"perky" poems
***** ***** I **** *****
***** get ****** when I **** *****
No ifs, ands, and/or buts!
I **** ***** I **** *****
Nice girls are nice, but no good for nut-sucking.
They'll need a serene night to green-light a butt-fucking,
but that'll be easy with ****** ol' slut-fucking!
Boo to the nice girls! Praise be to slut-fucking!
I have a list. A list? Yes, a list of all the ***** I've missed.
I've never ****** or ****** these ***** and thus my nuts are ******* ******
So when I **** the lucky **** my nut removes her from the list---
another dumb cumbucket struck from my nut-sucking,
**** it, **** slut-fucking bucket list.
***** can be white, brown, pink, or almond.
They can be skinny with big **** or skinny with small ones.
***** can be perky, preppy, or posh,
with their brains and their clothes all shrunk from the wash.
But other ***** are pretty and funny and smart.
They can lift your thoughts from your **** to your heart.
They can talk about science, music, or art.
They can put you together or pull you apart.
But don't trust these ***** Don't! Don't you dare!
They'll force you to trust them and love them and care.
And then they'll be gone and then you'll be aware
of that hole in your heart that that dumb **** left there.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
midriff cut from the universe
and diamond rings look good on her
every finger except the i'm-married-one
perky ears and silk smooth skin
adept and endearing accent
even when she's mad at me
and the way her shoulder blades curve
she's good at math and ***
things i like more than the usual
triple threat, face, **** breast
personality of an office chair.
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 3:05 AM UTC
This woman of blonde locks
slim body and perky *******
acne and ribcage and vertebrae
she gives me that look
drawn smile with teeth bared
heaving tummy and deep stare
into my eyes like, "Come on."
Like a run-on sentence I'll make
her come on my face all night
and all day the next day
Best *** we ever had,
we had on a naked mattress
after a Sunday doing nothing
This woman of five o'
clock shadow and travel size ****
loose skin from weight loss and a thick neck
she is me and look
at that lucky feel
smearing over my dark mug
like I just won the sweepstakes
Like a run-on sentence she'll run
She'll run, she'll run, run me till
we need an oasis
Best *** we ever had,
we had on a naked mattress
Squeeze your legs
Squeeze your legs
Squeeze your legs
Squeeze your legs
Squeeze your legs
Squeeze your legs,
Release them,
A baker's dozen
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 3:02 PM UTC
Perky ******* & Pouty Lips
Now I'm thinking I am, your typical male
who loves beautiful women, and all they entail
tall or short both, make my heart do flips
but the things that I, like for sure
it's alright if, they're somewhat demure
are perky ******* and pouty lips
a personality, is a wonderful thing
it would be cool, if she can dance and sing
don't mind playin poker, and bettin those chips
a sense of humor, with a snorting laugh
always willing, to give you half
umm but I crave perky ******* and pouty lips
I love watching them, when they come and go
swingin those hips, to and fro
make my heart beat do, a couple of skips
but look at those ******* and that **** mouth
causing a disturbance down to the south
god I love perky ******* and pouty lips
Gomer LePoet...
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 1:26 PM UTC
A body still from excitement
Head to the sky, waiting
A whole frosted dance is about to appear
Earth’s colossal yet gentle hands grab the sun
And turn off the gleaming lights
Darkness
Restful darkness
The ample wind covers the area
Like an invisible curtain of chilled silk
Then a moment of calm
Everything is still
As if a single picture was taken
Vibrant silver angels in their white cotton
Fall from endless stage in the sky
Embodying the frozen air
Thrusting their ****** dance
As they float towards the ground
These suggestive pale dancers
Land on your still excited body
Using it as their new birthed platform
They use their sensual ballet
To send ice cold stings through your bones
To bring a ****** tingle to your mind
Until your heart ******* to a perky smile.
This is called the seductive winter dance
Able to make your mouth gleam
And your soul tickle
Embrace the frigid sensation
As you give birth to your inner thrill
Jun 15, 2010
Jun 15, 2010 at 9:11 PM UTC
Like an onion, I had layers.
And you peeled me away, one at a time.
One layer off.
You saw my favorites.
The food and drinks I crave for.
The wall paint I wanted for my room.
The perky dresses, nail polish, knee-high boots.
And the spot I always prefer to be- on the front seat.
One layer off.
You saw my hobbies.
The words I stitched together.
The stars that formed our zodiac sign.
The wallclimbing, badminton, volleyball.
And the guitar strings that strum our lullaby.
One layer off.
You saw my dreams.
The plane ticket to Paris.
The thrill of a bungee jump.
The candlelit dinner, fireworks, dancing fountain.
And the license as a medical physician.
One layer off.
You saw my strengths.
The smile behind the false judgements.
The tears I fought back with pride.
The temperance, confidence, adjustments.
And the self-love I have strongly magnified.
One layer off.
You saw my insecurities.
The missing dimple on my left cheek.
The pimples on my forehead.
The bitchface, fierce stare, strict walk.
And this prominently thin-but-tall body figure.
One layer off.
You saw my regrets.
The kisses I could have refused.
The friends I thought were true.
The false assumptions, unmet expectations.
And the trust I gave to the wrong person.
One layer off.
You saw my secrets.
The punches I had to take.
The bruises I covered with my sleeves.
The lies, frustrations, disappointments.
And the brokenness suppressed in my memory.
The last layer, off.
You saw through me.
The anxiousness escalating slowly.
The exposure feeling uneasy.
I felt stripped, explored, unguarded.
And in my nakedness - you had to choose:
To love or to leave me,
For who I really am.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 2:49 AM UTC
Jealousy
Is hell
Because I do not enjoy
Myself,
And well
I enjoy all of you-
You
With your smooth moves
Perky and peachy attitudes
Teach me
To be as sweet
As you-
Beautiful
Can be cruel
Not like it is on tv,
Or beside me
Everyone shining,
Smiling,
While my smile feels
Like hiding
Under this wax mask
A painted canvus
Of pale and black
Don't look at me
I'm a heartattack
A bad act-
Broken glass
Of a painted doll
I am a leo lioness
Right?
Righteous-
Your hieness
Sparkles on my eyelids
But you see
I have enough pride
To hide it-
Its priceless,
Really hillarious
Sometimes I feel
Like a bad *****
But I'm none of this
I am the pray,
The gazelle in the grass
But I am also the lion
Waiting to attack myself
Because you see,
Jealousy
Is hell,
I am the lion
I am the gazelle
I am heaven and hell
In a vessle of myself
See what you will,
Your critiques are nothing
My only enemy is me
My only savior is me
I am a lion
But I am also
A sheep
Don't look at me
Sometimes I cry in the mirror
Blink my mascara tears,
Blurry mess-
Can't fit in my old dresses
Tearing apart at the seams,
Literally
Filthy
Famish
Crawled out of my skin
And made some bad habits
Declining wealth
Declining health
Laughing as the scales tip-
After all I am a person,
Not permanent
Why should I care
Oh,
But I do
I do when I look at you
You with your talented hands
With your spider lashes
And good moods
Teach me to feel
As good
As you
My lipstick smears and screams
As the paintings on my face mock me
So will my body,
My body thats bruised
And missused
Perfume to cover the *****
They'll see my cherry lips move
But they won't hear me talking
Its perfect,
The mask of confidence
My incompetence
Is a perfect fit
No, really
Its lovely
When I wear it,
People love me!
Because people think
I love myself
No
Jealousy
Is hell,
Beacuse I do not
Love myself
I love everybody else,
Even the ones who
Say I am full of it,
Selfish leo,
Selfish lion
Exaggerated ego-
Winking eyelids
Sparkle,
Wings to my forehead-
I flaunt
What I don't want,
Because you want me to
You want me
To love me
Like you do
All of you
I remember the words
From my mother,
Jealousy
Is not a pretty color-
Its crimson red,
Exposed
Like blood,
I've had to sew it up
No-
Don't look here
Not at my guts,
Look at my eyelids
Are these not enough?!?!
These cherry lips
Tell you to sush
Less of a lioness,
More of a cub
I know
I am my own predator
My own pray
I am
All of the above
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 3:38 PM UTC
Lemons- in fanfictions, a gritty or ****** scene.
I watched your Adam's apple bob
As you swallowed your arousal.
My head was swirling with the scent of lemons,
And I couldn't help myself
As I tottered towards you on my intoxication,
Inebriation.
My hands hit your chest,
And in our unsteadiness,
My extra push sent us tumbling...
Down onto the Citrus yellow sheets of your bed
My mouth on your neck,
Wanting only to taste your Lemon sweat.
Your eyes wandered freely,
And your hands soon followed.
Touching my *******
The perky *******
You put your mouth on one,
Extracting from it some sour mix of sweetness,
The lemon in my veins.
We mashed together,
Your member against my cavity,
Pictures of lemons in my mind.
Your hand round my throat,
You began to speak harshly,
Lemon tainting your soul.
The acid in your words,
Acid on your fingernails as they tore my skin...
It hurt,
But it hurt like the beautiful Lemons that brought me here.
You put yourself in me,
Again and again
You forced my body into submission.
My tears burned with the citrus,
My eyes now yellow,
Like the lemons.
In this lighting,
Your skin looked yellow too,
I could almost say your head was a lemon...
Pain resurfaces,
Blood,
The sensation that something was flowing into me,
I knew your lemon juice had filled my pitcher,
Now it was available for drinking.
And you did,
You drank your lemon juice with my sugar,
Lemonade of us two.
Pleasure rocked my body,
And I felt your lemon invading me.
But you yourself,
You were drawing it out of me.
My walls pulled in,
They clenched,
I let out a shrill.
The smell of our lemon sweat
Once again,
Pervading the room.
You collapsed beside me,
The drug wearing off,
Lemons exiting your mind already.
I wasn't done though.
I'm still obsessed.
Still obsessed with lemons.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 6:26 AM UTC
Lucid, abusive
Tongue in cheek divine
Stupid, elusive
Lost soul of mine
A snap of orchestral fingers to summon the suave illustrator
Mohawk punks and minions to smash the limp masturbator
Loveless, acquiesce
Arpeggio flutter ripples
Convalesce, Fancy dress
******* with perky *******
One or two drinks, make it three then five
Keeping the blood warm and love alive
Visceral, peripheral
Dark raven hair
Liberal, scriptural
I couldn’t even care.
I adored her all, her everything, her gleaming demeanor
The subtle wink of her eyes, the glow; even greener
Exotica, ex machina
Street amazon of desert glass sand
No drama, rural karma
Flesh sweating like the heat of Sudan
Dead singers like Cole and Morrison sing of paper moons and Crystal Ships
The mixed CD segues to U2, Pulp, and then a full disk of The Flaming Lips.
"Nightingale", minor scale
The saxophonist played under the street lamp outside
Folktale female
“Another drink?” she abides, two glasses and wine supplied
On her balcony we watched and listened, to the call of urban passion
The wordless music we adored, a testament to our mutual attraction.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 5:07 AM UTC
green eyes
how come
that warm
gently rides
to springs of heaven
from frosty blue ice
then turns black ravens
to brightest white doves
and
the hopeless cravens
to bravest heroes
lashes: turkish bows
glances like arrows
runnin' baby roes
make you chase for a while
what a perky look
cheerful naughty snook
but flowing jungle brook
sings her lullaby
a shiny pinky smile
carries an angel tribe
withinside
of the nook
thus devil got riled
was expelled and allied
with the nebbish adam
-rosy pink lips wiled
and might
clothe the seven seas
by the holly tide
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 12:51 PM UTC
She always burned her
Barbie dolls after she cut
All the hair of that plastic,
Magic perfect blonde ****
She was 11 and had just
Always hated how all
Her family and friends kept
On giving her a doll
That was perfect and had all
And she just couldn't see
The relevance and the elephant
In the room is insecurity
So at 11 she Cant see what she is
but what she is not
her imperfections made her check
If Barbies got what she got
But Barbie did not barbies
perky with both ***** and ****
Her legs don't grow hair
And she don't need cover up
And her short legs look
Nothing like barbies do
Even her *** and
Thighs are all proportioned too
Fit her spectacular body's frame
that frames her reflexion
with the blame to detain
what remained as complexion
Of her oily pimpled skin that
Is too fair and needs a tan
And living up to all that not to
Mention a corvette and a man
That's why Barbie hangs across
Her closet where her mom
Saw the Barbie dolls She hung
by the neck yelling what's wrong
butShe just masks how she
felt so a head doctor was
a psychiatrist who sighed
A bit but had sided with her cause
She was an ugly duckling herself
That Never grew to be pretty
But the city has no pitty for no
Pretty so best you be witty
And told her to keep with the
hate she now held for Barbie
and before She left the doctor said
**** a corvette get a Ferrari
So She left happy but hardly
Cured of her obsession
Over beauty and style,
With a classy shoe collection
But she is now only 11
And reassures herself that she
Is no barbie and would repeat
barbies not prettier than me, and
Til she believes it she still burns them
To hang them soar
Shows a mirror to the bald barbie so
She knows she's not pretty no more
See what its like to feel too short
as She cuts at the knee
She says" i can be more
like Barbie if she's more like me"
Wheres obese Barbie,
or Immigrant Barbie from far
Black haired or short haired Barbie
Who's bus pass is her car
How about welfare Barbie or
realistic Barbie anything but
A smooth long haired long legged
Perfect shaped ***** and ****
With Friggin hips child birth was
Not made for and why
She asks Can't barbie have flaws so
I can pause the feeling that I
Will fail before I try if I
Am expected to be
So beautiful and Barbie never talks
No wonder kens easy to please
the message seems look pretty and
Dont talks all u need
So she hangs them violently
but quietly wishing they would bleed
But as she gets older shell
Like herself more and won't dwell
That god didn't make her a Barbie
maybe hes not as good as matel.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 11:20 PM UTC
My cousin told me that I am a good storyteller, but I should write something about me, about real people and a time that I was scared "shitless". Well, I can only think of one time of a real life shocker that shook up my young world. It's nothing suspenseful. It probably wouldn't win any contests, but it isn't contrived. It's a snippet of the first time that I encountered the raw reality of death.
What did I know about death at eight years old? Our parakeet, Perky, died. My grandparents dog, Bruno, had to be put to sleep. As a girl, I vaguely recall seeing a dead man in a coffin, and that was at the funeral of my mom's aunt's husband. This was only an introduction of the temporary world we live in.
Well, then there was an older couple two doors down from us. They had two grandchildren that used to come and visit them, a sister and brother. When in the neighborhood, they would play with my older brothers. I cannot even recall their names. I cannot remember what they looked like or what they said.
What I do remember is the news being on in the living room, and I was eating dinner in the kitchen with my mom and brothers. Suddenly, the faces of that brother and sister were on TV. It was reported that their mentally troubled mother had killed them. I think it was because she was denied custody of them in an ugly divorce. Doing a little bit of digging in the Michigan death index online, I rediscovered who they were. They were Susan and Richard. They were ten and nine-years-old at the time.
I surely don't remember plenty of details, as this was in June of 1973. Over forty years ago, it's a much faded memory now. I only know I did not go to the funeral home. If I did, I am sure I'd be horrified to look upon those children who were robbed of their lives. Death was no longer just for pets or old people. It wasn't fair and it didn't discriminate in age. And if it could happen to someone as young as them, it could come knocking on my door.
Perhaps, that was the beginning of my fear of death.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC
A whispered warning...
What does it mean?
Was it a faint reality or was it a vivid dream?
She was a beautiful machine with fixed tight lips ,perky breast ,and uncuttable iron wrist.
A piece of peace ******* in by God.
A singing voice that seemed to pass threw my every pore ,but faintly spoke.
A message delivered with excellence.
"Come to me me and taste that the Lord is good!"
A fascinating warning!
What does it mean?
Mary a machine?
How can it be?
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 3:44 PM UTC
The Standard Model is full of sticky, quirky Quarks,
perky little Fermions, and the Boson Higgs,
the reigning King of Mass of towering might;
who, by spontaneously falling off in any old direction,
gives ad hoc Masses to nearly all, and to all a birthright.
And for all normal matter in creation,
the Boson Higgs is the physicist's salvation.
Alas, we could have learned more,
but a Weasel ate through the Collider core.
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 4:33 PM UTC
I am the young girl running around the house,
looking for the pony,
on Christmas morning,
while the ship is slowly sinking,
in a manure flavored sea.
I am the armless tennis player that
is convinced he will defeat Roger
in less than an hour,
using just one ball, over and over again.
I am Roy Wright at the beginning of the trial,
with a big stupid smile in my pocket,
and a tinny black book in my soul.
I am the faithful survivor of unfaithfulness
and I will be the one that lands on his feet,
in Scottsboro heaven.
I am Bartolomeo V, the one with no vendetta,
having a croissant,
waiting for Nicola to shave, before we take off in one of
Rothko's paintings. May the 5th be
with the ones who actually did it.. and, you know what?
I honestly think Cronaca Sovversiva is a great title,
even though I haven't read the ******
thing and I have no sympathy,
whatsoever, for any anarchist.
Hell! It's hard for me getting my **** together in complete order. I don't want to think what would become of me
in complete anarchy.
I am the one that wakes up every day
with a stupid smile under his nose,
not remembering the scent of yesterday's failure.
The one that starts dreaming as soon as he gets up,
ignoring the fact that he might be an ignorant
*****
with no desire to go to outer space,
but with huge hopes up his sleeve for
M. Damon and his agricultural knowledge.
I am in favor of all fancy schmancy Earth saving knowledge,
and I am aware that all that space debris in my head
will do some serious damage one day.
If they ever figure out how to get it all in.
I am the tic, that will come after the tac-toe, this time, and not the other way around!
the encore of every good concert,
the yin for the panda ****
the slim leg for the flamingo,
the gambler,
the rambler,
the day rider.
I am the Syrian boy that just learned to swim and
all of this infinite blue soup
is nothing more than a Saturday stroll.
I will get in the back of that truck and I will breathe
the purest air that someone could ever breathe,
I will sleep the sleep of reason and monsters will not be produced.
You have my word!
I am the skin before the needle shoots up
all its ink.
I will be perky. I will be green.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 5:58 AM UTC
Soft curvy hips
Sweet smiling lips
Eyes so deep
Kisses on the cheek
Warm embraces
Safe places
A strong sound mind
A million words kind
Heaps of laughter
The morning after
A gentle touch
I can't get enough
Curvy and perky
Spontaneous and quarky
Full of fun
Bright as the sun
Laying in bed
My chin on your head
These are the things I love about you.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 9:28 PM UTC
at age 8 i stopped wearing jeans because they were uncomfortable.
at age 14 i wore high heels, fish nets, and skirts to school and a man once asked my mother if she really let me leave the house looking like that.
i also wore checkered pajama pants and shirts with holes in them to class, i dressed up and down because everyone else seemed to dress in the middle.
i dressed however i wanted to because my mother told that guy to shut the **** up and mind his own business.
at age 16 i wore crop tops the size of sports bras and pants so tight i understood why they called them skin-ny jeans
my **** and *** would be flying all over the place,
but people with larger **** and larger bellies, people like me, weren't supposed to be wearing those sorts of things so i thought i must.
or so i thought.
at age 18 i started dressing in oversized shirts and formless dresses
i didn't believe my body needed to be objectified and put on display anymore,
i didn't need to prove that my waistline was small enough,
i didn't need to wear the spanx i wore every day at 16.
at age 20 i stopped wearing make up or a bra,
my **** sagged and eyes bagged but i wanted to show people that ***** aren't always perky even on twenty year olds.
i also stopped shaving my armpits
i thought they were cute.
at age 22 i stopped shaving my legs.
i didn't think they were cute.
but i realized not every decision i made about how i presented myself needed to be in order to make myself more beautiful.
and at age 24 i shaved my head.
a man once asked me,
as he looked at my college ring wrapping itself around my pointer finger,
if i always did things differently just to be different?
and if id always be doing things just because someone told me not to?
i should have looked at him and asked him
what has he ever been told he cannot do?
Jul 23, 2021
Jul 23, 2021 at 11:22 PM UTC
You, smile melting into music.
You, smile singing near my ears.
Far away, facing lonesome
season.
I have nowhere to go,
but i know we'll meet in dreams.
That's our secret.
Tender eyes and
perky *****
You, night swaying in between days.
You, a woman's face in a porcelain body.
Can a bird, when in love,
sing across oceans and mountains
to confess his heartache?
Can you remember
our first kiss?
Sun, rain, moon, heat.
Still awake, or deep asleep.
I know we'll meet in dreams,
and i certanly know i'll find
those
tender eyes and
perky *****
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
Distant cries,
Fiery flames of ashen pawns.
A cat is born,
Under the desert sun.
Darkened Jewel,
Eyes of lightning.
Cobalt blue.
The fur of brown,
Ears of perky sounds.
Cat of the Pride.
Dark Jewel,
Eyes of the lightning hue.
The cat,
Of Elsweyr.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 1:13 PM UTC
First, I spotted the gaggle sagging innocently enough,
One might say blissfully reflected in the laptop screen.
Then out of nowhere came the phrase, "whodunit?”
And from the hanging sag, a sly, silky, voice whispered,
"Ahhh, don't stop before the good part."
Clearly a few clues were left behind, wispy hair strands,
Scattered age spots, skin tags, a few moles, posed upon a
Pale listless, crinkly, lightly pimpled, surface, and from a
Wrinkly, shallow crevasse a voice teased,
"Ahhh, don't stop before the good part."
Totally hooked, curiosity piqued, southward I spied,
A once upon a time perky, treasure chest, half hidden,
Now two solemn, empty grain sacks laid east to west,
And close to death but not quite, lazily they muttered,
"Ahhh, don't stop before the good part."
The final chapter, an ancient, untold mystery solved,
No crime, no villain, nothing stolen, only flesh alchemy,
Where a plateau of supple, touchable, skin once resided,
A lumpy, bumpy, flabby flesh pillow lolled, and it murmured,
“Ahhh, Boston cream pie, a quick nap, that's the ticket."
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 5:45 PM UTC
.
The oceans are dying,
Coral reefs are bleached,
Ghostly acidic in the seas,
Climate is changing, not for Nero,
But for subjects who wait in whirlwinds
Eye, underneath uncapped mountain peaks,
And water is draining underground. Where is
Reason, where is sense uncommon? Not with
Elected hands who are wringing to lords of zero,
Whose legions are sent off, engaged in foreign wars,
To scathe, faraway dramas brought back home,
Politicians squabble, as they reel, cashing in,
Seals of unapprovals, witness hollow, low rings,
Infrastructure crumbles, above our dry heads,
And Nero plays his fiddle, in a land of perky dead,
John Lennon said NYC was in reality the new
Rome, soon set to burn, in a decade or so,
Nero knows, Nero plays, could give a feck'
Humanity is Nero playing his fiery fiddle
There is only one issue of news that matters,
Not bread, or circus, Kardashians, or deflated
Footballs, it is our survival, the earth, heating up,
Is angry and we are small, deaf, blind and numb,
A mankind of fools with Nero playing his fiddle.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 8:35 PM UTC
She was beautiful.
But not in a Cosmo Model, Megan Fox, or Tara kind of way, not how you would expect. It was strange, her beauty. The kind that has you peering through a crowded room to see what you were really looking at. Her eyes, her smile, the way she held herself; strange how just holding her head up a few vertebrae higher could catch such attention. And the way she was around people, was a mystery. She would be all smiles, childish and comic at one moment; but the next she would lean quietly, her face relaxed with no thought of expression.
When she smiled, it took little effort to make her smile brighter, and the promise would make her giggle and laugh. Her laugh could make even the saddest man cry out for joy. And sometimes she would sing, and her voice was like the angels from heaven, to get her to sing was just as much a task as it was to make her smile. While, on the other hand, when she was relaxed, her expressionless face dominant, the task to make her smile, to get her to laugh grew hard and tiresome.
Such a strange beauty, like a well painted piece of art, was rare. She stuck out like a sore thumb in the cluster of thin no bodies. Each girl prim, thin, perky and down to the letter. Each girl barely had a mind of their own, barely had wit enough to keep them. But this girl…this girl could tame the whole room if she pleased. This girl could open her mouth wide and get the whole company into a dance. She had personality, she had spark, she had emotions, she was alive.
That’s why he liked her so much. He loved just looking into her auburn eyes, the almond shape of them as interesting as her topics of conversation. He could listen to her voice for hours, just as beautiful as her singing voice. And she could pull your heart like nothing else. That’s what he liked about her.
Jan 25, 2011
Jan 25, 2011 at 2:05 PM UTC
Two ******* in my face
Flat, perky, soft--don't matter
Hide myself in ***
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 11:01 AM UTC
I watch Laura through our adjoining office window
and pray to any god that will listen that she won't pick up the receiver.
I hope my glare burns the cord that...
******
*Good morning, Mr. Prater. My names is Laura and I'm calling from Vector Supplies.
How are you doing today?*
Her screech of a voice causes the hair on my arms to stand up.
Her laugh should be one of the layers of hell.
Hello? Mr. Prater?
Another customer dropped the call.
If someone with that voice called my home I would demand the manager
and accuse the caller of huffing helium, trying to get high.
She's the worst salesperson in this office.
Frankly, no one is great here.
At least we're better than the northern branch.
The boss, Mr. Leckman, opens the door and slithers into her office.
Laura, I saw that another customer hung up.
I'm sorry, Mr. Leckman. I promise I'm trying.
Try being more perky like I know you can.
Oh **** Don't encourage her you *****
And Laura, you can call me Ted, remember?
Yes, Mr. Leckman. I mean Ted.
Her giggle almost broke the glass of our window,
and if it had, I would have slit my wrists with the shards.
No hesitation.
I'm still watching the horror show,
and that's when I saw it:
He winked.
That ***** I knew she was ******* him.
That's the only reason why she's still here.
Sadly, I was interrupted mid-strangle fantasy when Mr. Leckman,
or Ted, barged in.
Ms. Dunn, get back to work.
Sorry, Ted--uh, Mr. Leckman.
He had shut the door before I could correct myself.
Great. I'm sure I'll get fired by the end of this week.
I need this ****** of a job.
It's one of the few places that doesn't make you
**** in a cup before you sell your soul.
Maybe I should bend over more often.
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 3:53 PM UTC