"petite" poems
I am warmhearted and icy cold,
with a pretty face that's getting old.
I am fragile yet tough as a man,
struggle thru life with no real plan.
I am petite and cuss like a trucker,
slightly naive, but I'm no sucker.
I am a sinner with a halo of gold,
an open book with secrets untold.
I am a hypocrite but always play fair,
a bleeding heart and I don't care.
I am a mother who acts like a child,
crazy, impatient and easily riled.
I am spontaneous and I am a bore,
forever forgiving, I still keep score.
I am unstable and wonderfully wise,
a ****** deviant in sweet disguise.
I am creative and self-destructive
naturally skilled and unproductive.
I am shy and I am outspoken
with a heart of stone, easily broken.
I am awkward and well refined,
lost, insightful and a little love-blind.
I am respected and I am addicted
shamed by burdens, self inflicted.
I am a perfectionist and I am a slob,
unbiased and shallow, an inept snob.
I am nocturnal, a creature of night,
blissfully ignorant, typically right.
I am cautious and I have no fear,
a loser and quitter, still I persevere.
I am brilliant and easily amused,
over-zealous and under-enthused.
I am impervious with wounds to heal,
an occasional liar just keepin' it real.
I am weird and lovely and mean-
I am what I am.......100 Aileen.
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 3:50 PM UTC
the miniscule, crystallized phenomena
floating down on their zephyr gondola
to the little children's enchantment.
the wintriness nipping at their stamina
produced petite gloved hands pulling tightly at their jacket.
to rollick the day away was their only commandment.
fast forward a few years, and they'll be learning algebra,
their minds drifting away during lectures on parabolas
to the forgotten days of freedom; they lament
the loss of their fragile frostwork taffeta.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
Can I drown in the sweet sorrow of your passion?
Bask in the drips of your essence and savor your liquid ecstasy.
Stare in awe at the contours of your body as it bends to my very will.
Making you feel as real as this fantasy world we have thrusted ourselves into.
Your soft whimpers caresses my ears as our spirits are driven by their own Heaven and Hell.
The rapid movements of your ribcage soothes my ravenous soul as our bodies intertwine with each other.
The aroma of our mixture captivates my subconscience as we're climbing towards your highest peak.
Your petite thighs clenching onto my physique build as the wave of nirvana overpowers your psyche.
She slowly drifts away from our fantasy world, leaving me here to dwell on her forsaken sorrow.
My body yearns to hear your voice in the endless darkness as it awaits for your return.
Can I cross the threshold into your garden of Eden one last time?
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 4:13 AM UTC
i had a thought.
i ran out of my room,
down the hallway,
and into the bathroom.
i wriggled out of my worn down, tie dye shirt.
hopping up and down as i pull off my
high-waisted jeans, pulling my pant leg with my foot as i
trample the dark denim to the ground.
i stand there naked, in front of the
harsh, full length mirror.
combing my fingers through my natural, wavy hair.
i contort my face in disgust, cocking
my head slightly to the side.
i close my eyes, and take one deep breath in.
when i open my eyes,
the reflection staring back at me is a thin, natural
beauty.
Her smooth ivory skin glows in the
silvery reflective glass.
Her stomach is flat and toned.
Her ******* lay on Her chest in perfect
proportion to the rest of her petite frame.
i run my fingers down the sides of my body.
my palms trailing along, dipping and
rising with the mounds beneath my skin.
i close my eyes and open them again,
this time taking my reflection for
what it really is.
i am fat.
my skin is pink and spotted with freckles the
colour of blood.
my stomach hangs low, covering the part
a man should see when i'm naked.
my ******* are big.
but not in the way you'd like them to be.
they lay there, sort of lop-sided.
hanging just above my ribs. Another place for
fat to take over.
the cuts on my thighs are hardly noticable
next to
all
that
fat
i can see tears in the eyes of the reflection staring back at me,
but i am numb.
i thought correctly. i am
fat. i am ugly.
Nobody in their right mind would want to
love me.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 6:18 PM UTC
she loved thunder storms most of all
the crackle of white hot bolts ripping through the sky
the sheer immensity of power
she always thought it was him
her beloved God
big boy
Thor
with his flowing blond hair
blue aquatic eyes
washboard stomach
and delicately curved *****
finally a man good enough for her
even if he was fly by night
when the heavens thickened gray
like soggy cotton
she could feel atmospheres shift
it made her ******* pert
her mouth would salivate
like a lurid peach
her ***** swelled and dampened
tears of adoration and enchantment
filled her eyes
no longer able to contain her self
she would strip naked
fling off her *******
and run out to the lush verdant meadows
calling at the top of her lungs
yoooooooooo hooooooooooo
as the cool rain descended
she ran thrilled to the mud between her toes
seeing great claws of white lightening echo
through the sky
without hesitation
she fell to the cool earth beneath her
wallowing in the delicious sloshing ooze
positioning her self on all fours
head thrown back
*** up high
calling to the heavens
come on, come on big boy
ive been waiting for you
let me have it good
her clitoral lips
drooled with anticipation
her ******
a pulsating aching
the sky rumbled
with stretching streaks of fire
like a great freight train
spanning infinity
while the earth shook like a
hollow moon
she swayed her hips
rhythmically to and fro
whispering a love song
*oh sir
i need a man like you
wont you love me
adorations true
i kneel before
my sweet Lord Thor
where's that hammer
come on and score
you are so big
and im so little
how about it God
just a tickle
hit it now
give it to me good
kisses baby
like only you could*
tears of desire cascaded
down her pink cheeks
as she recited her love mantra
her mouth naked wet
suddenly
a great bolt of lightening
shot down from heavens throne
entering her ******
splitting her in flames
her head turned dark mahogany
sent careening fifty yards
leaving her mouth
a yawning twisted smudge
of fossilized obsidian
with eyes
blackened flaring hollows
her tender pink ****
a charred flower
smoldering
like a
petite
grilled
calamari
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 9:45 AM UTC
*Phones, shapely, laughing beauties of yore,
once patiently rested in cradles , what elegance!
waiting for the prince to come, give a kiss
break the spell, remove the curse!
Gone are the days of pampered babies,
no cradles for phones anymore,
cell phones, the petite beauties we all care for now,
are born grown up.
The baby in the cradle now
sobs demanding the slimmest of cellphones,
once able to lay hands on it
the games continue till the eyes droop .
Cradles get vacant now too soon
the petite phone rings with out
any rest day and night.*
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
Meeting you gave me the permission
I sought in myself.
To get out & explore in a sense
that it feels like home.
Being with you, the best idea yet.
Small petite buildings, towering
buildings.
Everyday feels brand new
I don't feel the need to stay cooped
up inside a room.
With you I want to get out &
explore and sleep when there is
time.
I've never been to a place like
this before.
I've never tasted food this good
before & for once,
There are no distractions, no other
place to be.
The lights that shine from your eyes
The thoughts that travel fast like cars.
I've never been to a city like this
before, the best idea yet.
When people ask me where I've been
I call your name.
When friends ask me where I'm going
I call your name.
And I can't wait until I get back there
Jun 11, 2022
Jun 11, 2022 at 6:33 PM UTC
The moon illuminates the tears she sheds as the darkness shields her from this reality.
She opened the portal to her fantasy world and the memories she once hid, finally reappears.
His ability to make her chocolate frame quiver into the palm of his hand just by whispering those 3 words.
The way his alluring eyes would caress and soothe her soul to force her to disclose its hidden secrets.
"Do you mean it?" She quietly whispered into his ears as their essence finally merged into existence.
He was able to tear down her layers of pain, confusion, and hurt as he crossed the threshold into her mind.
As she gazes into his ravishing eyes, she becomes paralyzed as they undress her bare petite physique.
The gateway to her hidden domain steadily closes as the warmth rays rest upon her dried tears.
Her tear stricken face clenches onto the dwindling memories of his dominance over her.
If only he kept to his word, then he would have understood her tears of affection.
Apr 1, 2012
Apr 1, 2012 at 9:23 PM UTC
*
The girl that I like is young, quite petite, I might add
Bluish-greenish turquoise eyes, like the forest and the sea combined
Her voice, a sweet, gentle overtone; the ocean, calm waves that reach ashore
The breeze, blows the forest trees; a rustle, soothing to the human ears
Her skin that luminesces; the white sands of the Riviera Maya
Here and there, little sprinkles of darker sand on her pretty face
Her natural dark, red hair, as fiery as the midday sun,
And her lips a vibrant red, that melt you in the summer days,
So warm and cozy as the winter rays.
*
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 1:32 AM UTC
Evolve us
Wind us up
Like a little toys
Or a music box
With a petite little ballerina
Eternally twirling
With her arms never tiring
Evolve us
The human race whispers.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 5:03 PM UTC
Young and petite,
Yet fearless and courageous,
In Armour,
As dark as the night,
With sword,
As bright as the stars,
She will fight,
Demons and wizards.
Broken and cold,
She'll gladly take the scars.
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
This poem was written after watching a few hours of slam poetry on Youtube. Let me know what you think...it's my first shot at slam poetry.
There are so many words flowing around out there about the big girls. The thick girls, the curvy girls, the p-h-a-t phat girls. About their plush and soft exteriors, their abundant backsides, their willingness to accept themselves and their hopefulness that others will do the same. Their….thereness.
They are beautiful, don’t get me wrong.
They are beautiful.
But what about the skinny girls?
The small girls with petite builds and large hearts and an aversion to the word short. The size two and under girls, the drive thru can’t gain a pound girls, the I AM NOT ANNOREXIC OR BULLEMIC girls.
The girls who will always be referred to as “pixie-like” or “waif-like” or “twig-like.” The perfect model body girls that all of the other girls hate…because of their lack of fat.
Aren’t they beautiful?
The girls with the size 32 bust line, the girls who, at 24, still shop in the junior sections of department stores. The girls who, regardless of their age, their strengths and weaknesses, their experiences, heartaches and joys, disappointments and triumphs, their want or need for life and love will always look like they missed a meal or gave it back purposefully with the intent of becoming even thinner. The girls who, no matter how ******* HARD they try, cannot even weigh 100 lbs soaking ******* wet.
Aren’t they beautiful?
The big girls have to search and search for cute and **** and attractive clothes because of their size. Guess what? So do the skinny girls. Do you know ******* hard it is to find a pair of pants with a size zero waist and a 34 inch leg? To finally find an extra small shirt that doesn’t have one of the top three cartoon characters of the time plastered across the front?
All I’m saying is yes, the thick girls, the curvy girls, the p-h-a-t phat girls…
They are beautiful.
But ****** so am I.
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 11:58 PM UTC
Do you need a new ****
Will yours just not do?
Well honey
I've got the store for you!
A gallery for butts
Come one, come all!
There's all kinds of butts
Both big and small
We've got butts that are big
Butts that are round
We've got butts that make
A tiny "toot" sound
Butts that are flat
And butts super small
Butts on short people
Butts for people who are tall
We've got butts that are firm
Hard in your grasp
Butts that are flabby
But nice ones at that
Butts so big
They cover the seat
And butts that are tiny
Cute and petite
We've got baby butts
With the softest of skin
Old ones that show
How old, where they've been
Butts that are fake
so plump and new
Butts that are real
Which are far in few
But what's this?
A **** we don't know?
Yes it's your ****
And just look at it glow!
It's so very unique
It's one-of-a-kind!
Yes that trunk back there
Is quite some behind!
You don't need a new ****
Why yours is so you!
Who would wear it
If it wasn't on you?
Show off that **** girl!
Because it's got class
You'll have everyone saying
"What an amazing * * *"
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 4:56 PM UTC
Somehow your heart enzymes inveigled a way into my system
I surmise it was your energising tongue which smuggled them in
my pseudoanaphylactic longing to snuggle in vein against your protein
its aim a happy interaction tugged by frenzied polypeptide chains
when your petite triglycerides coil avidly around my pH changes
hydrolysis replenishes steroids to stop any pleasure level plunge
so that functional-group transfers may intervene at all active sites
supervising where coenzymes await love's coursing stem cell sights
that photosynthesise my eyes to sensitise to you despite the dark
dancing in all my living cells with infectious smiles an epidemic
when your DNA can't polymerase enough of the audacious lipids
pleasing as they kiss the density away of fatty acids on soft lips
that release protease inhibitors in ways not too selective
so our hearts find their metabolic pathway audaciously live
and offer themselves completely to a frolic in love reactive
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
If I were a superhero and had any power in the world
I would have...
Super Speed, anything you need I could be there in a FLASH!
No second thought...no maybe or not, I would be there super fast.
Though, that's too obvious.
No, I would pick...
Super Hearing, that would be my choice, I would tune it ONLY to your voice
and know the moment you were in distress. That would be good I guess...
No, not that either.
I would pick...
Super Flight, so that every night I could take you to the stars (though the air might be tight)
it would be super right.
No.
I would pick...
Super Linguist, so I can speak every word, noun and verb into your ear in a feeble attempt to dry up each tear.
No, I would pick time travel and go to the moment you were first sad.
I would have super vision to see you on the days you are glad.
Telepathy to know how you feel.
Super strength to move ANY mountain... when you need healed.
Forgive me for this, it may be a bit extreme.
What you need is not a superhero by anyway shape or means ...what you need is a hug.
Yes, that's it!
If I were a superhero and had any power in the world...it would be Super Hug.
I would hug you so tight till all doubt has left your mind every night.
I would hold you in my arms till you knew your worth.
No, I can't save the Earth with a hug, I can't change everyone's life with my embrace.
But just in case ...I will start with you, I will hug you regardless.
In my arms your petite body will be cocooned till the sun turns in to the moon.
I will hold your neck while you head rests on my chest.
I will put in CHECK... every thought, pain and neglect with the only power, enchantment and medicine that I posses...
My hug.
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 2:15 PM UTC
With a face and voice like that you’d never guess
the girl was five foot ten
she walks in and towers above the image
you expected
a girl pushing five feet, dainty, even whimsical
but surely petite
she’s far from petite
This girl sympathizes with transgender bodies
yet envies those who succeed
Hormones and knives can fix gods mistake
but nothing can fix me
so women will sit dreaming of dropping pounds
and she dreams of dropping feet
never complete
Psychs and shrinks digress this to be nothing more
than another disorder
Her views on herself are simply brushed off
as body dysmorphia
yet therapy nor pills shall shake her desire
to fix gods mistake
by freeing her soul of this giant hell hole
leaving it for someone else to take.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 1:42 AM UTC
Your ***** is funky
Dripping nectar like fine wine
Your ***** is thick
Fine hairs, crazed and divine
Your ***** don’t taste like water
It smells like a grown woman do
Your thighs are black
And slick with dew
Your ***** looks fuzzy
Your thighs do too
Razors don’t show it love
And chub rub burns it like glue
Your ***** ain’t pink
It ain’t petite
Its quite fat
Your ***** still pretty
Not that you needed affirmation of that fact
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 5:42 AM UTC
You know what I like; a fight.
Nice touch; and you love to bite.
We love the rush; you struggle
no match for my might.
Your tiny frame, twisted right.
Bending to my will.
Passion and skill,
screaming in pleasure-- you will.
Getting our fill, this little kink--
Heightens your delight.
Your body so petite, **** and tight.
squirmed your way to sweet surrender.
Gripping tight; it's now or never.
My weight pressed you to the bed,
Face down, pillowcase bracing your head.
Your *** up,
looking back at me,
just like I said.
My commands,
So stern -- you wet the bed.
Reaching down, I watched as your lips
Slowly they spread.
“command me!” is what they said.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 2:55 PM UTC
Graceful petite creatures floating up high,
Fluttering and rippling,
Carelessly soaring on by
Strange little feelings bottled up inside,
Shivering and quivering,
Searching for some way to fly.
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 6:56 PM UTC
“You’re overweight,” he says, tapping his finger against his chart of heights and measurements, thighs too big and fingers too plump. I already know. I nod, and continue nodding, listening to the word echo and then fall onto the ground, bouncing and bounding, restrictions that have surrounded my whole life, my whole curvy figure. If I could be like the girls with the flesh wrapped tight and the bones loose and caving in on one another, I would grab the chance before it had a chance to flutter away from my desperately aching hands. When I look in the mirror, I try to remind myself that flaws are flaws and yet they were made to be beautiful, but I see what I see and what I see makes me want to ***** makes me want to close my eyes, makes me want to pull and tug and rip until there is nothing left but a pile of rotting decay. I am stuck, I am back on the playground in sixth grade where the boys would taunt and laugh, point and gasp, as I tried to pretend I looked like everyone else, every other small, petite little girl who didn’t have to worry about these types of things. My clothes don’t fit, I’ve gone through seven pairs of jeans in the last month alone, I look back at the pictures when I thought I was fat, but I wasn’t, I was fine then, why did I think that? I lay in bed beside the man I’m supposed to be with, fully clothed and pushing his hands away from my hips, away from my lips, don’t touch me then if you can’t handle all that I have to give. I’m not her, and she never wished to be me.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 5:19 PM UTC
You tickled me
From afar
With just
My very vision
Of you
A dream cloud
Of our hearts--experienced
Time reset
To days
Next to a Langka tree
We meet once
But I see a thousand times
More
Of sharing every second
In words about the World
We share
Shared
In memories
Monuments in my head
Next to the gate
Of my heart
Playful and brief
Your smile
takes me there
with your ***** eyes
Petite little chin
Dimples, I say
You gave petty love
Looks
and curly charms
A name
Yours
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 10:37 AM UTC
How doth thou wake with an aching need?
For femmes and games and **** loads of ****
To he who dost appreciate the weight of a lass
As spindly and petite with one hell of an ***
Dost thou think for a mo...
That the only love felt tis that of a ***
Thou wast the only one left in the bar
With an overdose of E and a fool hearty scar
Nay my dear boy as one could only believe
A fuckboi thou art, and a fuckboi thou'll be
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC
They say that smell
Is your strongest sense
When tied to memory.
That just a whiff of a smell
Or even thought of a
Smell can bring you back
To a place and a time that
You had previously
Thought were left behind.
For me the smell of
Bleach is comfort, as my
Nanny used it as a
Standard, household
Cleaner. I love that smell
As well as of my favorite
Dinner, mildew (reminds me of summers spent
At camp, living out of a trunk) and
My favorite flowers
Each of these smells I
Love to revisit time and
Time again. One smell
Though has embedded
Itself in my memory and if
I have my way, I’ll never
Smell it again.
Mom had Colon cancer most
Of my time in
High school.
No clue on the stage
But it was best not
To
Ask
Surgeries, chemo, radiation, the
Whole
Nine
Things seemed to be fine,
Well, even great
Until it took a turn
My mom has never been
Skinny; she is petite, but
Normal
Suddenly she looked like
A holocaust victim
She would get quiet
Draw into herself
For periods of time
Another surgery. Fine
She returned home
And then something crept in
That something was death
And I’ll never know how I knew
You just know.
The smell of something
Dying
Isn’t pleasant
It puts you on edge
And turns your stomach
Mom was confident
That she was getting better
The smell, that can’t
Be described (dying tissue, pain
Suffering) was glaring
To me
I never asked Mom or Dad
If they could smell it
Because the smell of Death
Isn’t a sense that should
Be shared
I would just maintain that
I didn’t think
Something was right
A day or so later
Surgery. Fine. Home.
Smell.
Surgery. Fine. Home.
Smell.
Surgery. Fine. Home.
After that last
Surgery. The smell
Left. But even now
When I think back
To that time
That complicated time of
Soccer games
Chemotherapy
Apply to college
Surgeries
The one thing in the
Foreground
Is
That
Smell
Just a whiff of death
Of human decay
Of dying
Of suffering
And I’ve had my fill
For a lifetime
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 1:58 AM UTC
Noticed that smile
Juicy lips covered in lipstick
Her skirt with heels
Classy a little flirting won't hurt
Flower in her hair beauty everywhere
Asked her name and number
Once you call hard to let her off the Line
Shes short and petite
you want to know
What she thinks
Her colored eyes
Black hair the right length
Not afraid to express what she thinks
Never change her presences make the day
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 11:10 PM UTC