"primitively" poems
I want you…
I want you instinctually and primitively.
Spiritually and physically.
I want to give you portions of me that I’ve never shown anybody; that will become distinctively yours - recognizable only to you and you alone.
I want to submerge you in a realm of ******** gentleness that perpetuates an aggressive kindness, that stimulates, and soothes every aching, yearning, desire that flows through your body.
Continuously…
I’m telling you what you already knew, that I will always be there for you, and you will never again feel alone or abandoned.
I want to give you complete and total satisfaction.
I want you and every little idiosyncrasy that makes you unique, that others have critiqued, because they didn’t understand.
I want to show you that I can…
I want to dwell in the depths of your being. I want to unravel your complexity.
I want to give you vibrations in the form of a currant that arouses sensationally, at a frequency that makes you hum melodies of ecstasy uncontrollably as you call out for me.
I want to initiate an explosion of soft convulsions from the warmth of my mouth penetrating every inch of your body rhythmically.
I want the waters from the spring of your masculinity to drown me, and then I want you to save me.
I want to embrace you each night and wrap you in between soft warm thighs, and welcoming arms under moonlight, until your torso is wet, drenched with sweat, until each kiss drips from the tip of your lips, and I caress your back with my fingertips.
I want to make love to you the way an angel would if she could.
I want to show you heaven and ethereal visions without limita-tions or specifications.
I want to give you happiness and pleasure unparallel, unlike any-thing either of us has ever felt, seen, or could create in our dreams.
I want to protect you from harm beneath my wings. I want you to believe in me…
I want you to come into my life.
Sep 1, 2010
Sep 1, 2010 at 7:21 PM UTC
Primordial network,
networking mycelium,
mycelia working,
working primitively,
primitive connections,
connecting chemically,
chemical reactions,
reacting pleasantly,
pleasant visuals,
visual enhancements,
enhancing hallucinations,
hallucinating vividly,
vivid reality,
reality bending,
bending light,
lightly colorful,
coloured full,
fully spiritual,
spirit elevated,
elevated God,
Gods flesh,
flesh Devine,
Devine mind.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 2:01 PM UTC
Intentional directional frequency,
dancing in multidimensional secrecy.
I follow this ancient Red Road
because it calls to me ceaselessly.
It humbles me,
more than can conceivably be.
It empowers me,
primitively and peacefully.
Graciously, like the moon pulls the sea
Interconnected irrevocably
in this spiral galaxy of spirituality.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
notifications made me really and primitively love the color red >_<
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 1:50 AM UTC
The big bang was your conception.
The expansion of nutritive gases and stars
filled the womb of your pregnant mother.
As barely an earthed fetus, you seemed an animal.
As a newborn, you grew primitively, slowly rose.
Enlightenment when you came of age
to discover yourself human.
Now, in your Twenty-First, the century
of drugged science, you live like a half-god
in ever-questioning evolved reversion,
in a contradictory asylum of paralyzing speed,
rising steep to its ringed peak funneling fumes
that revive the smell of your instincts, primal and fiery.
Then, in one final breath, in the outpour
on volcano’s point, melting and bursting
in radial gasps once again, will come your death
in a matter of ours, the eschaton, a new bang
desired and conceived anew, so that in rebirth
will be your survival, in rebirth our continuity.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:35 PM UTC
They live as a clan in the stone fortress
Barricading themselves from diversity in humanity,
They accumulate all manner of weaponry for strong reasonlessness,
They primitively accumulate arrows, Swords, simis or pangas,
Machetes, clubs, trunctheons and poisonous harpoons,
In full tribal and ethnic neurosis of amok level hatred,
Their behavioral fibres finely tuned towards killing massively
All those of different clan, blood, names and tribal earlobe tattoos
On their misfortunate happenstance of crossing the land
Of collective paranoia; where all but strangely doubts a visitor,
From inside their tribal cocoon they hate without knowledge
They detest all those of alien confession, they hate and doubt,
In stupid fear they believe that sons of foreign land are jeopardy,
We must **** them ere they step on our ethnic comfort.
Your paranoia makes you blind to natural truth
Barely open in the diversity of fauna and flora
On both land and oceans, air and below the earth,
For the bird extant are all but varied; eagles and kites,
Wild beasts are only a myriad of differences,
The trees in your mother’s woodlot are not homogenous,
Life in the seas and oceans is strange variation,
The variation which makes life worth its worthiness,
Rise above the folly in your collective paranoia
Pedestalled on the neurotic fear of human diversity.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 7:00 AM UTC
There is true art in words
Past the arguments & debates between worlds.
More meaningful than the daily gossip, wide spread news between groups of girls.
Deeper than the pictures painted, for those who can not see.
Communication without words, resulting in generations acting primitively
More commonly misunderstood, no guidelines to follow
Not even a bible to read, the fruit for uplifting our souls spiritually
No narratives to relate to, or even songs to sing
The expression of one's character, minimized as far as only sight can see.
Even those who can not hear, use words to speak. Swift movement of their hands, body language and gestures
All used to forms words ya see.
Men say women use them to much, women say men don't use them enough
Both parties using them the same, most with intentions of relaying true love
No hobby or passion untouched by its beauty
There is true art words, without them... where would we be? ...
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
Deep in the folds
My vulnerable places
Like a draft displaces
Turbid Stagnance
Firey sun illuminates
The dewey fertile soil
Infiltrating unturned
Spongy depths
Stimulates the follicles
Teases tenacious life
Into frothing vigorous
Surging prominence
Hungry searching tongues
Tasting the flushed flesh
So forceful and so hot
in open air
Primitively freely
illuminate
My hunger
Devour me
Like a flame
Consuming
My pride and shame
To surrender
Is to love you
And the falling
Hurts the best
Aug 15, 2022
Aug 15, 2022 at 9:26 PM UTC
Plunge deep into my soul that shank made of bone. It is when my back is turned away from you. As you are slowly withdrawing your ancient weapon, it would seem a ****** ripe ol piece of meat still precariously clings to the end point. A....Nice....Big......Chunk. Will you roast it over open flame? Nah, not you. You wink at me and begin to eat it raw, blood dripping down the sides of your mouth as you primitively grunt and tear at the rawness and the sinews, suckling in the fat for a bit. You pause only for a moment to enjoy the tangy metal taste of the blood dance as it bursts onto your not particularly hard to please pallet. Are we well sated? Now I that I have been made to watch these acts of cannibalism to my being? A piece of my soul here, another slice there. Oh by the Gods! Is that cheap wine you’re using to wash me down? How bitterly cliché.........A lesson from my childhood now transfixed. Oh yes indeed grandmother, fairy tales are real. The veritable Big Bad Wolf lives. The beast was predatorily and brutally ravenous whilst hiding in sheep’s clothing. Aye, ravenous….. ~M
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
Do you perceive me....with demure heated gaze,
embracing the planes of your features,
built with the precision of my minds eye.
It is clouded by repressed touch,
hidden words---
the agonized whispers that are never to caress the drum of your ear.
Do you know what I see in my delirium?
A hooded impenetrable stare, beckoning
nakedness.
Mouth slightly serious with secret mirth, capable.
The strength and ability to render me weak-kneed,
pliably wettened from the stolen apple of Eden.
Even still my contemplation, my study of him becomes bolder.
Your ignorance of me leaves me unslacked,
thirst spreads from mere sight,
to thought,
to obsession.
I..imagine...no,no...I live,
replaying a wanton fabricated dream.
The taste of you is likened to spiced nectar,
hands bared, primitively splayed along flesh,
exploring, penetrating.
In the midst I finally hear the words,
confessing--
You live in the same dream.
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 5:54 PM UTC
I don’t understand
how we could be so cruel.
We mold our words into weapons
and force survival of the fittest,
And if you’re too weak to withstand the blows
then you’re pushed off the cliff, off the chair, knife to your throat.
We’re not afraid to harm our own,
to beat them, to cut them, to shoot them, to ****
We’re not afraid to spill blood
that is the same color as our own.
Why is that we are so primitively cruel?
Centuries after we first became,
centuries after we needed to fight to survive,
we still rely on bloodshed to prove our worth.
It makes me sick,
to know that I am one of a species
that is smart enough to understand feelings,
But abuses that understanding.
It makes me sick,
to know that someone could easily fire a gun
in the store that I shop at
just to hear the screams, see the tears and blood,
fear and pain,
Terror.
The only thing that eases my nausea
is knowing that we can be good, too.
We can love, and fight for love,
We can defend the ones who are weaker than we are.
Who would have thought
that the battle between good and evil
truly is fought every day,
but by normal humans rather than superheroes?
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 7:53 AM UTC
Before I went digital, it was the pencil to paper lyrical
Before I went digital, it was the pencil that led through the led to find sense in the sentence
Before I went digital, my fingers went hysterical, it was an algorithm analogous to stay primitively liberal
Before I went digital, putting anything on screen was criminal - so the lens of my iris was the only visual
Before I went digital, the rush crucified the wood of my pencil like they would lynch blacks on trees for being cynical
Before I went digital, everything was a drawing of the critical - like mining coal my product had fruit and multiplied like the Adam and Eve spirituals
Before I went digital, I had literacy that took my literature to the actual cultural and literal.
Raw days were the utmost poetrical, all this before I went digital.
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 6:01 PM UTC
Learning and evolving
Primitively revolting
Problematic solutions
Ideological institutions
Mergence of shadow
Disassociation of ego
*** ecology, spirituality
Check, check, check
Why am I still broken?
Sep 16, 2020
Sep 16, 2020 at 8:07 AM UTC
The water was a blue universe where the soul is fluid.
Lifetime far away from the closest human grid.
Aquamarine dream, shines a glacial sheen
of a mountainside secluded lake.
Engulfed in triangular summits with their bleached
termination dust flakes.
The peace was so still and so primitively profound.
There existed no need to make a single sound.
My every hurt was soothed with liquid blue bliss.
Morning would bring a hypnotic mist.
Moistening blades of grass that are April sun kissed.
Grateful to be alive to witness such a sight.
My soul floats the motionless blue with
sweet trembling tranquil delight.
Apr 2, 2025
Apr 2, 2025 at 8:21 AM UTC
I am not a cog in this machine
As it rolls on mightily
I wield creative deformity
Navigating aimlessly
My passion refined
Primitively divine
My anger rips through my fears
With claws of resentment
My love for life
An immortal hunger
And I’m not getting any younger!
Nov 14, 2020
Nov 14, 2020 at 7:31 AM UTC
By naked nerves
This pride was to be hung
Out to dry in the sunlight
Where life began
Outside this god forsaken shell
That tv mama sung into
This eager child's willing ear
Pride was a blanket yet to be sewn
And a glass of water yet to be poured
Promise of comfort
Nourishing hopes idea
That keeps on slimming
And leaving the baby
Forever hungry forever empty
Sugar coated futility and shame
Grandiosely dressed velvety pretense
Naked I wish to be
This moment is alive
Pulsating energy
Sweeping you off you feet and driving
Each heartbeat further
Deeper with tinkling
Cocktail of discomfort and
Purpose with a dollop of euphoria
Alive I wish to be
Simply complex, primitively dark
Painfully loving and unwillingly absent
Skinless as I am in my ****** honesty
As I am as I was as I will ever be
I let go
No more hanging on fear
There isn't loosing but setting free
Giving away of hearts
They only grow bigger in the end
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 10:13 PM UTC
I Prayed that I would love
someone
again in this lifetime.
That he would
recognize
me in my selfness
and be glad.
Glad as primitively as a
single
glimpse
regales the saddest
crying echo of my
name morphing into
Song.
Have I found that
ecstatic moment?
Have you in the
moment's recognition
sung with me
tonight?
No The End is not my
Beginning. It is the
World
Which breathed our
names
Together
Caroline Shank
11.19.23
Nov 19, 2023
Nov 19, 2023 at 7:23 PM UTC