"scowling" poems
They slither around cob webs
and hide in the crook of my elbow
attached to me
like a child clinging to his mother on the first day of Pre-K
hideous and scowling
but then beautiful and glowing
either way I keep it pressed to my chest
i breathe in the putrid smell
but I am now used to the scent
it purrs and snuggles closer
and I don't pull away
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 8:58 PM UTC
Ever had that feeling that no one cares even the people who constantly say things like am here for you but is never around the ones who say just call me and when you do they don't answer , people who make promises and never commit but isn't a promise a comfort to a fool , then call me stupid cause I fell for it several times am way pass the stage of a fool .
I got trust issues!! and its way pass crazy when you find that you don't even trust your mother when you can't look at her and crack a smile for a few seconds because in the blink of an eye she takes it away.
I had a nightmare last night and I wake up trying to ketch my breathe but the truth is it was my reality standing in front of everyone and no one can see me dying .
My alarm went off and this time I didn't even know what for, screaming and beating ,cursing and scowling my mother went off from 6 -8 in the morning, lord know this my favorite way to wake up giving me enough energy to go through my day all gloomy and **** but he always seem to cheer me up with the sound of his voice cause its a Cole world and all I gotta do is CHEER UP .
cause even through the joy i feel the pain even when it sun i feel the rain even when am high i feel the low likes that's all I know and lord knows i can't complain cause even when i do it feels the same getting high just to fight the lows cause that all i know .....
So cheer up
#NanaJustice
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC
Standing perplexed
Vigorously stabbing button
Scowling at passing traffic
Prodding repeatedly
Slapping neon display like
a defective vending machine
Arms flailing in impatience
Fidgeting on kerb edge.
He's the cross crossing man.
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 3:40 AM UTC
There is pressure in society
That judges how your looks should be
And when I hear a girl proclaim "I'm fat!"
As though there was something wrong with that,
Such thoughts, I tell you, just won't do
When the opposite is clearly true
Because with big girls there is more to love,
And they won't break with a playful shove.
And although I'm not one for body shaming,
And don't wish to sound like I'm complaining,
Thin girls simply lack the cellulite
To keep somebody warm at night,
Their bones protrude in awkward places
And they have gaunt, unhealthy faces
They regularly seem in a foul mood
(Which is probably caused caused by lack of food),
And you can't get anything to eat
Without them scowling at the treat,
That you, yourself, have chose to order,
While they dine on salad and water,
Until they scream "I've had enough!
You have no idea how tough
It is to keep this slender figure
And stop myself from getting bigger!"
As if it was somehow your fault
That they won't eat sugar or salt,
Or that they'll spend 3 hours at the gym
As a compromise for staying thin.
So while I'd love a girl however she looks
(As long as we like similar books,
And can talk for hours at a time,
Or not at all and still be fine)
There's very few (indeed, if any!
Although their numbers may be many),
Skinny girls I've ever met
That a big one hasn't beaten yet!
If you must lose weight I do implore
You know it's yourself you do it for
And while I must concede it doesn't matter,
To most if you're thinner or fatter,
No songwriter, I'll think you'll find
Wrote a song about a small behind
No artists brush strokes ever found
Joy in painting girls that were not round
And the best words found in poetry
Are about big girls it's plain to see
Like voluptuous, buxom, and well-rounded
With thin girls how would they have sounded?
Although I must- again- make haste to add
That no truly self-respecting lad
Would ever dream of judging you
By how you look, not what you do,
So if shedding pounds makes you feel great
Then go ahead and lose some weight,
But ignore what shallow fools may say,
As they'll just keep judging anyway,
Because the best people, you'll always find,
Will love you for what's in your mind.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 7:43 PM UTC
A gray hippopotamus lived in a zoo
At the end of the Tropical Line,
Harry the Hippo lived next to the loo
Right by the Northern confines.
With his wide toothy smile,
And his great double chin,
He greeted his neighbors
With a great hippo grin...
Made friends with the deer,
Made friends with an owl,
Avoided the white scowling bear,
Avoided the family of wolves,
(He'd heard they liked to eat meat).
Decided to friend a great, walloping moose,
A challenge, his neighbor seemed rather elite.
Tall and severe with a beard on his chin,
He stood like a tree on his heavy brown hooves,
And branches of antlers stood heavy and grim.
"I see we are neighbors,"said Harry the Hippo,
"Name's Harry," he said with a grin,
"Since it looks like we'll be here a while, ya' know,
I figure we ought to be friends!"
"Bull" Moose only chewed a bit more on his cud,
Burped in the gray hippo's face,
Turned his wide antlers for well and for good...
He spurned the whole hippo race.
But Harry had patience,
Had nowhere to go,
So he waited a week and a month and a day
For Otto the Moose to come 'round,
And he did! And now the two of 'em play.
Our Harry's advice to you is be nice,
And after a while, it comes true....
The balkiest neighbors will have to think twice
And fall into friendship with you.
(0=
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 10:58 PM UTC
To say the darkness
Does indeed
Dwell inside of me
Becomes the pride of me
Would underscore
The fact
That the madman’s eyes
Loosens my lunatic tongue
The scowling beast
His drooling jowls
The anguished cries
How he howls
The hunger
Left unsated
The feast
For which he waited
The beast will have his
Ways with
Life and all of her bounties
And then what lies within
Will settle once again
The foaming mouth will pass
The hunger is not meant to last
And I will be me
Once more
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 3:31 PM UTC
I’ll take the left side, you take the right
cause I’d rather not be the one who broke your parents’
“genuinely antique” bed
I heard the wood give way just now
when we sat on the edge
and I know, tonight, it’s coming down.
I should probably be more of your gentleman,
but I think that’s what put us into this mess
when we got to the cabin I complimented your ma,
“Natasha is such a unique name in this age”
Her reply, flat through the grimace
“its an old and ugly Russian name, call me Nat.”
Your dad invited me to walk in the woods,
where I tripped over a root, ten feet in
and threw your father head first into poison oak.
It’s hard to tell through the swelling,
but I’m pretty sure he’s still scowling.
Then trying to help after dinner I knocked their
“two-hundred-dollar, honest-to-jesus, Napa Valley’s Best”
bottle a’ wine
onto their “ten-thousand-dollar, straight from Andkhoy.”
Afghani carpet.
So, I’m sorry
but I can imagine you’d forgive me
your boyfriend,
who loves and adores you,
for sleeping this day off
and letting the night drop out from under you.
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 7:48 PM UTC
A dozen fellows draped in threadbare tread densely,
Profligating goons in obsidian gowns
gathered under rainbow
moonshine shaking bronze hands,
howling and ****** in the shambles of the moon,
rap'n and nod'n to the notes of midnight.
The mellow marines mourned over malice,
lionizing over lost ones,
many howled venerated, exalted in wonder
in favor of their thrilling grace, and delight,
and brilliance, and might!
but some neighboring sticklers,
behaved haughty and in disdain,
of the crowdy Cavaliers bellowing echoes
signaling out
to the seers of the sea,
singing to the wands overwatching the wedding,
and ravens listened,
roving like noble patrolsmen.
Traveleres and trainees at sea
humble and bright
niave, and frieghtened
in traverse,
volatile and toiling,
tireless,
Lunatics, (laughing, laughing, laughhing,)
Rumaging through rain,
fireciely,
rallying and rableroused,
through towering halls of mohogony,
hefty and wholesome were their hearts
though, beast of the woodsy edifice
were foul and benumb
scowling with contempt,
haste to devide and devised to hindrance.
Hence the heroes heed
to the valleys of rose, and violet,
and strawberry fields of forever,
seeking Saint Nicholas,
in the bustling Byzantium,
in the murky shadows of doubt.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 10:08 AM UTC
It's the music, the alcohol
it's my situation won't improve
it's vices
it's smoking bidis
it's coughing from addiction
it's having talent but no outlet
emotion without expression
it's wondering if it's depression
it's insecurity
it's am I happy
it's advice when only I am me
it's drinkin brew
things I thought i knew
downing downers to cheer me up
it's a powdered nose
secrets no one knows
gambling with tomorrow
it's waiting tables
it's sore shoulders
it's scowling behind a smile
it's lifting weights
it's bad first dates
limp from drinking from the bottle
it's my ex lady
it's lusting
it's wanting what's in the past
it's a broken car
it's public transit
it's fearing that I am them
it's lovers cheat
talk is cheap
promises wash off my bed sheets
it's my breaking point
this broken joint
trying to calm my loathing
it's the ecstasy
that only fixes me
for one pill at a time
it's the president
pay the rent
work and school until I'm spent
never sleep
no cash to eat
feed my heart
with dreams I never see
holding on and letting go
walking fast and running slow
out of place
out of patience
job ******* placement
alcohol and strippers ****
dignity and throwing fits
trying not to slit my wrist
when everything comes down to this
moment
and I miss
it's insanity
everything all around me
it's me
Apr 26, 2012
Apr 26, 2012 at 3:20 PM UTC
I am never enough
In your scowling eyes,
Your voice is coarse and rough,
No care for how the blood dries.
No care for my welfare,
Just how it affects you.
Remember when you said 'she left you because of the drugs'?
Well **** you too.
And **** when you told me
'I never said that'
Where is your sympathy
You gas lighting rat.
Go ahead and press my buttons
To see me light up,
And when I do,
You play victim.
The meds I take
Are to deal with you.
Your care is fake,
You pretend you don't have a clue.
When I try and tell you
How I feel,
The words don't get through,
Responsibility not so quick on your heel.
You make dinner
For everyone but me,
My patience is growing thinner,
Your hate is like a tree
Taking root under my family,
And now I am the wretch,
The cans in my room, so pretty,
You self absorbed *****
Not big on self regulation,
Or object permanence,
Day on day commotion
Starts again, what a performance.
The rage I have for you,
You taught me well,
I am black all the way through,
And water does not quell.
Alcoholic,
Just like you taught,
This life is chaotic
K cider 7.5% store bought.
Why does Dad have to die of cancer
And you continue to breath?
You death dodging dancer,
Every sip is a seethe.
You shouldn't be allowed around children,
You dangerous psychopath,
A hateful haven,
Blood soaked epitaph.
So here is wishing
You a swift death,
Or maybe go missing,
I don't want to hear another breath.
You won't get a funeral.
You are being cremated.
And I won't be there
To bring you back from the crematorium.
Aug 18, 2023
Aug 18, 2023 at 4:20 PM UTC
trapped in a ribcage
frail and fretting and fettered
hummingbird heart beats harder and harder
your skeleton fingertips tilling the ground
combing for the catacombs
of all your past lives
look what i have done for you
teeth marks to chart your growth
black red purple sky no stars no light no
for thine is the kingdom, the dead leaf diadem
battle-ready raccoon eyes, scored and scowling
if you do not run you will be left behind.
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 2:49 AM UTC
You at least went.
so that meant the party could finally be awkward.
that's homeroom
at your personal Harvard
your low self esteem was the head dean
[ claimed you had promise ]
then promptly vomits
but you promised to maim
your lollipops with hot topic's
most goth night-shade of hemlock
iron-on, henna tattoos
for your thin lips.
like two gates
to a birdcage
where you keep
ravens...
pecking the tip of your tongue
where your brave words die
for lack of oxygen... pecking
the flesh off the skeleton key
to the heart of your insightful
comment,... stymied -
a black raven
savors the succulent eyes
of your hurricanes, so
braille maps for blind rage
fly off the shelves... fly like
led zeppelins to
fresh hell.
you lose your window seat
on the wing of a prayer
to Charles Bukowski.
now you're scowling a gilded smile
at all the Ed Hardlys'...
good thing you brought Jello Biafra Shots
to the shindig... cubes of gelatinous absinthe
each with a sugar box
lodged in supermax insecurity prisms...
fey emeralds.
monochrome rubicons
you pop
when cross.
like wainscoting the panic room
that came with a deejay
who thinks you're
a boy who got
lost.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 7:10 AM UTC
It is docking it is tocking in the winter garden locking
over still and heavy knocking that defies the very dew.
We see storms and angels crumbling under load of dearest kindling and the fire and gases burning in the skies where clouds are churning and the snow, hail, sleet, and ices come to split the air in slices as it settles over houses, villages, shoes.
Waiting huddling drawing the blankets hot and heavy with a fear of powerful nature in the windy savory few.
Now we see and hear the howling like a wolf entangles scowling as she tries to say her fowl and angry message to the blew.
I am never quite so settled as when all around me crumbles and the anger of the desert makes the inner anger moot.
And the people seem to gather in their individual lathers but they all believe the madness that the storm will never pass. But pass it does and finding with the dawn a calm descending, yes, a calm that is so different that it seems to crush our ears. We are happy to look outward and even hear a skylark and to see the streaming sun rays flitter over piles of snow.
Ever angled up in heaven we almost see a dragon or a cannon that's protecting rampart walls.
And we know that we are safe here but it was such a battle that the scars are not quite healed.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 2:17 AM UTC
Laying in the land of lies.
Kissing broken butterflies
Knows what she wants.
A tigress on the prowl.
Howling and squawking.
Howling and scowling.
Pawing, cat calling.
Pussycat growling.
Love laid roses on the path.
Tangled thorns and demon horns.
Thought she'd have a laugh.
Love she chooses lonely pawns.
Howling and squawking,
Howling and scowling
Pawing,cat calling.
Pussycat growling.
She snatches sweethearts.
Creating works of art.
Living on cupcakes.
Cementing works of art.
Breaking hearts and crushing bones.
Howling and squawking.
Howling and scowling.
Pawing, cat calling.
Pussycat growling.
Fingertips tips as razor blades.
Razor blades are on the ****
Love dies screaming silently.
At wicked women's will.
Said goodbye.
Howling and squawking
No more talking.
Pussycat cat cuddles.
Snuggles and kittens.
(C) LIVVI
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 5:13 AM UTC
They say
Birds of a feather flock together.
But what if I’m fly
With no feathers
I’m more of a social butterfly.
So when I pull up
You say with scowling face
You have no feathers
So you cant flock with me.
I try to explain that I came out of my cocoon
I just learned how to fly
But some would brush it off.
And say, Be glad I did not devour you.
Leave while you still have the chance.
So I guess I do that.
And then you go up in the air
And get chased by a bird of a different feather
Who seeks not to talk but to feed.
The only feathers it cares about is yours to eat.
I wonder when you are up there
Trying to fly around a feather that sees at night like its day.
You say out of breath, I could have flocked with the butterfly
But I was obsessed with feathers
And feathers just might be my end.
But it would not be mine.
Because remember, I'm a butterfly.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 7:33 PM UTC
When everything was fine
And the notion of sin had vanished
And the earth was ready
In universal peace
To consume and rejoice
Without creeds and utopias,
I, for unknown reasons,
Surrounded by the books
Of prophets and theologians,
Of philosophers, poets,
Searched for an answer,
Scowling, grimacing,
Waking up at night, muttering at dawn.
What oppressed me so much
Was a bit shameful.
Talking of it aloud
Would show neither tact nor prudence.
It might even seem an outrage
Against the health of mankind.
Alas, my memory
Does not want to leave me
And in it, live beings
Each with its own pain,
Each with its own dying,
Its own trepidation.
Why then innocence
On paradisal beaches,
An impeccable sky
Over the church of hygiene?
Is it because that
Was long ago?
To a saintly man
--So goes an Arab tale--
God said somewhat maliciously:
"Had I revealed to people
How great a sinner you are,
They could not praise you."
"And I," answered the pious one,
"Had I unveiled to them
How merciful you are,
They would not care for you."
To whom should I turn
With that affair so dark
Of pain and also guilt
In the structure of the world,
If either here below
Or over there on high
No power can abolish
The cause and the effect?
Don't think, don't remember
The death on the cross,
Though everyday He dies,
The only one, all-loving,
Who without any need
Consented and allowed
To exist all that is,
Including nails of torture.
Totally enigmatic.
Impossibly intricate.
Better to stop speech here.
This language is not for people.
Blessed be jubilation.
Vintages and harvests.
Even if not everyone
Is granted serenity.
2.6k
After Li Po
While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead
I played at the front gate, pulling flowers.
You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse,
You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.
And we went on living in the village of Chokan:
Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.
At fourteen I married My Lord you.
I never laughed, being bashful.
Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.
Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.
At fifteen I stopped scowling,
I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
Forever and forever and forever.
Why should I climb the lookout?
At sixteen you departed,
You went into far Ku-to-en, by the river of swirling eddies,
And you have been gone five months.
The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead.
You dragged your feet when you went out,
By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses,
Too deep to clear them away!
The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.
The paired butterflies are already yellow with August
Over the grass in the West garden;
They hurt me. I grow older.
If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang,
Please let me know beforehand,
And I will come out to meet you
As far as Cho-fu-sa.
2.6k
Skipping through the forest,
Laughing with delight,
Glimpsing my sweetheart,
Off to the right.
Sneaking up closely,
Taking a peek.
Watching him moving,
I do not speak.
Silently climbing,
Up and out on a limb.
Taking some acorns,
And grinning down on him.
Watching him move,
unaware of my perch.
Thinking how funny,
He's going to lurch.
Taking careful aim,
Then glancing about,
I whack him on the head,
And he gives a shout.
Laughing, and swinging,
Out on a limb.
Hanging upside down,
And grinning at him.
First he was scowling,
Looking quite mad.
Now he is smiling,
And, boy, am I glad.
Still hanging there,
My knees over the limb,
He approaches me slowly,
And I get a kiss from him.
His hands on my face,
His heart in his eyes.
Kissing so sweetly,
With fun undisguised.
Slipping from my perch,
I settle in his arms.
Feeling so safe,
Loving his charms.
Not a thing could be better,
than being this close.
with his heart to my heart
his nose to my nose
Nov 6, 2010
Nov 6, 2010 at 2:00 PM UTC
a stripe of asphalt on the blanket of green
I stare wordlessly out into other people's lives
peeking past the violet-tinted windows of the freeway
as your chat-chatter spills from your coffee cup
filled to the brim with handshakes and impatience
You clutch your earpiece tighter, scowling
as I trace the horizon across the glass
smudgy fingertips that sigh boredom
and the Mexican workers in orange vests
peer back at me curious and wave
turn to their left and shout something in Spanish
tongues dancing, slick with dust
I smile as they crumple their lunch sacks and
pitch them down into the rubble then hoist
brick by brick, stone by stone
no natural-made boundary
into the chalky air and perch for a while
to mop the sweat from their brown
creased faces and sing rowdily to their neighbors
and the immobile in the SUVs
You lock the doors fast
and pat your hair into place
I've got no time for this construction
you say, can't they build this highway somewhere else?
as you drum your fingers along to the siren song
of CEOs and business connections
You're just the same as the rest of them.
Man forever building bridges
that will only topple down.
Jun 23, 2010
Jun 23, 2010 at 7:26 AM UTC
‘The rebels always find each other,’
the old men used to say, scowling
at us and our feral-haired friends
in the slums of Nairobi.
Tell my people I love them.
The rebels do not know who they are
but they know who they are not;
they know they are breathing bad air,
they know something is not quite right here.
The rebels always find each other,
communicating on some soul-dimension of revolutionary
called to understand, called to speak,
called to live and live well the cause of peace.
Let them be alone if they must.
They will empty their pockets for the freedom of the world
and feel themselves the winners of some crazy cosmic sweepstakes--
tell my people I love them.
The rebels always find each other
far from home,
far from other.
They find each other and remind each other:
to tell despair to **** off,
to reach for light,
to stay up all night seeking,
because the rebels will find each other
and be found--
tell my people
I love them
by Teej Mali
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 8:19 PM UTC
My friends complain to me
They tell me their sorrows
And tear filled litanies.
I nod along and offer advice
Scowling inside.
Oh so now finally the guy you like doesn’t like you?
So no you finally get hurt?
You dare complain to me who would ****
To feel that pain to feel that love burst?
You finally feel rejected huh,
Left on the street?
Welcome to the real world *******
Welcome to the meat.
Rotting and corroding,
sick filled heart,
That we call rejection.
Beating furiously
As a thousand bulls on the range
Feel our pain.
Now you’re alive.
How does it feel when you’re lucks ran out?
But still you have fond memories.
Kisses to look back on nostalgically
What do I have…
Well I have you.
What a friend you turned out to be.
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 9:44 PM UTC
The sky: an ever-changing canopy,
Endless variety.
Black at night,
Punctuated only by stars and moonlight,
And clouds by day.
Cloud-ships sail along an invisible sea,
Scowling black clouds,
Or fluffy white palaces of snow.
No end of shapes and forms,
Yet sometimes formless mists.
Clouds that are net curtains
In the window to space,
Or growling black monsters
Firing deadly lightning-forks.
If we’re lucky,
There aren’t any clouds at all,
Just blue from horizon to horizon
Everywhere you see.
Golden-red dawns and sunsets
Contrast well with deepest blues
All colours and hues.
By night and day, Moon and Sun
Play Peekaboo behind those clouds.
And stars forever twinkle and swirl
Along the Milky Way.
No words can adequately capture
The beauties of the sky,
It just gives God’s Believers
Every Reason Why.
Paul Butters
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 4:17 AM UTC
I have to go
To fight a war
I have to go
But I'll return
There is a sorrow creeping on a lonely soul
Sitting a raven on a statue of Aphrodite
Buzzards and doves
Buzzards and doves
I have to go
A call to arms
I have to go
But I'll return
When all the battles are won
There is a grey cloud with a terrible face
Menacing eyes and scowling jawls
A feeding vulture
A bird of paradise
Buzzards and doves
Buzzards and doves
I have to go
But never leave
I have to go
But you are with me
In all the battles won
In the peace of a soldier marching home
I have to go
But I'll return
Buzzards and doves
Buzzards and doves
And me a crow
Fighting for a soul
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 3:27 PM UTC
I walk across
to Hannah's flat
in Arrol House
and knock at the door
Mrs Scott opens
the door and stands there
she's a short thin woman
with a face of granite
with a slit
where her mouth is
whit is it?
she says
her Scottish accent
rough as stone
is Hannah home?
I ask
I dunnae kinn
she replies
HANNAH
she bellows
over her shoulder
Benedcit is haur fur ye
she adds
scowling at me
jist coming
Hannah replies
from back in the flat
yoo'll hae tae bide
Mrs Scott says
and walks back inside
leaving me
on the red tiled step
I look into the interior
of the flat
and smell breakfast
having been cooked
I look back
into the Square
kids are playing
near by
on the pram sheds
and over by the wall
girls are doing handstands
their feet
against the wall
dresses falling
over their heads
showing underwear
sorry about Mum
she has a mouth on her
Hannah says
where we going?
she asks
thought we'd go
to the South Bank
see the Thames and boats
and have ice cream
I say
do I need money?
she asks
just about 2/-
I say
for bus fares
and ice cream
I'll ask Mum
for a handout
but wait for the answer
Mum have you 2/-
I can have?
Hannah asks
fa dae ye hink
Ah am Rockerfeller?
nae Ah huvnae
her mother replies
no problem
I say to Hannah
I'll have enough
for us both
are you sure?
yes don't aggravate
your mother more
than you have to
so Hannah gets her coat
and we walk off
through the Square
she's like that sometimes
Hannah says
she's as tight
as a wing nut
we walk down the slope
and up Meadow Row
I ask her how her father is
she says
he's Ok but in
the doghouse more often
as not with Mum
but he's a softy
to Mum's hardness
but Mum says
he's soft in the heed
but he's lovely really
Hannah says
-I know her old man
he's English and a bit
simple after helping
to empty out Belsen camp
in 1945 where some
he told me were
more dead as alive-
we wait at the bus stop
she with her dark hair
pony tailed
with a tartan skirt
and white blouse
and me in blue jeans
and white shirt
and quiff of brown hair
and hazel eyes
she with a budding beauty
with her mother's
touch of tongue
who if roused
could give words
full lung.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 3:25 PM UTC
I could not make love to a woman,
no matter how pleasing to my easy eyes,
who possesses a scowling soul of no depth,
a sour heart containing no eagerness to love this world,
or a dark mind shut to wonder, light, and beauty.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC