"prettily" poems
light cursed falling in a singular block
her,rain-warm-naked
exquisitely hashed
(little careful hunks-of-lilac laughter splashed
from the world prettily upward,mock
us….)
and there was a clock. tac-tic. tac-toc.
Time and lilacs….minutes and love….do you?and
Always
(i simply understand
the gnashing petals of *** which lock
me seriously.
Dumb for a while.my
god—a patter of kisses,the chewed stump
of a mouth,huge dropping of a flesh from
hinging thighs
….merci….i want to die
nous sommes heureux
My soul a limp lump
of lymph
she kissed
and i
….chéri….nous sommes
6.3k
I no longer feel love is a necessity and even if it were it remains elusive. Many lovers passed. They came they went and all I truly miss is playing good or bad girl long enough to get off. Get undressed, get on your knees, get wet for me, get ****** !Get ****** Lust leaves a softly pulsating crimson sheen behind my eyelids. Lust feels like when you have a blindfold on and you strain to peek through, to violate. Lust is Loves' true enemy. Lust takes without apology/lust punishes/lust is the arms I am taken in. I've never been the best at "please" but in Lust's wake I pout prettily saying "yes please, and thank you".
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 3:27 AM UTC
(a satirical pop at the Illuminati)
It's time to slay fatted consumer cows
It's time to fumigate the Great Unwashed;
To sow mutation's seeds behind the ploughs
To see the dullard's dreams forever quashed.
How movingly they pray not to be harmed!
How doggedly they work to make a wage!
How prettily they line up to be farmed,
Yet, how they long to be at centre stage!
The Useless Eaters eat their pizzas deep,
Their double fries and creamy mayonnaise;
Produce only some methane while asleep,
And fodder for landfill, throughout their days.
It's time for the superiors to win;
Unleash the virus, let the cull begin.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
Her pale flesh pinkens
and twitches so prettily
Happily chastised
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 4:00 AM UTC
i wish i could dream about you every night
i wish you weren’t constantly on my mind
i wish i could see you every day
i wish you’d give me more of your time
if wishes were horses, beggars would ride
god i wish you’d make me beg, i’d beg
so prettily for you. maybe ride, too
if that’s something you’d let me do
but all my wishes, these turbulent desires
just dreams that won’t come true
it’s only in my mind that you caress me
like you did that night, “down”
i went knees first, then tucked to my chest
head to the floor, your palm skimmed my spine
and i want to feel that a second time
i’d be so good, anything to have you take me down
i wish i could hear your voice say “mine”
Sep 17, 2019
Sep 17, 2019 at 10:18 PM UTC
I want to dream more about flesh being eaten
How the blood in my mouth would begin to sweeten
Soft meat would part between my teeth
I took it from you, does that make me a thief?
I could not decide for where to start
So I took your whole body apart
All those delicious fresh slices
Adding only the best of spices
In each part of you can then be found relish
But don't fret, I'm not that selfish
At times I am quite generous
As if I couldn't share, how ludicrous !
I would invite my friends to a soirée
And greet all of them with a delighted enchanté
An entire evening we would feast on your meat
And I would fondly recall how prettily you bleed
We shall repeat this again and again
Until nothing remains for me to eat and torment
Feb 18, 2020
Feb 18, 2020 at 7:29 AM UTC
Fairies dancing in the breeze
swinging daintily on flowers leaves
teasing animals as they fly
gone in the blink of their eye
Sprinkling dust as they go
painting nature to and fro
delicately leaving their mark
was that a coy flutter, hark
Giggling as they sprinkled a bee
he sneezed, they tittered prettily
mischievous little sprites
playfully sharing delights
Nighttime falls, they leave the ball
on the wind they sensed a call
homeward bound they meander
leaving behind a world of wonder
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
Sitting across from you in the bathtub
Staring into your eyes as I lift your leg out the water
Placing your ankle on my shoulder as I draw illustrations along your calf with my tongue
You moan my name so prettily as you lean your head back against the wall
I had to remind you that my tongue cleanses you like nothing else.
Nov 1, 2024
Nov 1, 2024 at 9:15 PM UTC
Ah, summer!
Summertime is ever my favourite, indeed;
with charms t'at are inadequate,
with promises not rich enough,
for my love is even wealthier t'an which!
Oh! But still, a summer garden
is a warming delight to my sights;
it is a living soul to me,
it pats my shoulder and smiles at me,
it sings to me and write me-
a delicate night-time lullaby!
Ah, so sweet and enigmatic
is our beloved summertime,
as it for ever always is;
With leaves t'at canst talk,
flowers t'at canst think,
and clever blossoms
that canst charm
and sway about so prettily
Back and forth,
Beneath and behind me;
O, and perhaps lips
t'at canst promise
Some surge of happiness;
Yes, happiness-vacant happiness,
Happiness t'at is our abode,
and for us only-to dwell in;
Though whose self is still beyond thought
and canst be delicately seen
only from a thousand miles away
from 'ere; o, dear happiness!
Wherefore be thou-come 'ere!
Come 'ere-o, light of my dim light,
fire of my shy fire!
Come 'ere, o dearest!
Flirt with and tease me;
touch and taunt me;
'Till I am but immersed
in thy evil charm, thy evil charm;
Whilst soaked in thy greedy eyes,
Consummate and make me whole,
delude and corrupt me,
but make me forget not
my very own intimate voice;
With a love that I want to kiss,
within a glory I should rejoice.
Stab and ****** me!
Make things blissful a tragedy;
but a glossy tragedy-as thy soul may be;
And be I, the happiest ghost in th' world;
roses are my tongue, lilies are my mouth;
cherries my breath, berries my death;
But on top of all, my dear,
Their blooms my satiation,
Frivolous, ye' stupendous as it is,
Ah, my salvation, health, and incarnation!
And comest to me once more;
Love me and care for me
Like never before;
just like I hath cared and be cared for,
make my feelings sure,
find a cure to my foul longing,
And be my sole angel of bliss
Like when I am lost again today;
Tend to me with thy singing so sweet-
As when I love; as I hath ever dreamed.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 6:44 AM UTC
Money money money money money ******* money. You think you’ll find happiness there. Happiness doesn’t buy you things, doesn’t take you out to dinner. Happiness doesn’t sit prettily on your finger or hang from your earlobes or rest around your neck. Happiness doesn’t have an engine and four wheels that takes you wherever you want to go. Happiness doesn’t add an extra comma or two to your bank account. Happiness doesn’t buy things to make you look beautiful or feel special.
Happiness holds your hand when you feel down. Happiness cooks for you when you can’t be bothered. Happiness tells you jokes and laughs at yours and when you make eye-contact, happiness keeps it and smiles back. Happiness tells you you’ll pull through. Happiness walks hand-in-hand into the darkness with you without any apprehension.
Happiness is a seed. You plant it and water it, watch as its roots take hold and the sapling breaks the surface. You nurture the fledgling stem as it grows over time into a huge and beautiful tree. It shelters you from the sun during summer and offers refuge from the snow in winter. It protects you from all the bad things. It gives and gives and gives unconditionally, asking nothing in return. It does not wander off to better climes. You will always find it exactly where you left it. It is your companion in an otherwise barren landscape.
But I am a dead tree, useless and ugly. I haven’t produced leaves in years. I offer no shelter, just shadows of possibilities on the ground. I harbour no birds. No deer eat my bark. I will fall and all around no ears shall hear. I am not your happiness nor anyone else’s. Just a mess of sticks, not even any use for firewood.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 7:02 AM UTC
I would rather be strong
I would rather be able
I would rather be admired for my spirit
and convictions than on how prettily I smile.
I can take a door off its hinges
in under 2 minutes.
And I can do it heels and dress.
I'd rather know how to change a tire
Than how to call for help.
I would rather be gutsy
I would rather live without fear.
I would rather lead the march
Then bring up the rear.
I can dive off a cliff
from 80 feet up
And never balk as I lift off the edge.
I know that kindness and encouragement can bring success
Faster than belittling and disdain.
I would rather be smart
I would rather be confident
I would rather hold passionate discussions
Than make petty small talk.
Engage me with ideas of philosophy and literature.
Tell me about space and democracy.
Don't ask me about the weather.
I would rather be gallant
I would rather be good.
I would rather chance getting hurt
Than close up my heart "as I should"
I'm kind to all people
I love, trust, and have faith.
I'd rather feel love than put distrust in its place.
But that's just me.
Who would you rather be?
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 7:51 PM UTC
No.
You don’t understand.
Life shouldn’t be this hard.
You shouldn’t be grateful
Making money for someone
Invisible, sitting prettily
Dropping demands and hesitations
That he might have given
An amount
Larger than your percentage
To the over all total
Which essentially you,
Your sweat and backache,
Had generated.
And they call this opportunity,
This mindless obedience?
And they call this career,
This fundamental slavery?
**** them.
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 9:46 AM UTC
there is no such thing as an antihero,
only a villain
who has found an exuse,
an antagonist who can speak more prettily than
all the others
who can lie holes straight through
the hero's
heart,
find their place in the universe
and blot it out on the map because
the universe
does not tend towards anything
but solitude.
you will find yourself all alone.
you will find yourself all
alone
and you can snap the neck of every doll you own but
despair will never be anything more than
an unrequited love, an
attachment that you never grew out of, a
high school crush that you stapled to your heart so as you grew it was like
a gastric bypass
you cannot hold as much love in your heart
as your mother
said you could
but you can kiss and sigh and with every moue you'll wonder just
why
your chest feels fit to burst when you get any deeper than
touch
heart fit to rupture you are the main villain
of every book
i've read
the antagonist in every story you are
the angry girl whose doll parts
lay in pieces
at her feet
whose bomb will detonate if you get too close
{the character i could relate to the most the character i hated the most the character
i talked to whenever i could and
memorized every line to replay, god
i hate
the way you speak
and i want
to hear
it more}
i ripped out your staples and added my own.
{despair will never reciprocate but
i understand you i
do
because we are the same and i hate you because
you hate yourself
and i could give you nightmares every night and
listen to your motives
every
morning
'people are disgusting'
you said
as if it was
a revelation}
you're not ****** up, just out of luck
because four-leaf clovers can't survive droughts.
you are seventyeight percent water
and every drop you spent on
drowning
the background characters
and every doll on your bedroom floor
{i love the way you cry when you laugh because every time
i hope
that one, that one tear
is the final drop wrung from the shroud
of a sailor a burial at sea
and you will crumble
into
dust}
you angry girl your eyes
are a yellowing bruise on the storyline
your backstory is a rash
on the protagonist's hands
and all your inner demons told you you were not alone but
you explained them away and
appeals to pity left you empty.
i will rip out all your staples i
will make you
seventyeight percent
saltwater
my heart is a mirror you can find yourself there and
reassemble yourself
from all your broken parts
i will be the blueprint from which
you rebuild
yourself
{a story is nothing
without
a villain}
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 3:25 AM UTC
Words pound against my skull
Let me out
They say
Write me down
They want to show off
just how prettily they've bunched themselves up to form sentences
Each one, perfectly completing the other
How do you do it ?
"They" say
Well,
I don't
No matter what I do or say I can't control this
Everywhere I look
Everything I see touch or smell
These words appear and carefully dance onto my paper or sometimes my thumbs run frantically over the small keys on my phone ..
And when there gone
There gone.
But that's okay
I keep them safe
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
mothers come inside the club w/ their kids to rock;
writing & painting don't matter here;
turning deep w/ skin like stone
the small Russian hearts wet & perfect,
getting busy w/ strangers w/ strange accents;
mothers of Russian origin wearing ********
t-shirts that show off their back tattoos;
leaving the state-soul dancing,
looking prettily at the water by the
window
[eating blonde modern society]
her lips at best running into his smoking arms;
walking on ***** legs filled w/ blind virgins,
sure, found unconscious on the floor
in her year at French dream school w/ her books;
brought home to her brother waiting to **** her
**** caring friends; speaking
freely but wrong; their lives brown secret
met stupid [ ] Gina who wrote graffiti all over
the cool painting;
***** is a genius, he asked for her brain
to smell his story a long
time ago at her birth, her mother
died; [it was a guy's
ode to yellow married music]
drinking at the evil club &
falling for her,
[watching & eating,
mankind turning to
silver, in walked Christ
talking of his origin to the mirror;
reading her flesh, she started getting
****** up in the house
& tore off her *******
like a Latina, [straight up ** (no connection)]
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 11:51 PM UTC
If you should sail for Trebizond, or die,
Or cry another name in your first sleep,
Or see me board a train, and fail to sigh,
Appropriately, I'd clutch my breast and weep.
And you, if I should wander through the door,
Or sin, or seek a nunnery, or save
My lips and give my cheek, would tread the floor
And aptly mention poison and the grave.
Therefore the mooning world is gratified,
Quoting how prettily we sigh and swear;
And you and I, correctly side by side,
Shall live as lovers when our bones are bare
And though we lie forever enemies,
Shall rank with Abelard and Heloise.
1.6k
margins are|______________________________________________________
home |______________________________________________________
to day- |______________________________________________________
dreamy |______________________________________________________
doodles |______________________________________________________
and |______________________________________________________
cavalier |______________________________________________________
corrections|______________________________________________________
or some |______________________________________________________
times |______________________________________________________
home |______________________________________________________
to my |_______________________________________________________
empty |______________________________________________________
words |______________________________________________________
and |_______________________________________________________
prettily |_______________________________________________________
penned |______________________________________________________
lies. |_______________________________________________________
Can they read my margins,
see between
the lines
and cut into the edges of
my
conflicted
pages?
{I'll never know}
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
Marionette spread
On her bread
Some cheese,
The evening sun was red
When flew above her head
A few wild geese!
As she looked up the sky
To see them prettily fly
Buzzed around her head,
Black honeybees!
She held her ground
Moved her hands around
But they do as they please,
These stubborn honeybees!
The smell struck their head
Fine cheese on bread
So luscious was the sight -
It whetted their appetite!
Marionette felt uneasy
The bees kept her busy
And obstructed her sight -
She was not allowed a bite!
It was getting late
The sun was about to set
It was coming to twilight,
But our poor Marionette
In her agitated state
Couldn’t enjoy the sight!
Cute little Marionette
She went down on her knees
But her evening was spoiled
By the uninvited bees!
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 7:09 AM UTC
Sleep eludes this stricken soul
as prettily wrapped death,
escapes the weary
Nay, for lying so still as one lacking breath,
searching for darkened hearts to fill the depths,
Void, as the empty ticking of stopped clocks,
hour glasses with nary a care for counting,
having traded sand for eternity
The search of the weary for unattainable rest and reassurance of eternity's kiss,
waits with slit smiles for the restless ******
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 2:18 AM UTC
Couple of things you should know about me,
One: I don’t like you.
I don’t know you and I don’t like you.
It’s not your fault,
I have been programmed this way,
An overbearing, overprotective monarch of a father
Combined with school yard bullies,
Teachers, priests, mother,
Evil grandmother,
And bad 1980’s movies all combined to ensure that
I don’t like you.
Stranger Danger,
Go away.
Two: You don’t know me.
How could you?
I don’t know myself.
The ‘me’ you find presented before you is nothing more than layers of ******** piled one on top of the other,
By family, friends, school yard bullies,
Morning cartoons, Atari, broken hearts and a mind that never sleeps,
(Certainly never shuts the **** up!)
A product of a society
No more advanced in this age of information
Then when we crawled out of the proverbial goo,
Cheaply constructed, covered with flashy pleasing knick-knacks,
Prettily packaged and presented for your purchase,
Swipe your credit card debt here please,
Yet not build to last.
I am lost somewhere deep beneath the ‘me’ that was chosen by
‘You’.
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 2:44 PM UTC
You are like an accidental good read that was left undiscovered;
The kinds where I never want the story to
come to an end;
The kinds where as I flip the pages, I do not feel like I know the plot better, but rather, there's so much more to know about the story;
The kinds where I know my heart would feel heavy as I'm reading the last page because then I wouldn't know what to occupy my waking thoughts with, except how morose I am that it had eventually come to an end.
The kinds where years down the road when the pages are foxed, I'd reread the book and fall in love with every single word all over again.
And although I know that you'll definitely be an accidental good read turned best piece of writing I've ever read,
I keep you on the shelf, unread,
because I would rather feel contented just seeing you sit prettily untouched, than be left devastated to see the blank leaf at the end.
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 2:18 AM UTC
When my hand passes along your breast
—Your swooning tremors translated—
Done and quiet and motionless
Our appetites full and sated.
Nothing, no passion beats
Nor does heart sing of a bond
Mere means to untied ends
Cursed, that, to never go beyond.
Laying there, as you quake with delight
No feelings that burst
Try as I might
But, jewelry feigned and worn so prettily
Though you are not the first.
Wander oh, Wanderer
Through fields of cut-and-dry
And ponder oh, Ponderer
What it means, her and I.
Feelings professed in autumnal halls’ rain
True Heart’s contents gifted
Turned bed-pleasures again.
Is this then Love?
My mattress stained?
Is this then Love?
To entreat desires again?
My tongues are sincere, motivating that art
Painted with blood
Strained right from my heart.
But, perhaps, mine is a bad art
So prudish, so straight
Where her brushstrokes are cherished
Not the brilliance of her paint
Perhaps, then, I’m chasing
Pure metaphor
To find Love and love
Is what Lust is for,
So, then I lay empty
With misty dreams and starry eyes
My loving hands not deferred
But outright denied.
How can we, in what sense,
In Love’s definition confide?
To prove it’s only a metaphor:
Not literally applied.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC
florid blooms adorning avenues and streets
floral petals unfurling to the sun's rays
fragrances sweet they prettily emanate
flourishes of splendid color so varied of hue
fabulous in a bouquet tied with lace or a ribbon
freshly cut daisies on restaurant tables
filling one's eyes in a most pleasant way
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 7:07 PM UTC
Dulcet melodies came up
From the basement, day and night
The rhythm that fractured silence apart
And rained in my life prettily like rose petals
In the falling of the spring
Her tinny fingers danced gentle on these piano keys
Serenading my soul, laid at peace with thee
She called this place the heart of her serenity
With love she kept it warm and dignified
Sometime ago she went out for draughts. And driven away by illusional views
Perhaps down on the sea promenade, something attractive
Held her hypnotized and possessed
Ever since she left, only silence sings from the basement
She left indelible marks and love notes around the walls, and
No soloist ever bothers to go down there
And stay longer, perhaps, because of her luggage all over the room
And I’m afraid of disposal, if she may come back home
Or emptiness could be too much to handle either
My heart has become, but just an isolated confined basement
Full of gloomy memories, ever since you’ve been gone
It is quiet with sadness down here without you, and
No soloist ever bothers to come and stay longer
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 4:36 AM UTC
in the tree that you bloomed so prettily,
the smiles you gave, the comfort, tranquility
in the calm oceans you reside
your presence felt by my side
you truly are one of a kind.
how precious you are
more precious than diamond
one that shines brighter than the sun
blinding the gods, the father, the son
for who you are is magnificent
a flower that bloomed on a tree
a flower that resides deep within the sea
Feb 5, 2021
Feb 5, 2021 at 9:47 AM UTC