"soaks" poems
Rain water soaks us
Runny mascara, but you still think I'm beautiful
Lips so soft
Lips so sweet
We're pressed up against each other
Bare chest to bare chest
You on top
Me on bottom
Hips locked in place with the other
Warm soft sweet lips slowly caressing my body, my lips and my neck you **** on
Soft gentle hands caress my ******* thoughtfully
Finally, her lips reach my thighs, I, trembling with lust and fear
I was scared and she knew it
Her hands and lips touched me
So softly, so gently
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 9:42 AM UTC
she soaks herself in his hurt
and it d
r
i
p
s
o
u
t
of him
ever so slowly,
infecting her.
all she wanted was for him to be
drained
so he could live without pain
but now, she thinks
living is pain.
Jun 18, 2019
Jun 18, 2019 at 3:23 PM UTC
I do not fear death.
But I do fear wasting life.
I don't fear the pain
of my skin burning,
the emptiness
of my last breath,
the aching
of leaving the ones I love.
I do fear
the lack of scars etched into my skin.
I do fear
the emptiness
of my thoughts.
I do fear
the tears that I will never cry
of a broken heart.
I want to meet all the people of the world
and share our ridiculous stories
before my lips become silent.
I want to make mistakes
and learn to be right the next time
before I see the Devil.
I want to fall in love with the Earth,
with the people that walk on it,
with the mud that gets under my nails,
with the sunlight and rain that my skin soaks up
before my body shrivels into ashes
flowing in the wind.
When the comes that I should die
and I still have not lived
I should beg the Lord
Give me one more day
I beg you, please!
I wish to feel the sun bake my withered skin.
I wish to smell the bitterness of the sea.
I wish to see the stars dance at night.
and hear the laughter of children running by.
Let me live
for one day
and I'll let an infant take my place.
I do not fear losing life
I only fear losing a life a that never got to live.
Jul 10, 2012
Jul 10, 2012 at 1:33 AM UTC
The warmth of the sun settles, hugging the lake.
The dragonfly flies low, hovering above the tranquil water
the light seeping through the paper thin skin,
it hums across the lake, refracting light off its wings,
An array of colors make patterns on the wings,
wearing it like a cloak, a rainbow embedded within.
The colors tilt and shift as the dragonfly gracefully cruises through life,
laying close to the water but letting the air propel it forward,
floating between two different worlds,
it is like a dream where our thoughts are separated from reality,
and are scattered like refracted light for us to assemble.
Through a screen of our dreams, a world can be seen.
A world of hopes and desires that is dormant within
The light of life just soaks us bare,
our skin turns frail,
under the scorching glare,
the glare of eyes that want you to be,
someone that is accepted by society.
the dragonfly bathes itself in the sun,
the iridescent colors shine on its skin,
flying and floating, he’s determined to win
a predator, determined to get what it wants
nothing blocking its way or paving its path
making the most out of life and never holding back
spread your wings like the dragonfly
that hums its way through life,
dipping its wings in the sun to shine,
breaking free a life of colors,
that we leave locked and forgotten,
behind a reality made of black and white,
the black ink seeping through our minds,
injecting us with ideas of the 'ideal life'
where money and fortune, and status define.
Bathe your mind in the wonders of the world,
soak your heart in life's warmth and glow,
and pave your own path,
with the dreams you sow.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 3:13 AM UTC
"What colour is my heart?" she sings,
And as her voice soaks into me,
I feel you slink and coil yourself around my heart.
At first it felt like you were meant to be there,
But the longer her set goes on
The harder you squeeze.
"What colour is my heart?" she sings.
I know the answer.
My heart is black and blue,
Thanks to you.
Jul 26, 2019
Jul 26, 2019 at 4:55 PM UTC
Beltane Bride
Harken to the drums of the Beltane fire
Pounding out its rhythm as the flames leap higher
Dancing around it, your senses overcome
Moving with abandon in time with the drum
The longing in your belly starts to rise
Along with the passion that shows in your eyes
Sweat soaks your body, your bloods on fire
You tremble with the force of your raging desire
You start to chant the ancient rhyme
Calling to your lover “come to me, be mine
Come lie with me in the wildwood tonight
In honour of the Ancients, let us unite”
Then through the smoke and dancing flames you see
The one that you yearn for, wild, proud and free
Wearing the antlers of the horned god on his brow
He watches you intently, then gives you a bow
You, are his chosen one, he’ll lie with you this night
Deep in the forest under the stars shinning bright
Like the Lady and her Lord, you two will be as one
As you make love to the rhythm of the distant Beltane drum
The drums are now silent with the dawn of the new day
Your loving now more gentle, for no drum beat now holds sway
Buried deep within you, his fertile seed pours forth
With each powerful ****** of his, you feel its potent warmth
A Blessing was bestowed on you virgins both that night
By the Lady and the Lord, the only witness to your rite
Today is our Hand Fasting, he whispers softly at your side
I will love you for eternity, my beloved Beltane Bride.
Blessed Be
9th April 2012 Dragonborne Wolf
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 7:45 AM UTC
Still running, never ceasing, she screams silently.
the breath escapes as a wisp.
Remembering the past command:
Take the demon carefully,
his sting is heavily laden with sweet
addiction.
*** soaks through the front of her gown
and the bloodied fabrics drain rusty shades
into the tepid moon water
she spilled before.
Break her chains
she will not thank you
she will despise her freedom and lay waste to paradise
with her filthy torn wings.
Let her know of her once-natural beauty
she will hiss in derision
that she is not still stunning as the rose.
BLEED, child.
You of all creatures were fantastic in visage
You have put to waste the precious fragility of your frame
Your yellowing teeth speak volumes
your mouth should stay sealed.
We have no use for ingrate angels
that roll in the muck
cheaply selling ******* and chemical highs.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 1:58 PM UTC
An old grave hidden away at the foot of a deserted hill,
Overrun with rank weeds growing unchecked year after year;
There is no one left to tend the tomb,
And only an occasional woodcutter passes by.
Once I was his pupil, a youth with shaggy hair,
Learning deeply from him by the Narrow River.
One morning I set off on my solitary journey
And the years passed between us in silence.
Now I have returned to find him at rest here;
How can I honor his departed spirit?
I pour a dipper of pure water over his tombstone
And offer a silent prayer.
The sun suddenly disappears behind the hill
And I’m enveloped by the roar of the wind in the pines.
I try to pull myself away but cannot;
A flood of tears soaks my sleeves.
6.8k
Down the stairs, my hands a shield
for incoming priority mail,
and trained for the way your body would
hug me closer with every exhale.
Your mother won’t stop calling.
Kind of like the week we spent hopeful
before they sent you away.
Kind of like me just trying to hear your voice,
always searching for something that’s calming.
The windows have
been open since yesterday,
and I heard the bird sing to its sky,
“I love you”
before it started to rain,
darkness swallowed up the sun’s sky
and wilted all our daisy-chains.
Rescued frames surround me,
reserved to tell your stories.
The breeze never fails me,
it carries your scent in flurries.
If I try hard enough, I could feel it
through my hair, and on my lips.
Every night the breeze
brings with it a solar eclipse
that soaks through my skin,
and intertwines with my blood cells,
going straight to the bones that
keep my body from further farewells.
Tomorrow I will build a home with
the words of your silent prayer.
My cracked walls will be painted with
your skin and the scent of your hair.
My new bed will be made with
old t-shirts you always used to wear.
If I could fit your eulogy on this page
I’d make sure to mention the breeze that whirls
through the center of my chest,
and my lungs that faithfully breath the air
that may have once circled your ribcage.
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 7:32 PM UTC
For years words have dropped
Down
Into my head,
Like rain on the spikes of a bromeliad,
Single splashes forming trails
And trails and trails
Trickling
Down
Around the bud,
To fling themselves into the dirt
To splash the roots.
Then slowly up the roots they go
Into the bud.
It soaks them in and soaks them in,
It is patient patient patient,
Waiting too long,
Until I think it'll never open -
And then it
Blooms.
Apr 3, 2012
Apr 3, 2012 at 10:03 PM UTC
drunk on the dark streets of some city,
it's night, you're lost, where's your
room?
you enter a bar to find yourself,
order scotch and water.
****** bar's sloppy wet, it soaks
part of one of your shirt
sleeves.
It's a clip joint-the scotch is weak.
you order a bottle of beer.
Madame Death walks up to you
wearing a dress.
she sits down, you buy her a
beer, she stinks of swamps, presses
a leg against you.
the bar tender sneers.
you've got him worried, he doesn't
know if you're a cop, a killer, a
madman or an
Idiot.
you ask for a *****
you pour the ***** into the top of
the beer bottle.
It's one a.m. In a dead cow world.
you ask her how much for head,
drink everything down, it tastes
like machine oil.
you leave Madame Death there,
you leave the sneering bartender
there.
you have remembered where
your room is.
the room with the full bottle of
wine on the dresser.
the room with the dance of the
roaches.
Perfection in the Star ****
where love died
laughing.
5.3k
Tangled by reeds
in the trash-ridden bay
of sunny Acapulco,
I brush your hair.
Dried gel
builds under my nails
and satisfies me.
You dive with me
into the ocean of fire
to wash our hands.
My heart beats red;
Leaking, it soaks
your white playera
It hangs high and dry,
but will never wash clean.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
Adorning a lover's finger,
Gracing necks of the rich
Illuminating in the dark,
but stained with innocent blood
Young hands toiling in mines of Sierra Leone to upscale stores,
Where entrance she's denied.
Such beauty they hold,
Sparkling, aren't they?
A measure of worth,
And status upon the wealthy.
Extracted with blood stained, trembling fingers for the pleasure of who,
still remains a mystery to me.
Dear Us
Their blood is crying for us,
The land that soaks up their blood welcomes infertility, are we really born with the mark of Cain?
Graves upon graves,
Mutilated legs and hands,
A rifle in the hands of a 12-year old boy plucked from his haven to a war he does not understand,
Bid peace farewell
Diamonds Don't Shine In Africa
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 7:05 PM UTC
blood from Gods spill
soaks the forest floor
her Holy release
gimme more petrichor
take a hit
lose control
your hardwired
dontcha know?
sweat it out
carried away
blood from stone
the hard way
slow mo
throttle it back
when the sky pours
mother absorbs
face down
one with earth
this sacred interface
our right from birth
blood from Gods spill
soaks the forest floor
redemption salvation
my sweet petrichor
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 10:14 AM UTC
Fall in love with a writer
they say and you will never die (quoted)
Fall in love with a writer
they say and you will find yourself
embodied in words
Fall in love with a writer
they say and you will find yourself
stretched over lines and pages
Now,
What if a writer falls in love with you?
What happens is that their untamed mind
becomes an asylum where
words smash themselves
on the walls of their brains
summoning
their hands just
to let them out
What if a writer falls in love with you?
What happens is that their addiction
to falling in love is amplified
and when they love
OH THEY LOVE,
they get a certain high
that numbs their inhibitions to reality
and shuns logic to a very far away land
they reach a mental state
that lifts you to high enough
just to see a glimpse of their world
just to taste a drop of their
potion
but not all of it
What if a writer falls in love with you?
What happens is that their eye *****
birth and harness flames that burn the coldest
of hearts and warm the strongest
of selves
What if a writer falls in love with you?
What happens is that their mind soaks up
every bit, every breath
every call, every cell
every touch, every talk
just to embroider it
in the quilt of thought
that's weaving endless stories about you
in their mind
What if a writer falls in love with you?
God have mercy on their soul
for their craving becomes dangerously
intensified, wrapping itself
to their muses,
giving them the sole purpose
of existing
For the more they love
the more stories they write
and more they feel
the longer
they
live
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 6:29 AM UTC
I wanted to enlist as an army babe, but i can take-care-of-my-self,
stay healthy as a tree, no more frantic order's like "Smeeeaaaag?!?"
Just a girl who wanted to be a penguin and swim free,
of the trap of an incomplete mind.
Walls of neutral yellow and beige, as a
sunflower soaks the rays of,
seasonal depression;
lost in this endless sea of confusion.
Is there really dedication, reflects blue eyes of Lilies socket's,
does Eternity really exist?
As a blown kiss,
a wishing well
fish.
The heart is the only gate,
gushing feelings and
simple beatings,
masks this face of shy Grace.
As thundering pride takes over,
build a dynasty and touch the heavens,
Lifted,
as dove on wings, crowned in Gold,
I've found the Soul.
In the lake this treasure keeps
as a door swings open,
step'n on through to morning.
Finding super power's at twilight daze,
****** onto the writer's play.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 3:39 PM UTC
I'm tired
It's to early
How exhilarating
Get up get moving
Get exonerated of past jury's
Long worries
Till death I'm exasperating
Extravagantly emulating
This feeling
Feels like
It doesn't come with emotion
Not cold
No hurry
Not warm
Don't scurry
I will not promise that the murky waters ahead
Won't let you tread
Till you crystallize dead
Then evaporate while your mind is sleep
And your subconscious soaks the memory cup effervescent
Then will you know that
You will not come back
Escape the elasticity
With electric scissors
And that's more then needed
But it's this route you go
Because the Harder you learn the more you will grow
It's too bad this whole time you weren't sleeping
It's time for work
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 6:47 AM UTC
There is no certainty in cancer.
No simple cure. Easy way out.
Just time.
gnawing away the brain.
Leaving only regrets and memories.
No matter how young, happy, rich or healthy one may seem...
There is no certainty in cancer.
It is a faint word drifting in the air.
Infiltrating households. hospitals. Families.
But never us...
We are too strong.
Too busy.
We have too much life to live...
'its leukaemia’
The words soaks into me
Suffocating me in my own skin,
What has my life become?
A sunken abyss of darkness.
An empty vessel of meaningless time.
Now Its just me.
The room.
And my soundless mind.
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 2:12 AM UTC
As he walked through a forest he knew so long ago,
He sees a withered oak.
A proud thing.
A proud memory.
A proud day.
A proud history.
And yet all he feels now is the darkness of the shadow it casts.
He sees the leaves the rain soaks.
He has no song to sing.
He has nothing to be.
He has gone no way.
He has her in his dreams.
The rain continued as his clothes get wet, smiling at the memory of their first kiss.
It was like this...thing.
He can’t say it another way.
It was something to see.
It was something to light their day.
It was something meant to be.
He sighed and sat down under the far reach of the branches and watched the drops float down slowly; watching them made him happy, and yet they made him sad. They reminded him of the way the were happy, then sad. He laughed at his deep, philosophical banter. Is this not like our love, my dear?, he thought. One moment you’re soaked to the bone and trying nothing more than to run away when all you’d want more is to rush and play in the mud with eachother like children? Hm...and when the cloud are done weeping and they’re once again light with joy, what becomes of us? We simply dry our selves and go on with our full lives again....
Although...if it were meant to be...we'd simply fly and run in the field and let the sun have its way on our skin, no matter how sweltering it makes us feel.
And with that his thoughts were clear as he sat in that knoll.
Under and on that withered oak.
Its leaves laughing with the memories.
Laughing at the two of them.
Sighing at the sight of them.
Praying for the child of them.
And with that rain, each drop gave life to the leaves.
That grand oak.
Withered under its memories
Laughing at its own roots.
Barely a look under mans boots.
And yet, still strong enough to give its support.
———————_______————————______
She walked up to that tree they used to love.
And found him lying there.
His skin still so fair.
But pale in comparison of what it used to be.
So she played there with him. Laughing with the tears of the sky. At what they used to be. Then in each other’s arms, they die.
The sun shines, and a shadow under them begins to bloom, letting the sun do what it pleases on their skin. There will be no joy for them this time though; they ran their last the day before.
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 11:51 AM UTC
I'm not special
I'm just one out of seven billion
And we're all interconnected
So why am I the only one driving down this road?
You don't have my address
Or my wifi password
Have you found the bat in your gazebo?
I found mine
And named him Bruce
The leaves that fall on my vehicle
Touch no other's
And the rain that pours onto me
Soaks into my skin
It becomes a part of me
That sets me apart
Subjectivity solidifies separation
Like Saturn's rings
A planetary population of particles
That create something beautiful together
Our species is special
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 9:22 AM UTC
She leaves a note in the morning after, signed with her name because he whispered the name of another woman while he was inside her.
She leaves a note written in her bright red lipstick because he said it made her lips look like cherries, and her mother had taught her that the fastest road to a man’s heart is a good meal.
She leaves the note in her lipstick because he didn’t compliment the dress she wore on her fragile body, the shoes she wore on her dainty feet, or the heart she wore on her sleeves;
He complimented the lipstick she wore as a note written on his mirror; an instrument of multiplication, she had to face it all, and face it twice. Twice the bed frame, twice the sheets, twice his sleeping body, and twice her face.
What she likes the most about the note is covering a part of the mirror, and a mirror is never a friend.
He takes a leap of faith and jumps headstrong into a relationship that he knows will drown him.
He was named a champion in the 2015 Olympiad for swimming;
he lost his golden medal but the whiplash on his heart when he delved into the waters will always remind him how salty it tasted.
He sinks into an abyss of intensity that he cannot dry out no matter how long he sits near the lonely candle next to Madonna’s portrait.
He soaks in the glistening sunlight; water was never his friend.
She brushes her hair every evening and every evening she reminds herself that she needs to brush off her family’s rejection.
He trains everyday and every day he reminds himself that his heart is also a muscle.
They do it in the dark because it’s easy to love another and scary to see yourself.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 3:53 PM UTC
Masochism is my favorite way to love; I adore deeply the one that is eager to leave me in the dust for his superficial passions. I cry infinitely as the rain over the Pacific, but it does not storm. It only blinds me with stinging tears that make a shore invisible. I had you wrapped around my finger, and you slipped off like an oversized ring, falling between the spaces of a gutter to travel sewers of risk; rank with the smell of doubt and returning loneliness. I travel these sewers barefoot with your risks up to my ankles, searching for you, my ring, dress hiked up to run as if you hadn't already seen such exposed leg. But only I splash. My lover is elusive. When he trembles in anger, he comes to me; when I tremble, he only flees. He does not understand his debts. I do, only I don't wish that he pay. My kindness is self-mutulation, for I know he will not appreciate my generosity. I think of him while he daydreams of riches and soaks in his wanderlust. I am simply a piece, a fragment, a speck of dust swimming among many in a ray of sunlight. I am not something he truly wishes to strive for. This murders me, and smashes my already broken heart into smaller, sharper pieces that seem harmless, but develop greater capacity to cut flesh.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 9:58 PM UTC
Beauty out in the open, light falls on linoleum tiles like heel-worn stones
Windows to a sunny world sit at the end of locker-lined tunnels, beckoning beyond fluorescent mazes
Clotted with conversation, upperclassmen stroll like the elderly
Young blood doge or cling to the sides, scared of the critical runway that is us
Windows to a sunny world sit at the end of locker-lined tunnels, beckoning beyond fluorescent mazes
Eyes from all sides, thinking nothing yet are supplied by our own thoughts
Young blood doge or cling to the sides, scared of the critical runway that is us
Finding refuge in educational terrariums, an ecosystem that saves me from the weight
Eyes from all sides, thinking nothing yet are supplied by our own thoughts
Finding solace in stairwells, sealed off by doors and hold awkward opportunities
Finding refuge in educational terrariums, an ecosystem that saves me from the weight
Clanging like a child’s cry releases stress like floodgates, another trip into the shark tank
Finding solace in stairwells, sealed off by doors and hold awkward opportunities
Open doors that are actually closed; they are like aquariums – no tapping on the glass please.
Clanging like a child’s cry releases stress like floodgates, another trip into the shark tank
The longer I stay the more I wish to leave, away from substituted confrontations
Open doors that are actually closed; they are like aquariums – no tapping on the glass please.
Prejudice like heavy rain beats at my skin and soaks my clothes - but I know it was I who brought the downpour
The longer I stay the more I wish to leave, away from substituted confrontations
Must comparisons be so obvious when I walk alone, unprotected? They are lucky to have such equals to act as parents; they hold each other’s hands to keep from drowning
Prejudice like heavy rain beats at my skin and soaks my clothes – but I know it was I who brought the downpour
They pull like vultures at flesh; I am not allowed to wrap myself in hurricanes while out in the open
Must comparisons be so obvious when I walk alone, unprotected? They are lucky to have such equals to act as parents; they hold each other’s hands to keep from drowning
Ignorance is bliss, they say, and truth that is here – the less you know the less hate you bear the weight of.
They pull like vultures at flesh; I am not allowed to wrap myself in hurricanes while out in the open
Look down, one foot – and then the other!
Ignorance is bliss they say, and truth that is here – the less you know the less hate you bear the weight of.
Anger and sadness, guilt and fear turn like Viewmaster slides lit up by the sun
Or am I on my own here? Each boy's path runs along each other like long-exposure stars, leaving streaks between the darkness.
Jun 26, 2010
Jun 26, 2010 at 10:48 PM UTC
in between my eyes
my pointed nose
sniffs nothing but you...
alcoholic unpleasant breaths...
Alcoholic visions
sigh across screens
as language blurs
Talking nothing but nonsense
***** vision violently
soaks rough atmosphere,
heads explode, chaotic manners
Alcoholic dreams
travels around the globe
in similar destinations..
the filthy old bars...
The sweetest red wine
soon sours and rot
under an icy glare.
a shot of *****
allows sanity to sharpen
it's dainty claws
feasting on thoughts
How is alcohol good?
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 10:04 AM UTC