"squeal" poems
I heard the footsteps as they came across the road;
The snap of hurried feet outside the house.
Shapes in the moonlight, a voice in the darkness,
A knock at the door, I heard the dogs barking.
The bleating of the flock,
The chatter of the birds amongst the trees,
I recall the whisper of the morning breeze;
Hyphening the broken silence as two boys stole about the house;
It was midnight in August 99.
Two sparks set out to chase the bang!
Bang! ~ set them running.
I cut them down; I cut them down!
I heard the sirens as the cops sped off the road;
The squeal of hurried wheels outside the house.
shapes in the moonlight, a voice in the darkness,
A knock at the door, I heard the dogs barking.
The bleating of the flock,
The chatter of the birds amongst the trees,
I recall the whisper of the morning breeze;
Hyphening the broken silence as two cops stole about the house;
It was midnight in August 99.
Two cops set out to chase the bang; Bang!
I put my hands up and the cops took me down!
Judge I’m guilty, it’s true for everything they said I did; I did!
But there were reasons, don’t you see:
These boys; they were bullying me!
I called the cops on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, came round again; still no one came; drove me insane;
Two sparks set out to chase the bang!
Bang set them running; I cut them down!
Two cops set out to chase the bang!
Bang! Yes, I put my hands up!
and the cops took me down!
But Mr Wolf gave me twenty,
and the circus came to town;
for as a victim I was lonely;
but as a killer; as a killer; I was crowned.
Newsworthy, top of the heap, the talk of the town!
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 2:40 PM UTC
I know why the dolphins play
And laugh and squeal every day.
Look it up and you will see
They **** humans in the sea.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
Chest swelling,
mind blown
as two eyes stare at the percentage.
Jump up and down,
like a frog.
Squeal if you want,
enjoy the moment.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 7:03 PM UTC
Vulnerability is scary
I guess that's why I'm always wary
In the palm of another's hand
I solemnly stand
Vulnerability is scary
Someone I know barely
They could bury me
In debris
I'm flesh and bones
Their words could be stones
The way you shake when you're crying
Or when you blink when you're lying
Because inside you know you're dying
When I tell you how I feel
I may begin to heal
This is so unreal-
Yet I still fear that you will squeal
What I tried so hard to conceal
Vulnerability is scary
I would like to say contrary,
I feel like a freed canary
How very wrong
I've made another prison
With bars made of vulnerability
My secrets have become a liability
For I foolishly trust
You will not run
When we are done
Vulnerability is so scary
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC
My memory beats in rhythm with my heart.
Spilling out snapshot flashes of life like a flick book's muffled cries.
Controversial plastic shell, elastic strap, stick insect mattel covetted for months
until Santa dropped it down the chimney,
almost as fast as she sprogged and regained her figure
- the original scrummy yummy mummy set to spread low self esteem.
My daddy said anyone can crank out a kid like she did,
as my mother ground her teeth to protest on behalf of her traumatised frame.
Strange, I almost became one of the lost - before I grew cells and self,
another fragile foetus swinging on a noose
from gallows where once a ****** failed to stayed closed.
Little life curled tight self soothing sings al na tivke iredem bim'nucha
My memory beats in rhythm with my heart
as I lie beneath my shroud of sadness filled with down shrinking from the light of day
I want to tell you that I love you,
that my heart brays, beats, bleets, breaks, aches for you.
My soul, spirit, self thrice chorus al na tivke iredem bim'nucha
as waters flow from deep to deep
where danger dances and solace is sought
from beyond the fruitless orchards and willows weeping
branches reaching out for you.
My memory beats in rhythm with my heart
surrounded by madonna, ***** and all betwixt
spheres of life protruding, pronounced, announcing themselves;
in streets where bundles, terrors, cherubs, banting, brat and bairn alike
shriek, scream, squeal, shout, squalk, squabble, sing
in a cacophony that makes my heart weep and ache in longing
to sing to self in solitude al na tivke iredem bim'nucha.
My memory beats in rhythm with my heart
pulsating thoughts, dreams, hopes of you through the whole of me.
Brought to my knees I seek wisdom, guidence, strength to let you go.
The river is waiting for you, you who I hold tight in my caul
trying to trust, seeking strength to hakshev le'ivshat haga'lim
holding the thought of you,
the love of you,
the hope of you
tight in my arms crooning my lullaby of lament
al na tivke iredem bim'nucha
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 5:57 PM UTC
"Tell me gorgeous,"
He said with his finger under her soft chin
"What are you looking at?"
She looked at his face.
He could tell she wasn't seeing his face.
She knew she wasn't.
"Well,"
She started to say to stall him.
She knew what she was seeing.
She wasn't sure if she should tell him.
"Well,"
She said again.
"Yes gorgeous?"
He said patiently.
She thought about what she wanted to say.
*i don't see you. I don't see you. I don't see your black hair. But his light brown ***** blonde hair. I don't see you. I don't see your brown eyes I once drooled over. I see his eyes. The maybe blue eyes that stole my heart. I don't see your tan complexion but his reddened one. i see him. I don't see you and I never will again.*
"Well,"
She said again.
He moved his hand to the back of her neck.
He stepped closer.
He stared into her eyes.
"Gorgeous tell me. Tell me please."
She closed her eyes.
And suddenly she felt his lips against hers.
She opened her eyes surprised.
She remembered the way his lips felt.
But she didn't want to remember.
She pulled away.
He looked hurt.
And suddenly
Real fast
Everything
Poured
Out
Of
Her
Normally
Silent
Mouth
"I don't see you when I look at you anymore. You know I don't. You can tell. You know you've hurt me a thousand times. You know you've pushed me down. You know you've left a scar so deep It will Never fade.
So why are you here? Calling me gorgeous? When you know you have no right to."
He looked even more hurt.
And suddenly very angry.
She knew he felt guilty.
She knew she was right.
He let go of her neck and raised a hand behind his head.
She looked at him her eyes widening and before she got the chance to run, his hand slapped hard against her cheek.
Slashing it open.
She lay on the warm grass.
Holding her face.
She looked up at him.
And now his emotion was scared.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
Tears fell softly onto the grass.
Soon she felt a hand on her shoulder.
She jumped ready to run.
"Shh it's just me,"
She saw the boy with the light brown ***** blonde hair. And the maybe blue eyes. And the reddish complexion.
She relaxed as he pulled her into his arms.
She smelt his sweet scent.
And let him dab the blood away.
"I'll always love you. You never have to worry. I'll always be here. You don't have to doubt it. I'll always protect you. You should always remember that"
She smiled and closed her eyes.
She heard the boy with the black hair stomp across the grass.
She heard a car door slam.
She heard an engine roar.
And then she heard wheels squeal.
And like that,
He was gone.
Gone.
Gone.
Gone.
And forever,
The boy with the maybe blue eyes,
Was here.
Here.
Here.
Here.
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 3:47 PM UTC
You start from a seed.
You are planted underneath.
You start in the womb.
You are planted inside.
You begin to peek.
You begin to seek.
You embrace the touch of the sun.
You embrace the cosmos.
You grow taller.
You get higher.
You extend to the horizon.
You expand your mind.
You burn brighter than the stars.
You glimmer in your colourful essence.
You outshine the rest.
You radiate the power within you.
You whither and squeal.
You long for strength.
You shrivel and burn.
You long to live.
You have bloomed
You are doomed
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 2:08 PM UTC
Rhythm of life
Nails tapping on table tops
Beating of our hearts
spin the world right off its axis.
Momma shot a man in Reno
Just to watch him die.
Atlas shrugged
And we all tripped as we walked
The pace of our mile,
off by 3.6 seconds.
Trust in our stated axioms
Disillusioned Americans in Paris
Judged by the color of our skins
and the shoes on our feet
No one stops to see how blue it is up there today.
Hurrying through the rain
Our cities never sleep.
Going down South
It’s slower down here.
Sunday’s best and
“God Loves You” stickers when you get your oil changed.
Night train whistle blows
Factory steam pipes squeal
Mississippi riverboats tug and chug
Dictionary.com definitions let us down.
Greatest disasters in history
are when thing we take perfectly for granted
stop working.
Mad cow, mad hatter, mad world
Bad boys, bad wine, bad date
Ellipses, dot dot dots, dramatic pause, passing of time passing of time passing of….
……..
………….
…………………….
Time.
Tw—
Twi—
Twitch. (tick tick tick)
I believe in the abnormal
And the impossible
And I refuse to believe that fictional characters aren’t real
Animals completely understand me
When I talk to them.
Baby missiles fire
From all parts of the globe
End of the world party
Let’s go down in glorious drunkenness
As the beating of our hearts
Spins the world right off its axis.
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 11:34 AM UTC
Let me dance this life away
Let me care not about what I say
Let me feel alive and whole
Let me feed my starving soul
Let me squeal and shout with glee
Please oh please, self; let me be me.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 11:29 AM UTC
Go out to the tarmac shove a pig into dirt
Listen to the squeal make sure it hurt
Hogtie'em smack'em on the *** into the van
collect'em off the street and can them in the tan
Ford Transit then we off to the chop shop
The ****** butchers gonna cut some cop
Drag them up feet first arms tied to the side
Hang em up to dry over a reservoir for the gore
Cut the cartery artery while they cry no more
Whats it all for, whats it all for, a long pig cookout
A hairless goat bled out now its time to get guts out
Bleed slows to a drip time to take a head simply twist
Off it comes like pop easy as a ******* croptop
Get your blade nice and sharpish cuz next on the list
Is skinning a cop shave off fuzz into the slop
Then drag a knife from the plexus to the ****
Tie off the **** and yank the excess its painless
**** up and you can try again pick another off the herd
Cut up again and again plenty of pork to slaughter
Almost ready for the grill party just gotta get meat ready
Detach arms, halve and quarter, keep your hands steady
Time to get out the coriander and chili powder
Hammer with a tenderizer on the counter
Cuts of steaks without any guilt, all free range
As I bite into a roast I make a toast to my rage
That made this deranged cookout, pig liver on toast
With some grits and cornbread as the feds approach
Hundred cops'll will roll on the grillmaster
Hundred shots out swiss cheesed by the ********
Read in the paper a monster cop killer
Killed for fighting the terror with terror
Jun 24, 2020
Jun 24, 2020 at 11:12 PM UTC
Why Men Like to Load the Dishwasher
We are the artists of shape and configuration,
puzzle masters solving riddles of physics,
worshipers at the altar of labor saving devices,
this is a love poem of sorts, a Bazinga salutation,
to men and their undying love
for **** machines.
were it in my power
all cups would be handle-less,
the dishwasher time-space continuum
would be non-interrupted by black holes
where handles pointlessly protrude,
requiring endless rearrangement,
a soul destroying exercise.
bowls of any sort should have bottoms that retract.
indeed, the capacity increase, a visible fact,
is so enviro-friendly, eminently sensible,
that the loading for mechanical scrubbing
is deserved of a wing in the Smithsonian.
perhaps the budgeteers of Congress
should be tutored in this artistry,
how to make any limited resource,
better used.
the rub, as the bard would have writ,
is that this roaring tempest-tost,
our love for hard labor lost,
secret sacrificed behind a locked door,
of a Sanctum ********
is entirely due, all glory to,
the secret society of fairies who
hide-reside inside,
freeing us to write more poetry.
in so many ways that I cannot reveal,
less the other gender members squeal,
men live to love to load the dishwasher,
for the ingenuity challenge, and of course,
the side benefit of the excusing coverup,
"I helped clean up," a relationship saver,
proof positively that the dishwasher inventor,
was surely a brilliant woman
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 8:26 AM UTC
Inside the Rainbow Forest
Where unicorns are born,
And fairy dust floats on the air
From sundown until dawn,
There dwells in royal splendour
Yet very rarely seen,
The king of all the pixies
With his pretty pixie queen.
His palace is a mushroom
As tall as any tree,
With bright red spots upon it
That will make you squeal with glee.
A winding golden staircase
Stretches to the very top,
In a mesmerizing spiral
That you think will never stop.
All those brave enough to climb it
Would soon chance upon a door,
With the most enormous knocker
That you really ever saw.
One hard tap summons the butler,
A polite and friendly gnome,
Serving tea and fondant fancies
That will make you feel at home.
Through a maze of vaulted chambers
Each more lavish than the last,
Passing walls lined with the portraits
Of kings from the distant past,
That dear gnome shall gently guide you,
With much merriment and song,
To the Great Hall of his master
Who resides there all day long.
From beneath a silver archway
Set with precious gems galore,
You will enter to the fanfare
Of ten trumpets, maybe more.
Dainty apple blossom petals
Shall be scattered at your feet,
As you bow your head in homage
To the king you are to meet.
With a heart bursting with wonder
You will hastily be brought,
To the throne of his most highness
Far across the royal court,
Threading through the marble towers
Of an ornate colonnade,
And a troupe of prancing dragons
With their riders on parade.
Seated high upon a pumpkin
In a matching orange gown,
Curly shoes of bright green velvet
And an elderflower crown,
The king shall bid you welcome
With a beaming toothy grin,
As he beckons to the minstrel
For the music to begin.
With his beard like cotton candy
Waving wildly in the air,
As he slides down to embrace you
From atop his lofty chair,
Both your arms shall link together
To the fiddler's merry tune,
Clicking heels and laughing loudly
As you skip around the room.
In the magic of the moment
You will give yourself to fun,
As the mischief making monarch
Tweaks your ears and cracks a pun,
All those cares your heart now carries
Shall dissolve and simply be
Lost in wondrous celebration
Of a pixie jamboree!
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 6:38 PM UTC
There once was a girl who loved bacon
The smell of it would start her hands to shaking
It's hard to define
She loved it divine
I once saw her chasing a swine
With fork and knife in hand
She was determined to eat that ham
But it ran to **** fast
I watched as it past
With her giving chase
To her it was just bacon with a face
She wanted that meal
Despite the pigs squeal
That poor pigs plight
Was a sad sorry sight
It was hard to imagine
What next happened
It turned and ate her instead
Now that ***** is dead
The End!
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 10:32 AM UTC
I am a white, Jewish girl from Florida.
Hit me.
Hit me with your white girl jokes,
Your Jewish American Princess stereotypes.
I will giggle and squeal right along with you.
Because yeah,
I do order white chocolate mocha frappuchinos from Starbucks,
I Instagram pictures of my nails,
I take selfies, whiten my teeth, straighten my hair,
Shop at Forever21 and drink Naked Juice like it is my job.
Yeah, my daddy buys me things,
I don’t pay for my data plan,
There’s no way in hell I would drive a sedan,
I wear Nike shorts and avoid any nearby cameraman,
And let me tell you, I love jamming out to old school Britney Spears.
Hit me one more time, because none of that means I am any less intelligent,
Any less diligent,
Any less likely to face judgment
Than any other slice of diversity around me –
I am a white, Jewish girl
My nose is not its own cartoon,
I eat bagels (but I absolutely hate lox),
I’m not tan or even the least bit tinted,
And god knows I don’t wear Uggs.
Tell me I need to get married young,
Major in business,
Wear clothes that leave me airless,
Get some of that European gracefulness,
But don’t tell me I’m dumb.
Don’t tell me I’m not thoughtful.
I’m a white girl.
Take a glance at my resourcefulness,
Understand my goals of being ambitious,
Get rid of your own stereotype-inducing cockiness,
And notice me in all of my flawlessness.
Because I am a white girl,
And I am unique, strong, inventive,
Empowered, passionate, adventurous,
Indomitable, unbeatable.
I am an individual –
Not part of some whole that you put me in to stabilize your mold,
Not the example of a societally scatterbrained ***** meant to be your centerfold,
Not a previously worn-out piece of clothing thrown to the gutter unsold,
Rather a human being of my own rules and my own morals
A human being with ideas and intelligence and power,
A white, Jewish girl,
A person.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 5:31 PM UTC
Ouch. There's a tug somewhere deep in my gut.
Ooh, a pinch almost.
I hunch over, placing one one hand on my stomach.
Squint my eyes and scrunch my nose.
"You okay, ***
"Yeah, ma. Can I just try on these jeans and get home? My tummy hurts."
"You feel like you're gonna puke?"
"No, just a little crampy."
The discomfort continues.
I grab the Levi's. Size 12/14.
Shuffle into the dressing room.
"Uh, mom . . . ?"
"Yeah? Are they too big?"
"Uh, no . . . " Then, in hushed tones. "Can you come here?"
"What?"
"Uh . . . I think maybe. I uh, got my period."
Silence. Anticipation. Waiting for the happy mom, excited squeal, and Welcome-to-Womanhood! hug. A My-Little-Girl's-Growing-Up smile at the very least.
Instead, with a straight face, "Oh, well, we'll have to take care of that. Did the jeans work out?"
Oct 13, 2010
Oct 13, 2010 at 7:53 PM UTC
I head outside for cold air and quiet, escaping too-loud laughter and the filth of drunkenness. As the porch door closes behind me the silence explodes, cacophonous, both ears simultaneously bursting with the high pitched squeal of the sudden nothingness. It surrounds me, vibrating my bones, frothing the marrow within, pressing my temples, heart quickening to steady the body against the assault of the stillness, the stagnation of the world around me. I don't know who I am. I am not -- not anyone. I am alone. I am what they want me to be. Seated cross-legged on cold concrete, the alcohol plays the stars across my eyes like a projector: they move this way and that across my field of vision, swaying, dancing. I feel myself floating, getting lost in my own mind again. I hate that feeling.
I put a cigarette out on my hand, pressing orange embers into soft flesh. I grit my teeth as the world rushes back. The voices bring me down. The clink of glass bottles brings me down. The searing smell of my skin brings me down. I light it again, pull a few deep drags, then stub it out again, this time inside my forearm. My eyes squeezed shut, I feel myself fall back into reality, like a soft bed, like my skin loosens just enough to let me breathe again. I land on both feet, quietly, softly. I stand up, bush myself off, and walk back inside.
I'll burn the whole pack tonight.
I kissed him on the cheek, secretly hoping he'd wake from his stupor and keep my company, but he was too far gone, lost hours ago to two or three too many shots taken in bad faith, but with good intentions. I left him on his couch. He'd be safe there. He needed his sleep.
Why couldn't I get as drunk as them, drunk enough to numb away the emotions, the longing? I was disappointed, but I wasn't surprised. I curled up on the couch alone, pulling my sleeves down to cover the blisters, already rising. If I could just sleep, I could forget. Everyone slept but me. I went out for another cigarette.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 11:13 AM UTC
All I want to do is stick my **** in a *****
deep and warm, juices gush around me
I want to make her moan and squeal
a slippery squeeze I wanna feel
push in my ***** and spill against her wall
she gasps and **** we’re spent, I fall
but I don’t have a ***** ):
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 2:08 PM UTC
That sound we make when noses itch inside.
We breathe in deeply, shut eyes, noses hide.
The squeal, "AH CHOO!" sounding like loud trains.
"Bless you," and "Thank you," our friends and we say.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 1:15 PM UTC
Size Does Matter
Size does matter, if you’re a car,
A bigger engine will take you real far,
Size does matter that’s understood,
When we’re talking about what’s under the hood,
You need lots of power to make those tires squeal,
But when we’re talking about women it’s a whole other deal,
Because size matters when racing on a track,
But in the bedroom it’s the motion in your back,
Because in a hotrod, you better have a big block,
But to a woman, it’s how you use your ****
Because in the bedroom it isn’t a race,
To put that look of delight on her face,
Because in a car you need a big engine for motion,
But in romance, it’s love and devotion,
So where size matters on a drag strip,
In love it’s a whole other trip,
In a car you want it to go,
But in the bedroom, you best take it slow,
It’s no race to cross the finish line,
Take it slow and you’ll do just fine,
So remember you’re a man not a car,
Do things right and you will be her star,
Because it doesn’t take power and speed,
To satisfy a woman’s every need,
Be honest and kind and tell her no lies,
And you’ll be the man to win first prize,
Too much worry about the size of your tool,
Only makes you look like a fool,
So if you don’t learn to do what you can,
She might go out and find another man,
Because size may matter for spinning your tires,
But it takes a real man to satisfy a woman’s desires,
And if you can’t do it she’ll go out and find,
Another man who’s loving and kind,
While you're all alone worrying about size,
She’ll be out with some other guys,
Who may not do as well on the drag strip,
But got your woman doing a flip,
So size may help you racing on the streets,
But it ain’t gonna help you between the sheets.
01-13-10.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 4:31 PM UTC
Crying asylum,
swallows me whole.
White coats surrounds me,
taking control.
Forcible pills,
from lady insane.
Swallow them down,
or wrenching in pain.
Rooms smell of *****
and ***** and such.
Banging your head,
it drives you just nuts.
There's Sam in the corner
counting the bugs,
Alice walks around
giving false hugs.
Look, standing there,
Mike's tearing his face.
Sue's so surine,
screaming in space.
Lights go dim
bed time is bout.
Voices are silenced,
cuz the needles came out.
Strapped to my bed,
I am piercing the dark.
Orderly walks by,
sharp as a lark.
Lying all quiet,
alone and not proud.
A squeal from the speaker,
quite vocal and loud.
Scurry in the hallway,
drinking from his cup.
"Dr. Smith to the Psych Ward!!!"
"Hurry, the patient woke up!!"
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 2:06 PM UTC
I never cared much for car talk,
But when he speaks, I'm intrigued,
And I don't know why.
Most men speak in tones that imply
I don't know anything,
Can't understand simple machines,
Have never seen an engine block,
And just want to watch as they talk.
But he is genuinely fascinated
With systems and forces,
And wants to share.
His passion consumes me,
And I listen, hoping to learn.
On switchbacking forest roads,
Over potholed washboard,
By steep cliff dropoffs,
My head swims with emergency "what ifs"
But not with him.
He flies over loose gravel
And I squeal with euphoric trust and delight.
He drives twice the posted speed,
And I find myself shamelessly sunk
Into a wet seat.
He pumps the brakes
And I'm bowing to the king,
Brazenly hoping that someday
He'll flip a carnal handbrake turn,
Wondering if he cares enough to show off,
Seduced like so many before me
By oil, rubber, and gasoline.
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 1:33 PM UTC
I am at the curly wolfe
Looking at the spruce trees
Behind them lies an army
of
Stout Little Soldiers
Drinking Lemongrass Tea
With Raspberry Tarts
They yell and squeal and raise their hats
Armed with tiny toothpicks
For to them I am a great blue giant
Peering through the Spruce
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 12:07 AM UTC
Two dogs wrestling on my couch
Yelping and squealing
Barking and yelping
Please stop
I can’t hear the T.V.
I can’t hear my thoughts
Now they hear something outside
They run to the window and start barking
I get up to let them out
They keep barking
Now they want back in
The danger is gone
I let them back in
They jump on the couch again
Yelping and squealing
Wrestling and barking
I can’t think
I can’t hear
“Go Outside”
I put them outside again
The jump on the glass
They want back in
I tell them no
They see me
They bark for me to let them in
I get up again
And let them in
I tell them not to bark
They run around the room
Where was I?
What show was I watching?
Why Why Why?
They jump on the couch next to me
They yelp and bark and squeal
They are playing
I am stewing
I am exhausted
Should I put two dogs to sleep?
Should I just **** them to get some rest?
They calm down just in time to save their lives.
Now they both sit on me
I pet one and feel guilty for my thoughts
The other one gets jealous
He scratches my arm
I'm bleeding
I’m going to get rid of both of them
I get up and give them a dog snack so the leave me alone
They take the dog snack
I sit back down
Where was I?
They eat the dog snack
They come back to me.
They jump up on the couch.
I yell, “GET DOWN!”
They look at me.
I change the channel
They go away.
Now I have to get up and use the bathroom
AAAAGGGH!
I go
I come back
They are on my couch.
I sit down with them
They hear something outside
They run to the door
One jumps across my lap and steps on my *****
I’m going to **** them
I let them out.
They start running and barking.
I get my wallet
I am going to the bar
After a few drinks I will **** them
I come home
Hours later
They are happy and excited to see me.
I love them.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
They feel like breathing
For the very first time
And the only thing I can gasp
is your name and I'm
finally pretty **** close
to feeling happy, maybe free
It doesn't matter if people
stare and laugh because I'll be
In different mindset
High in those clouds
That smell of your jacket
and the echo of your name loud.
They squeal when they do the math
put two and two together
They spit out my name like
disbelief, but there are worse to weather.
Clothes pulled and coats cover
The prints I'll never explain
to my parents, for they'd not understand
How much I crave for you again and again
They call you the pervert, the gross one
obsessed with the next hookup
But it's really mostly me
whose *** drive will really drub.
M.C.M
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 7:10 PM UTC