"snuggly" poems
the frustration I had
after failing
to bring myself to ******
for the
tenth
time this past week
makes me more
furious
than depressed
seriously
my *** drive
has always been high
as soon as I
got over
the shame
society places on women
for enjoying
their sexuality
I have always used
************
as a release
relieves
stress
leaves me
relaxed
and
content
or should I say,
left me
feeling that way
usually
it was once a day
fairly frequent
but, it
matched
my *** drive's
needs
what the **** is wrong with me
I have tried
imagining,
watching,
reading,
looking at
every form
of erotica
that exists
I have searched
through everything
I can find
from
****
******
stories,
comics
and my search history
will let you know
that I've searched
everything
from
****
to
******
to
interracial lesbian forced *******
and things
worse
than that
e v e r y t h i n g
used to take me,
oh, I dunno
maybe three minutes
with my ********
after
around an hour
is when I give up
now
I even bought
a different
********
NO
RELEASE
NO
PASSION
GONE
what is
WRONG
WITH
ME
oh yeah -
depression
I mean
I knew it was bad
when video games
no longer
had appeal
that was enough
games
have been a passion
and a hobby of mine
since I was five
the other hobby
I started a bit older than five
but
you stole that one, too
after depression
beat the **** out of me
on Tuesday
I thought that was it
thought
since the next morning
I awoke
without the urge
to **** myself
it was over
nope
you have robbed me
of the simplest
things
in my life
that give me pleasure
no more
wriggling
moaning
spasming
the tingling
sensation
that starts in my toes
and makes its way
up
the length of my body
the warmness
that follows
with it
the
satisfaction
slight smile
snuggly
sleepy
post ****** me
I miss her
give her
back
I miss my life
give it
back
this isn't
ME
for ***** sake!
I am a ******
witty
humorous creature
full of passion
looking
for opportunities
to get myself off!
not this
depressed
apathetic
vessel
without soul.
you won't stop
until you have
everything
in my life
you won't stop
until you
put
my soul in your mouth
chew
grind
crush it
your saliva
breaks me down
spit me out
please
I am fighting
for you to cough me up
regurgitate
the essence
of me
let me put myself
back inside this body
please
please
no
you won't stop
you will eat my soul
until
ever fiber
protein
ounce of health
I had
is now
inside of you,
depression
cold-hearted *****
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 6:10 AM UTC
I've been told that a catapiller wrapped snuggly in it's cacoon like the bed-time burrito of my youth feels very simular to the feeling i give when i hug. I've been told that i squeez just right, with the warmth of a summer night. I've been told I hug like a lover seeing her soldier for the first time in years. The few people i hug ask me how i hug so well.
I don't.
I hug with the pain of yesterday.
I hug with the scars on my wrists and the blood on my legs.
I hug with the overdoses, the addictions, the emptyness, the abondonment.
When i hug, i send a message.
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 12:12 AM UTC
Somewhere in this world, I've heard that it's true,
That a creature exists, with huge eyes that are blue,
A small kind of creature, you'd mistake for a mouse,
A small kind of creature, with a small kind of house,
Now this creature is kind and so full of affection,
But the worlds big and scary, so it requires protection,
But fear not young Snuggle-Bug, you are destined to find,
Another such creature, that's also so kind,
A creature that's known, from the east to the west,
As the Snuggly-Buggly if you hadn't have guessed,
Now the Snuggly-Buggly is small but it's strong,
And it holds the Snuggle-Bug in it's arms which are long,
Now it keeps it warm and it keeps it secure,
It gives it some love, and it gives it some more,
If one makes a mistake, a hug's what they're given,
Because each of them knows, they'll always be forgiven,
Now remember this Snuggle-Bug, no matter what you do,
The Snuggly-Buggly will always love you.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 12:12 PM UTC
He stirs, slowly...
watching the spoon,
break the fog,
settling over his morning cup...
opalescent eyes,
scanning the sleepy blue,
of daytime horizons.
Porcelain fingers, shift
into hard, ceramic claws;
first smoothing up,
snuggly cotton pantlegs,
and then running them down,
forcing his navied thighs, to separate.
The fork, in the road,
as I crawl in, between them,
headlights, and a glossy smile,
on full beam.
He jerks, with surprise
at the unexpected motion,
lips, arrested in a subtle purse--
a pinched pink,
pouted gently, outwards
to blow away the steam
gathering, around tense fingers.
I mimic the tension,
with my own, slaking lips.
Hands shift,
to cup him,
and slide, upwards.
Suddenly, he needs two,
to grip the mug.
My tongue, slicks out,
wetly,
to follow his ascent,
as he stands, upright;
neapolitan soldier,
with the suede skin.
The heat,
gathers,
in my palms
flushing his thighs,
and it circulates, warmly
against flickering flesh;
mouth, moving limberly
to drink him,
under the table.
My feral eyes,
fix his drunken ones,
as we both take each other,
in.
"I hope you saved some cream, for me?
Good morning, honey."
Jun 13, 2025
Jun 13, 2025 at 10:02 AM UTC
She was music and he was mathematics- without one, the two would not exist.
He was light and she was love and their energies intertwined and intermingled to form a helix of ecstacy and consciousness...
their combined energies rivaled that of an atomic bomb.
Feminine and masculine,
Right brain and left brain...
Simultaneously hard and soft
smooth and rough
Calming and chaotic.
She was fire to his water, but he never sought to put out her flames.
When they finally came together physically and their eyes met, colors of a psychedelic sort exploded around them
And the universe held its breath in anticipation of their consummation...
and every piece fit more snuggly together than the pieces of an old familiar jigsaw puzzle...
This couldn't have been the first time that they had met...
well, maybe in this lifetime.
~KiCo the Conqueror
#TwinFlame
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 8:37 PM UTC
There's a funny sort of emptiness
that passes over me
as I walk past the paperback erotica that tuck themselves away
in the shelves of the local grocery store in places that are
simultaneously completely out in the open yet completely ignored
looking, as I do, with mock casual interest
and unfeigned disdain.
Who are these intended for, really?
Are they for the snuggly-wuggly, ***** cozy-woozy, wishy-washy and warm family of four
comparing chicken nugget prices and
weighing the health benefits of
vegetable medley versus succotash?
Or are they for the uni flatmates
walking huddled together for warmth or protection or both,
seeing as they're wearing only sandals and denim shorts
and this is the first time
they've been grocery shopping without mum,
that giggle loudly together to mask how homesick they really are
while they compare the calories in
Campbell's versus Progresso.
They went with Progresso if you were wondering.
Or are they meant for those who are cooking for one?
For those who have no need to compare prices
or calories
out loud.
For those who are well acquainted
with the old, familiar tiled aisles
as they have no one to take out to dinner.
Is this where they are to find company?
Betwixt the pages of a badly penned,
lighter than marshmallows,
more shallow than the kiddie pool,
more transparent than Casper,
not-good-enough-to-be-bloody-compost
"literary" garbage?
Is this -assumed- female
supposed to curl up with one of these slabs of drivel
and feel **** and aroused
in her baggy sweats and ill-fitting hoodie
after she ate a microwaveable chicken *** pie all by her lonesome?
As a single girl who often cooks for one,
I am offended by this.
Personally,
I think Lestat is ten times sexier than Edward,
Salai is way cuter than Fabio,
and Christian Grey couldn't S Mr. Rochester's D.
What I'm saying is-
Grocery Stores.
YOU are the primary reason for this pathetic f-ckery.
Everything else in the store can be compared for quality.
So why not apply that same knowledge
to the book arena.
Signed,
A Concerned Shopper
p.s. Please extend the validity date on the chicken *** pie coupon. Thank you!
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC
Consisting of grown, persisting as shown and unknown. Insisting entities, rivalries and sworn enemies! Deformed, forewarned, formed, informed, mourned, performed, reformed and scorned. Dates of great storms! Family tree of hate, horns and thorns. My family tree of gore, horror, more, poor and sore. Perhaps of mishaps galore. Briefly sit
back! I’ll roughly take you back… Heck! Back to a time of attack,
blacks, slacks and whacks. My family tree of practical, tactical, methodical Aztec. Some beckon and reckon in seconds. A family tree of crime, grime and rhyme. A nation of communication, dedication,
dissemination, motivation and procrastination. The splendor of sin
of my corruptive, disruptive kin. They rely more on the color of one’s
skin. My family tree of abuse and misuse that misuses and seduces! Family tree of warfare and welfare legalities, moralities and family-prodigies. Picture this scriptural twist! Some assist on a kiss. I insist
some are idealities in social technicalities. Alcoholics, diabetics,
****** exotic, fantastic, Catholics, eccentric, horrific and poetic. I persist… some gnomes, some roam, some in poems, some with no homes. My family tree of adventuresome, awesome, handsome and troublesome. My family tree of beautiful and bountiful! Some are a
handful some handicap some locally and vocally-rap. Some slap,
gift-wrap and yap! Some are snuggly, pretty, witty or ugly. In my family tree, some crippled, some with pimples, some with freckles
and some that heckle. Some belittle and little, some wrinkled and old. Some are bold and pray to the lord! Some are Frio, meaning cold we
were told. Some I say, are poor with no Amor. Some are here no more, in my family tree of Amor.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:37 PM UTC
Coral leaflets sway through my attention, singing with the wind's path. Lemon accents separate as sting rays of warmth and light swim toward the earth. 88 degrees tickle my skin as small beads begin to perch upon my brow, patiently, until they join the body of crisp bits between myself and the trees around. Or it may simply evaporate into the embrace of Autumn.
Above, black veins creep through the lemon and coral maze, snuggly holding onto their nestlings, ready at any moment to let them fly.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 11:21 AM UTC
The freshes essence let's off a scent
A fragrance bold and fearless
Dumb and numb
Hopes higher then an egos design
Hold your breath
Here they come
A backpack harnessed snuggly, full of broken dreams and low self esteem
A misplaced jaw and no bra
They may look unfit
Don't be mistaken
The world is for the taking
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 4:53 AM UTC
I like the feeling of tight sports bras
To hide what little I have
And to make me feel secure
I like the feeling of tight sleeping bags wrapped around me
To hold me
And to make me feel like someone else holds me as I rest
I like the feeling of tight cozy jackets and sweaters
To soothe my soul
And to make me feel snuggly
I like the feeling of wires, ropes, and belts wrapped tightly around my throat
To cut off my circulation
And to watch my face turn a nice dark red-purple
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 12:32 PM UTC
He was the perfect height for her.
Tall enough that her head fell
Right tight under his sculpted chin
But not so tall that he was called "giant".
She was the perfect shape for him.
Not so skinny that he worried
About breaking her bones with a hug,
But curvy in all the places
That made him say a throaty "whoa".
She was a bookworm who loved TV.
He was a chef who loved Mac and Cheese.
They both adored animals,
Though he might have loved reptiles just a little too much.
And they both hated politics,
Though she might have set fire
To one too many campaign signs.
They argued about music, money, and kids.
They debated the merits of dancing in the rain.
They held hands in the moonlight,
And kissed at midday.
They grew old together and never strayed
Too far from the home they had built.
Then one day his chin wasn't high enough
For her head to fit snuggly below.
Her dresses, though comely,
No longer made him say "whoa".
But they still held hands and kissed
And remembered the days of their youth
When they were still learning
What being perfect for each other meant.
It wasn't until the night her heart gave out,
That she realized how he was perfect for her.
It wasn't his charm and dashing good looks,
Or his witty retorts and clever touchés,
But the simple fact
That through all of the years,
He loved her,
And that made him perfect for her.
It wasn't until she took her last breath,
That he understood how perfect she'd been.
She was perfect not because of her curves,
Her smile, her laugh, or her intelligence.
She was perfect for him because she loved him.
They'd been perfect in each other's eyes
Because love is blind.
And sometimes that's not a bad thing.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC
Sand witches, solar sisters, they are the
west coast in this part of the cosmos,
tied to the hip with American thighs
and Brazilian otherwise, donning
catamaran bottoms the color of
red liquorice and snuggly
they sit at their
international
dateline
as if by
magic
Apr 11, 2024
Apr 11, 2024 at 11:58 AM UTC
i wonder how you do it
how the words can slip so easily from your chapped lips
how your mouth wraps around the vowels and the consonants so snuggly
as if your mouth was made for that purpose and that purpose only
**** *****
i wonder how you can say these words
without the slightest hint of remorse
no guilt in your tone
no regret in your voice
void of all emotion except scorn
hatred
do these words **** ***** ***** harlot scarlet woman* roll off your tongue
as easily as your glory bes your hail marys your our fathers
does your hatred come as easy as saying your amens?
Jan 2, 2017
Jan 2, 2017 at 11:28 PM UTC
Somedays I get the urge to just snuggle something
Preferably someone
To be close
To be emotional
To be connected
People aren’t very snuggly
I’m an exception
Since no one else is snuggly
I just have to curl up by myself
And say I want to be alone
When in reality
I crave intimacy
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 8:59 PM UTC
There lived, amid the common folk
A seamstress of renown
Tucked away most smartly
In a quiet sort of town
So perfect was her needlework
And delicate her hand
That all and sundry sought her out
Her skills were in demand
To gain a moment here and there
She took a silver thread
She deftly put a stitch in time
And curled up in her bed
For she was such a busy girl
Deserving of a nap
But as she slept one evening
The stitch in time went 'snap!'
Time unravelled rapidly
From 'will be' to 'before'
And coils of causality
Were all over the floor
But fortune is a canny dame
For a needle was at hand
Still threaded up with silver
At an artisan's command
She bustled in a flurry
And rummaged through the ages
She sorted out the centuries
With diligence, by stages
While shoring up the borderlines
And patching up the wars
She darned the holes in spider silk
And trimmed the dinosaurs
She hemmed the mighty oceans
To snuggly fit the sand
Then zipped up the horizon
So the sky adjoined the land
The night was stitched in situ
In between adjacent days
And time was mended seamlessly
And better in some ways
She locked away her needle
And her strand of silver thread
Her work would wait 'til morning
And with that, she went to bed
So next time life is hectic
And leaves you in a flap
Allow yourself an hour
For a cheeky little nap
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
Cozy, snuggly, curled up tight
People think I'm sleeping, but that is far from being right,
With one eye open, the other tightly shut
I plough the very trade refined by every cat.
Quiet adoration amongst the whispered sighs
For this wonderful creation, nature's wily prize.
And all the while I'm lounging, perched upon my throne
Surveying my domain from this place I call home.
I'm fed and duly watered, patted when I wish,
My life a constant slumber, something I call Bliss,
As to these poor humans, scurrying around
Their feet so often frantic, they barely touch the ground,
The one piece of advice I freely choose to give,
Is simply look at me and learn from how I live!
Jan 9, 2022
Jan 9, 2022 at 12:57 PM UTC
pretty and pink
she's a princess
as she struts up and down the rows
what she'll pick,
mommy doesn't know
will it be the new
holiday barbie doll
or the shiny Nerf gun
to shoot her brother, Paul.
no!
Its the wonderful stuffed
teddy-pus.
the mega tough protector
who isn't a wuss.
he keeps kids safe
chases the monsters away
with his snuggly tentacles and big fluffy ears
he provides brighter days
now whenever
she's feeling really sad,
Teddy-pus makes things
seem not so bad.
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
The Tie is a bib for men.
For different sorts of messes.
No longer exclusively dribble and bile.
Yes, we may use them for mornings
after our red solo sippy cups
time machine us neanderthal.
But men also have other messes to bib tie.
Like:
friendly faces at work.
not friendly faces at work.
faces on ex's at work.
Ex's faces on not friendly faces and other various places at work.
Men bib tie their feelings.
Or at least that's the media stressed norm.
Men can also not bib tie their feelings
Or bib tie the wrong feelings.
bib tie love when it's wrong to feel it.
Bib tie love when it hurts to feel it.
Bib tie their opinions
when speaking to people who disagree
Bib tie the need to look, only...
Touch, just...
Grab, just
Have, just
Use, just....
Put it in the bib tie.
Stuff it right in there.
That's where all your messes go now.
At a funeral, men do not use their bib Tie as Hankie
They let their tears fall.
Bib ties are not tissues.
You do not simply wipe up your mess with a bib tie.
Put the pain inside it
At the end of the day
You take it off.
Put the used up bib tie in patchwork briefcase under bed.
Passed down by fathers.
Full of generations of used up bib ties.
Like ***** dream catchers.
Knotted hands and looped desire.
fastened snuggly into their folds.
If only more men wore Ties.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 6:59 PM UTC
When I was young high school kid
I wasn’t doing very well with girls
I didn’t know what to say to them
But I really wanted to give it a whirl.
So, when Mama saw me struggling
She saw me blowing my chance
She told me, “They’ll come around,
All you have to do is learn to dance.”
So, she showed me some rather easy
Stylish steps from her jitterbug days
I took them and danced to the music
That the deejays chose to play.
Mama taught me jitterbug
And that helped quite a bit
She won awards as a teen
I heard she was quite a hit.
I rocked and I rolled and bounced
My shoes got to moving with the beat.
Then I was snapping my fingers and
My body went along with my feet.
I twirled the girls I danced with and
Held them snuggly up close and tight.
And the girls started asking me to dance
Right away from that very first night.
Mama taught me jitterbug
And I very glad she did
It turned a geeky wallflower
Into a much more popular kid.
I learned the Stroll and Hully Gully
The UT and the Electric Slide
With a changing bevy of beauties
Dancing along right by my side.
This was before Twist showed up
Which everybody could learn to do
But even then I found that I could
Teach them another trick or two.
Mama taught me jitterbug
And that helped quite a bit
She won awards as a teen
I heard she was quite a hit.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 10:39 PM UTC
No matter
the weather
Rain
Or shine
With a blankie
Its better
With a blankie
It's fine
You rarely
Find Riley
At a tea party
With out
the security
Of her snuggly
blankie
This blankie
is special
Introduction
Necessity
Hello Riley
"My blankie"
Morning
To night
Never
Out of sight
Riley
loves her blankie
Always
holds it tight
Someday
She'll grow up
And forget
What it was
But we'll always know
It was something
she loved
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 5:45 PM UTC
how my cell-mate loved me
i miss him now and then
i am finally on the outside
but he's doing five to ten.
i met him in the lunch room
he followed to the yard
and when he brushed against me
i felt something really hard.
don't be shy he told me
i'll treat you right, you'll see
and then he whispered nothings
while making love to me.
how my cell-mate loved me
let me count the ways
i love his big house nickname
they call him Bubba J
Bubba is a big boy
and really hairy too
if **** rugs are what you love
then he's the one for you.
He is a big bad tough guy
until he is alone
and then he is a teddy bear
I love to make him moan.
He is so soft and snuggly
he is my ******* coo
he hates for me to call him that
as a tough guy he'd be thru.
he is like putty in my hands
for sure when i am done
but at the start he is so hard
at least until he ****
if he gives me sass
i smack his *** and send him to his bunk
i am the boss of this sweet pair
and I treat him like a punk.
he stands real tall when free time comes
and fear is felt by all
but he looks up when facing me
and i'm just five feet tall.
i am the tough guy it turns out
and he is just a queen
i love him and he loves me
he's the best i've ever seen.
too bad i'm here and he is there
i think i'll rob a store
then i'll be back in with him again
and have sweet love once more.
Dec 10, 2010
Dec 10, 2010 at 9:45 AM UTC
I sat there staring at her from across the table
as we shared yet another quiet meal together,
observations buzzing around in my already crowded mind.
Her face looked clean and resheshed,
her hair soft and coifed and freshly washed,
her white gloves unstained and clamped snuggly
around her slender arms.
Would she noticed my threadbare coat,
the circles underneath my tired eyes,
the cloth cap that used to sit upon my head?
Was I truly good enough for her?
Her smile said yes, but the condescending
grimaces on the faces of her parents upstairs said
no.
I didn’t need to see them to know that they were there.
I just knew it. I just knew.
How discouraging.
I looked at her, watching her silently from across the table,
eating with one hand
and fumbling the lump in my pocket,
running my fingers over it,
meditating whether or not I was foolish enough
to claim her,
whether or not I was selfish enough
to want her to be mine.
I was a narcissist to even think of it.
What would her parents say?
I bit my lip and pulled the parcel out,
summoning her attention toward my hand,
eyes glowing with curiosity and anticipation.
I stood up, but paused.
Just say “Will you marry me?”
It’s that easy. Only four words. Just say it!
As I opened the box with numb fingers,
I began to stutter the words,
like my humble tongue had been enchanted with some
kind of curse.
Cowardice.
I slid the parcel back into my pocket,
having been defeated without even having fought.
The look in her eyes shifted and it took me a moment
to fully process what was going through my
beloved’s head.
As she slowly returned to her meal,
I recognized it as disappointment.
Somehow, the feeling was mutual.
Jan 7, 2011
Jan 7, 2011 at 11:36 AM UTC
I can thread it through my fingers
Running it in between my fingers
Going over the material of events
Perpetually stargazing what went wrong
Maybe because we were both Scorpios
That's why it didn't work out
Our stingers would both fight for supremacy never getting along
I was always debating every possibility every wrong turn every right turn
Hell even the left turns and the right turns and the U turns
I always wanted to have a plan A
And C
And B
And Z
But I know that even with all of my plans I still had the main plan to love you
So much so
That I loved you better than I ever loved my cracked reflection
The lines spreading out from my eyes
Grazing my throat like a choker that always fit too snuggly
Seeing you is like seeing a quicksilver flash
Just pain and happiness holding hands and dancing in a circle
Making love in sweet July rain
You were always the crashing thunder
I was always the lighting
Illuminating what you never wanted to show me
Because you put me in a glass case
Not because you thought I was delicate
Too delicate for this world
Or because I was a shining object graced by time
You were putting me behind that door
So when you walked away I wouldn't be able to follow
Locked away to be stared at whenever
Avoided after
But I think you forgot
We both kinda forgot
That lighting strikes back
And when I finally got fed up with your ****
I destroyed that glass case
And handed you your *** and never gave you what you wanted
Which was funnily enough
Me
But I was tired of that and I got exhausted from always putting you first
So I decided to break it
And yes
It cut deep
But after everything I've seen
Those shimmering shards that drew my blood
Used it as paint on yet another one of life's canvases
Was worth it
So take as much as you need
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 9:43 PM UTC
The rain comes as a shock
to the dry Texas land
The soil can no longer remember
a time where its thirst was quenched.
The hills are painted with clear intentions
and the earth smells of a fresh upheaval.
The roots dig profoundly into the planet
and extend from below to the cosmos above.
Awakened, within the terra firma,
a seraph reaches up into the leaves
and caresses the lush branches.
How long it has been
since the being could attain
and comprehend
the artistry of this world.
At the touch of life,
the being steps out
of its transcendental state unlocked from
her chains
of depleted soil.
She is cautious to be held in the bough.
But a flower blooms merely at her gaze
and obsequiously transitions from colorless
to the deepest amethyst ever beheld by eyes.
Down it comes, drenching the forest,
spreading its nourishment.
Small crystals appearing as tears
brighten the cheeks of the seraph's smile.
Color
rushes into her skin and she appears
to blossom
in her comfort and confidence,
mirroring that flower.
Snuggly she rests her seasoned heart
within the boughs she's only just
begun to fathom and question.
Is this renaissance ephemeral?
Even if it is, this,
this child of the earth knows the rain
is a feeling – and it's ineffable.
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC
Often, the worlds starts to dim at the edges and I realize that I forgot to breath.
You were passage to my lungs and allowed oxygen into my blood.
At times, I forget what I look like--assuming I'm a cross between a troll and a haggard witch.
You were my mirror reflecting bright lights so the glare of the glass could blind me to imperfections.
I frequently don't know what to say when a sarcastic teacher howls into my ear.
You were my voice, powerful and sure.
Sometimes, I get light headed and shaky with an empty tummy angered by my neglect.
You were my mother, calling me to supper.
What I never had to think about before, now, seems so difficult.
Someone changed the controls and the instructions are in Korean.
What are these symbols? I can't even google them because the keys to my laptop don't have any of those shapes.
It wouldn't matter anyway because it seems to be melded shut.
Maybe my hands are weak because you were my strength.
Life without you is easy--simple.
But I've forgotten how to live this way.
Like a 49 year old man in his 16 year old daughter's math class. The class he had once taken and passed with flying colors now is nothing but nonsense.
Even after 2 years of being away from you, I long to know you once more.
Unfortunately we're not pieces of the same puzzle anymore.
Or perhaps we never were?
Maybe that's why we clashed over and over. Repeating the process until I was tossed aside.
Your world is full and complete while I lie on a banana peel at the bottom of a ******* bin.
It pains me to see your picture finally completed and to know it was I who stopped production.
Next to you are spaces already filled in. I search for somewhere I can lie snuggly in.
No where. As I lay in the garbage I whisper , "It's not supposed to be like this."
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC