymnasts, athletes or swimmers. Anyone can and should be like that, for it's not just before starting a workout that one faces tight hamstrings and a sore back and neck. These are issues that plague those with sedentary jobs as well. Thus, flexibility can help in gym training and dealing with the stressors of everyday life. It also helps the body to heal. Increased flexibility also leads to improved posture. Once the earlier tightness goes away you start to sit right and walk better, too.

How Much?Stretching muscles twice a week is enough to build overall flexibility.

For anyone

A common myth is that being flexible will only work with younger people. It is actually for anyone of any age

Exercises to help you get there

Chest dumbbells: Lie flat on a bench, holding dumbbells in either hand. Now lift the dumbbells overhead together and slowly bring them back. This stretches the pectorals.

Abs stretch: Sit on the ground with the ankles facing each other and the knees flexed. Now put pressure on the knees and press them to make them touch the ground. Hold this for 20 seconds and repeat.

Shoulders delt: Hold the elbow of one arm with the other hand and pull the elbow across the chest. Hold and repeat for the other hand.

Curling cat: Kneel down on all fours and curl the back upwards in the same position. Hold this and start again. This increases flexibility of the back.

Hamstring stretch: Place your leg on any raised area in front you, like a stool or chair. Now, extend it straight without bending the knees and bend the torso to touch the toes. Hold for 15 seconds and repeat.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-melbourne

Angel sits on her bed talking to her boyfriend, they’ve dated for two months and he says that’s enough.

“Ang think about me, think about us, do it for us”.

Angela is hesitant but her gaze remains fixed at the ceiling lamp, a moth in a trance

Keeps bumping into it making audible clinks

Angela opens her mouth slightly, hesitantly

“Where are you, Baby, I’ll come to you right now.”

“You’re gonna do it?”

“I’m ready, yes. I trust you and Love You with my heart Baby.”

“That’s what I wanna hear, I’ll leave the door unlocked. You are the Best.”

The call ends and the screen on her phone goes dim

It was a breezy evening, Angela decided to dress appropriately

One arm through the sleeve, then the other, then one leg through the pant, then the other

Shoes, socks, watch

Appropriate

Lock the door, hop on the bike, which she learned to ride

At nine years old, the crux of her life, a little later than most

She learned to go fast at ten, to catch up

A left at 11th, and straight down three blocks to Baby’s place

Illuminating the whole street at 12:00

The door was unlocked like he said and she entered like she said

“I’m here, are you ready?” “Yes, please go ahead.”

Angela had never done this before but she loved her Baby so much

So, she started with her hands by making a slight incision at the webbing between her thumb and pointer

All it took was a slight tug to peel off an inch of her skin, and then more, and then more and then more

Until her whole left hand was exposed to the elements, to Baby’s great delight

“More”

She nodded with a slight smile on her face, and began to scrape off the rest of her arm

Muscles and tendons revealed themselves, twitching slightly as if surprised by their own existence

“Get it all off! Stop teasing! I love you, I want more!”

Baby laughed and Angela made sure to laugh louder as she tore away to reveal her deltoid and her pectorals across her chest

Next her stomach went, then her crotch, her skin making hollow thuds on the floor whenever they fell

She wasn’t very neat but after all, this was her first time.

The frenzy of the moment left Ang breathless, so this is True Love she thought, blood and mirth

Baby held her all night long and traced his fingers across each strand of tissue, not afraid

Angela could feel every individual filament in her left arm tense and flex and squelch to supply her livelihood, their livelihood

And she smiled for herself, the greatest sacrifice she could give, and all for Baby

tearing herself apart made her feel complete!

why do fellow poets give so much praise to fellow poets?(either they genuinely enjoy the thing or they assume karma and wish for wealthy appraisal aft their own ****** poetry) but my real question, or observation (since im obviously predisposed to my own insight and wish no response be paid even if bearing reason) is: why would ANYONE go out of there way to say to a fellow writer: 'that was amazing, thanks for sharing'??... THANKS FOR SHARING????? REALLY?????!!!!    ....as if the writer heard the voice of god speak to them their revelation of true and higher purpose, whence they quit their job ON THE SPOT!("ive got more IMPORTANT things to do right now! you wouldnt understand mr.boss-man. just go home to your wife and children, and wait for my instructions to guide you."),and, on their righteous march home to share their beautiful soul-dripping piece of literature(soon to be coveted by the heads of all religions)with the rightfully deserving PEOPLE, denied several beautiful women the privilege of touching their selfless masculine form glowing with the sheen of purpose and higher calling(please, PLEASE!! ill do ANYTHING to make love to you sir! ANYTHING!! i have MONEY! i have DAUGHTERS!!!! take anything you want, PLEEEEEEEEEEZ!!! - im sorry miss, but i cant...theres just...something i must do....) and KICKED!! DOWN!! their own front door, bare-footed and blistered, to (not dash, but) FLY to their laptop, ripping off their old lower-calling work-shirt to expose and stretch not only their massive hairless pectorals but their just-now-formed giant shining ANGEL WINGS!!! OH MY GOD!!! and this is just the beginning; deep selfless psychic concentration on the vocal fragments which god sends through uncountable dimensions to our hero of lore has worn our hero out such as would **** any mortal man, but not He. He is DRIVEN by His purpose and GUIDED by His words and immeasurably GRATEFUL for the flesh falling from His now skeletal shell of a ****** pair of hands(once clasped as a cage, but are now splayed apart upon His holy stone, setting free the Truth); in tears with gratitude for the sun-hot pain He receives with every stroke of the key. He cares not for the capital "H" which god hath bequeathed upon Him, rightfully deserving or not. He hath no concern but of His duty to all people. "I care not for the capital 'H' which god hath bequeathed upon me, rightfully deserving or not. I hath no concern but of my duty to all people." -He proclaims in his new booming voice(also bequeathed by the one true god to Him) which sends the walls of His earthly confines CRUMBLING to the floor; His entire city, country, CONTINENT!! leveled and aflame; several million left dead or broken....all without homes, while the tumultuous chaos of children crying for dead parents pierce His ears not, for He is all-consumed by the voice of god, His OWN voice, commanding the very last verse (which He diligently, and with no sense of relief or pride, types onto sacred keys with bones of hands now whiter than the Angels crescent smile) of what will inevitably be..... The New Bible of Hope and Truth and All-Real-Reality, which he faxes telekinetically to the remaining masses that be...His followers...His followers who would bring a long-drawn-out slaughter to their own kin if promised a glimmer of His Truth. For all that He is is All.... HIS WORDS. HIS PURPOSE. HIS BIBLE. HIS NATION!!!!!.....and all you dare say is "that was amazing, THANKS FOR SHARING"?????????????????????????????????????..... of COURSE He wanted to share. it was His DUTY. His LEGEND. His REASON to have ever been BORN!!!..... but you wouldnt understand....NONE of you would!!......................you greedy poets disgust me...

His eyes blindfolded by sleep, he densely gropes about grabbing my hand between both
of his.
Enclosing mine own between his Faberge egg of callouses and scars.
He holds my hand as if made of porcelain between his blonde-tufted, chiseled pectorals.
The tufts shift beneath the weight of our hands with each heave of mellifluous breath, silhouetted by pthalo blue lights from the electronic tomes casting their oceanic net about the room.
Chronographs edge further into their rotation, and his tides of breath bear the gentle weight of his hands more heavily about mine.
A dulling crash of sleep furls about my hand - starting at the top and settling somewhere between the tufts.
I begin to wonder if the heartbeat I feel in my hand is his or mine.
As I begin to drift back to sleep with disregard to whether or not I will wake with a functioning hand; a yawn encompasses his form pulling the Faberge egg apart, and shocking a syncopated known trumming through my hand.
A smile washes over both of our faces; in blindfolded sleep for him, and me with an interest in illumination within his maniform Fabrege clasp.

The glistening earth motions back and forth as kisses from poison weeds graze fingernails
coated underneath sickly green as skin is scraped and bleeding
Broken syllables of a name once far forgotten tattooed above a heart
as spider claws trace the outline of pectorals
Straight hairs and lambs curls intertwine in a lonesome tango beneath ghostly cotton waves
Creaking creaking the ship of seas can take no more of her weeping aching sighs
salted waters take over and dribble from the openings of life and hatred
Trophy wife,
token gain
What is that smell on your shirt?
What’s the name you say as I take you in my warmth? As I absorb your anger of the world?
What’s that name?

venus was once a little girl until she was forced to be a vision.

there is an innocence in her eyes as she runs her tongue up your neck, along your jaw, over your lips, ever so slightly, because this is foreign to her: passion with the promise of love, not lust, a heart with no sharp edges. you tell her that you see her, that you love the heart in her flesh, not the divinity in her mouth, and she cries out loud, rosewater tears from opaline eyes melting like snowflakes on your tongue, they taste like candied grapefruit—still bittersweet.

she paws at your pectorals, makes a home inside your lungs, paints peonies on your eyelids with the blush covering her cheeks, you embody every single thing that was ripped away from her, all at once.

kiss me, you fool, she weeps, let me taste all the love i have missed.

you will give her every last drop

sometimes my girl-hood
feels like a festering wound
a dark closet full of cobwebs
and dresses that never felt right

it was looking in the mirror
and there was hair down
to my *** that i screamed
when my mom tried to brush
and put bows in it

that face was not mine
a body that suddenly became
soft in places it had once been flat
and i could no longer run around shirtless
pretending i was one of the boys
before i knew what it meant

and everytime i played house
with the girls i harbored secret crushes on
i was the father
the son
the brother
the strange uncle that might be a vampire

i was the prince and i would
rescue the princess and still look
handsome with blood and dirt
on my face and clothes

and then something split open
inside of me and i almost
passed out in an old navy
because my body rioted
against this pain that
was so new and so red
and so heavy that
i became anemic multiple times

these unwanted and unwelcome changes
had me looking for an EXIT sign
that kept blinking off when i needed it most
and all i wanted to do was
grow hair on my face
and my chest
and for my voice to drop
into a sound that i could
hear without hating it

and the first time i
pulled this black tri-top fabric
over a chest that was always
too big to be seen as pectorals
it took my breath away
and hurt so quickly
but when i looked in the mirror
i saw a young man

i finally saw this boy
that grew up being told
he was a girl
and being called a name
that never felt right

i finally saw this boy
that knew who he was
before he knew his times tables
and that wound
gaping with years of hurt
scabbed over that much more
and he was able to
stand up a little straighter

i finally saw this boy
looking back at me
and he was
my god he is
so happy
to be alive