"squinty" poems
Listen to the minority’s burden
There are more than you may see
Your idea of equality
Is quite different from what I believe
The facts are alive and well
And terribly ignored
By many common folk who can not tell
What all we’ve been fighting for
Listen to our burdens
They’ve been here all along
Since the pale folks came for us
And decided they knew where we belong
Listen to my burden
I am more than my ethnicity
But no one pays attention to my character
Thank you, oh dear society
I’m not here to do your math homework
Or be the punch line of your joke
Or be the one who is categorized
As a yellow, squinty-eyed bloke
We have countless burdens
So listen to what we say
Please stop your patterns of racist jokes and ignorance
And realize that change must begin today
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 9:39 PM UTC
I hate your stupid face
Those squinty eyes, them closed lips
Your expression so emotionless
Flat and stagnant is what it drips
Those masculine eyebrows, your expansive hair
That skin void of blemishes and scars
Complexion of espresso dancing with milk
Leaving the beholder seeing stars
Empty of smiles and feelings
Your visage the definition of dry
I go seeking for some semblance of life
Through your dark mysterious eyes
So I hate your stupid face
For it is the one that leaves me breathless
Casting the root on my heart
Rendering me into a state of restless
Dec 10, 2018
Dec 10, 2018 at 11:59 AM UTC
I dreamt that I woke up to the sight of you.
Our legs were still intertwined,
Bare like the entirety of our bodies.
Squinty-eyed and morning breath.
I never cared,
The sight of you was a gift.
I swear you have an internal heater.
Either that or you’re a vacuum
Based on my collarbone covered in lust.
I woke up and you weren’t here. Again.
My doctor says I should be getting more sleep.
But, imagining you’re still here is
My worst nightmare.
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 1:40 PM UTC
To write a happy poem
First you need a start
You need to find something beautiful
Something close to your heart
If those are the guidelines
Then I'll write about you
Because I see your beauty
There for me, through and through
Your smile brightens up the room
Like sunlight in the dark
Your eyes though small and squinty
Reflect the beauty contained within
I know the reason why they're small
It's not because of genes
It's because you're protecting them
Showing them to those who deserve to see them
Because your eyes are like your heart;
Sensitive, but beautiful
Hidden, but alive
I wanted to write a happy poem
So I tried to write one about you
I hope it says what I meant to mean
And in your heart rings true
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
I love the way you smile
Full and bright with squinty eyes
The way you toss,
your crimson hair girl
Makes me proud to be a woman
You rattle and shake me
We laugh together on your porch
Bright sun and green grass
Like your eyes, but not as bright
Your car goes fast girl
Red, chili pepper red
Hot like your bite
Like your pride
Loud and spicy like your laugh
You're free girl
Big smiles as you spin in fast circles,
in your front yard on this heavy summer's day
Sometimes your eyes are blue,
like big sky flying
But I like them green.
Jan 4, 2012
Jan 4, 2012 at 7:03 PM UTC
How I used to see myself
These eyes that shine through the glass
These eyes that water from the smell of grass
Yeah I’m allergic, to the constant cut lawn
But that’s only one of my flaws that has yet to be drawn
As a line, I can only see so far
Yet I can see farther without the lens, how bizarre
I used to think like I was apart of the trend
What society, media, and the news transcend
I would try to pretend that I wasn’t what was depicted
The type of discrimination made most from fiction
I am just a simple person, just like the rest
Well, not entirely simple, but nonetheless
I need glasses so that I don’t have to squint
It makes my life easier yet nerds represent
Those with four eyes, under the guise of friendship he was betrayed
Cause you’re smart others seek that for comfort
I am another person, I left out simple I am unique, not simple, yet I grew up with pimples
So not only do you wear glasses but covered in acne I was actually bullied in middle school because of this
I was called “acne,” to my face by a girl all day, every day, yes I began to hate my face
I hated the feeling it gave me when I looked at the mirror
No way in hell was proactive making it clearer
I hit puberty harder than I knew with a deep voice, squinty eyes that made me look high, and a cratered face, fat build so I floated like the moon
I really hated my figure until I grew
I grew into the body that my thoughts would never know
I acknowledged myself though And that will remain a fact, I learned I needed to love myself first before I could love another
Why? Because to me these eyes that I used to see
Would one day have someone staring back and if I didn’t love myself, how could I expect the other to love me
I see with these eyes today, looking at myself and see things way incredibly differently
I don’t care how others perceive me, From rumors they’ve heard or from the hate that others serve I can care less.
All I know is what’s in front of me now
These eyes that see more than a few steps in front of me I believe that one day I’ll have more, than a dresser drawer as my art space
Something brighter than my own face
Right now I can’t help but smile I smile cause I feel like I’ve walked a long mile
And honestly, I’ll take each day at a time I see with these glasses sometimes a broken frame
And at that point, I normally tape them up
And smile again
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 12:42 PM UTC
A palpable discord keeps me
turning all through the night
until the late rays of Sun
shine by again
I want a dreamcatcher
Feathery-spider web-
To keep my hypnagogic rest
sacred to me
And then I can wish
him closer...
Without a separating sea
I reserved my sleep to calmer
nights where my dainty ribs
caressed an incense-ridden
wind
My dreams are a shade
happier than me
I found my wrists
bedecked in fine jewelery
There's no chiming of antique
clocks in my sleepy
subconscious knots.
My eyes were not
corrosed over
so when he spoke I
comprehended
with crystal orbs
I'd hoped I find him through
disheveled bedsheets under
the waxing moon...
It illuminated my skin and sent me
soundly reveling in the hazy countenance
To me he's Elvis' love child
He's a wish fulfilled to me
I discovered an idol
I write letters,
coveted, held close
I worship what I
know of him
My thoughts are almost this
tangible-thing like a rope
I could grab and
make a knoose out of
perhaps it's time to slay
the golden bull
I struck his wayward glance
by some silver spring of snow
He's travelled to the ruins
of cathedrals with
chipped limestone on
the doors arched-shape...
darkness on the otherside...
Mother Mary follows,
walking through some threshold
hallway
Crooked stem, bent leaves...
A pruned up crackled rose
for me to eat
Those eyes...
dark brown, almond-shaped
Squinty with sparrow-feet
I'm waiting in the mountains
Clouds covering my eyes
Ocean blue in the stark sunshine
blinding me and enveloping me
when the music dies
Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 1:20 AM UTC
/ conversation over a bbq dinner
being given the information
over a new M.I. movie..
i really think tom cruise
should have won an oscar for -
born on the 4th of july...
without bias,
but given the oscar award for
the grunting and heaving,
and minimal dialogue / monologue
of leonardo's the revenant?
the world is a cul de sac...
and what remains of it...
is a shitshow worth, of a congested street
with nothing but, paupers /
window-shoppers to be lined up;
mannequins coming alive
and taking to disco dancing
the hell out of having donned
a boney m afro;
drunk, squinty eyed...
looking around, surmising my
thought with... huh?!
it's a good thing i'm this good at
drinking, never having dropped acid.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 10:38 PM UTC
I met him one night in December...
close to Christmas Eve
When I walked in he had
candles lit and some
scotch for us to drink
His peepers are dark and squinty
His laugh is warm and lovely
His voice is satin spiked with honey
He drinks purple-graped-red-wine
He resembles Dionysos
Nature as a male
He works with cryptic messages
Amalgams and
his speach is a rainbow of
different languages
Could of sworn I've met this
man in some dreamy
distant place...
Palaces of concertos ringing
when I study his copper face
I had a restless wistfulness...
A particular soulful malnutrition
That eventually dissipated
in our bathtub conversation
I swear I would cross oceans
In the hope that we might
meet again
I understand he has a habit of
diving into fountains...
He dances with gypsies on
the street
Sometimes I fail to see how
someone as worldly as he
could like someone like me
I call when he runs by Vesuvius
I want his extra time
I always forget the 7 hour
time difference but...
when we talk it makes me smile
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 12:02 AM UTC
Ol’ Long and Tall sits
uncomfortably in the
seat next to mine.
It is obvious that his
back is bothering him
this morning.
‘Hey, dad…”
This is how it always starts.
Anytime he wants to talk,
he opens with this salvo.
I think it’s like using a turn signal
when changing lanes or something,
and who really knows what lane my boy
is in as he hurtles down his own highway?
It’s not that I don’t know him,
or care what’s on his mind, not
at all.
We’re both thinkers,
Alex and I, it’s just that
he gets a little bit tangled up
now and then, and just goes blank,
but never dull.
I think “Hey, dad…” offers a bit of a reset;
just a moment’s pause for organization,
such as it is in Alex’s case.
“Hey dad…” he starts.
“Did you know…?”
He goes on to tell me
some facts, which I forget
now,
about Hawaii.
Soon, that folder is empty
so he begins telling me tidbits
about the migratory process
of monarch butterflies.
“Where did you learn this stuff?”
I ask.
“At school.”
“On the internet.”
he states.
“Good.”
“That’s good.”
I assure him.
“There’s more to the internet
than You Tube and Minecraft;
and you found it. I’m glad”
“Yup.” he says and grins his squinty grin
at me.
I nod and keep driving,
it is a school day and we’re on
the highway.
No radio this morning,
just talk.
I wait.
5 seconds
10 seconds
15 seconds
“Hey dad…”
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications; 2016
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 12:56 PM UTC
romance is giving me the last bite of your sandwich even though it's the best part with the cheese running down the sides
romance is holding the door for me when your arms are full of books and papers
romance is playing with my ***** hair when i haven't showered in days because you know i love it
romance is patiently holding water to my lips when i'm too drunk to keep my hand steady
romance is giving me your last cigarette when i've had a long day, even though i know you won't be able to scrape together change for a new pack
romance is asking me to marry you with a key ring because that's all we have the money for because we're young and crazy
romance is sitting in the back of the car laughing at nothing because our eyes get so squinty when we're ******
romance is leaving what you're doing to come pick me up when i called you crying for no reason
romance is holding my hand and my head and my heart in silence when i can't find the words to express the chaos inside my own mind
romance is listening to me ramble about the same old **** and caring just as much as when i told you the first time
romance is the way you smile when i'm sad, the way you cradle my head in your neck, the way you kiss me on the nose, the way you text me good morning and goodnight every day, the way you tell me you love me and mean it
romance is you, and me, together
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 7:39 AM UTC
vague games enable and our liturgies co-mingle in an inkling of the I.
your mind succumbs to the soul. the rabid rain is ironic and the font you spell ' god ' with
is all scrawl and scrumptious. you lump this dream into your dolphin of Delphi
and squeak cute symphonies of deep brood.
you choose your Oblivion.
and that's how Angels kiss. they force the Word through your Animus
and greet your weakness with squinty eyes and Lion's breath.
you're the next best thing since that one thing that had no soul for god to play with.
it never complained. you might look and you might not see
what you're not supposed too. but i know you'll be happy with lemon-drops
and long dark naps.
that's how we do,
like a crispy pillow is a cloud with a lobotomy
and all my barbed wire is wine.
Like i'm the king of unbearable sublime. you anoint the fallen. i spike the punch, judy. you sunshine.
eulogies wet the pavement. darth mauls
the halls of our peril
and the dry
sparrows
you had no love but you had a thing that went thump
when you met her. and some other cocka-mamy thing.
and your narrow view
of the wide ha ha and the mute " **** this "
and why not?
we're all caught in the same frame and the gorgons are massive. you have to elect a hero to laugh at Death with and might get a girl.
you're nothing at all and that infuriates the reality you were dreamt with. you have no kin, but your family hasn't been.... you were unhinged
from the stark grim and the tide pool. why do you think i say things that ain't been language but has always been lingua nova ?
why would i lie ? this is the scepter of the vengeful design and the glee demons of first love sipping from a chalice of lost love
with closed eyes. this is the pier and the ocean. the dime store Picasso hanging the velvet Elvis with the perfect circles
with the little
cube inside...
aching for flamingos.
or not.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 8:09 AM UTC
Supposing it is my way, although that is never the intended effect. Shaking the irrational awake is difficult as insensitive as words may seem, instead of causing adverse reaction the hope is to open eyes and ears alike, kindling a desire for change in thought and action. A new system of thinking. A new order of hope found in something real unlike the mythology of today. The idea of ignorance is faulty and study is imperative in order to dig for treasures stored in heaven. Love is real and attainable although blind love will lead to an unstable view of lose ideas of kisses and backing that doesn't exist. A realistic view is sometimes blunt and hard to even take a peek into with squinty eyes. I apologize.
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
Sometimes I wonder If we could've been
If your squinty smile and long black hair
Could've shunned the demons that always held me back
Maybe if your quirkiness could've made me less of a hack
I don't know I think to myself
You and Me, could've never been
Your perfection was on every level
From your inner
To your outer
From level 1-1
to level 8-4
it seemed like my thoughts were just a locked door
Preventing myself to take the first step
into your world
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 1:49 AM UTC
Men are doomed, Carla told me,
It’s your eternal haircuts, she continued,
How can you sculpt a life from a single shape,
One look,
Every mirror an impersonation
Of the initial version of one’s self,
Each day reduced to a child’s calculation,
You wake up, only older, grayer, a withered rasp,
Ever more discouraged by the unfairness of things.
Carla exhaled a dragon’s torrent
White jet streams unfurled out of both nostrils,
A waft of my father’s morning scent.
With a flick of her thumb,
She snapped the ash
Off the end of her cigar.
A sharp hiss as the ember sizzled and sank
In the shallow of a pavement puddle.
It had cold rained most of the day.
Over a pause, the sky roiling with indigestion,
We bundled up in autumn clothes,
And trudged uptown,
Our chins tucked deep into our chests,
Our squinty eyes glued to our shoes,
The wind had a slap to it.
It isn’t war you should fear, she continued,
It’s robots.
Soon we won’t need you for anything,
Carla jabbed her lacquered fingernail at phantoms as she spoke.
Women have been fornicating with machines
For over a hundred years, she said,
The transition for us has already occurred.
Weld and solder us a pleasant replica,
One that can shine a toilet
Sterilize the dishes, **** us brilliantly,
And recite Shakespeare at will-
Believe me,
Soon we will barter for your *********
Exchanging bitcoins for the innate,
With no intention of ever attending your funeral.
No the war is over and men have lost, Carla repeated.
She walked ahead me,
Her hips a sashay as she spit a loose bit of tobacco leaf
Onto a lamp post.
I could not persuade my eyes to look away.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 9:36 PM UTC
The wind opens the clouded curtains
to reveal the shining sun.
This glorious orb had winked, however uncertain
That the wink was directed to only one.
I saw this phenomena, and felt
as if I was revealed all truth.
In this game of life, I was dealt
With the eternal heart of a youth.
Granted to me
by that life giving sun
Was the power to see;
A gift that cannot be undone.
So I blinked one eye
And winked in reply.
I continued upon my way
and saw in the distance, a creature.
His teeth were on display
and squinty eyes added to the feature.
Twas a smile that was given to I,
and felt as if I was one with his soul
as I caught this beauty with my eye;
Just then I was complete and whole.
I was so graciously given
By this beautiful creature
The heart to keep on livin'
As his smile was my greatest teacher.
So I stretched my lips from ear to ear
and smiled back, for I was no longer in fear.
The trees shook and rustled
as I was slowly passing by.
And as the leaves bustled
I glimpsed the wave as they said hi.
I stood still to stare,
as the leaves were dancing a greeting.
I felt the love that we do share,
'cause my heart was aflame and beating.
I was knowledgeably instilled
By this humble, but noble tree;
my quest for friendship is fulfilled;
'cause I learned that there is always a we.
So with my hand, a branch I did take
as I returned the lovely handshake.
I heard the blissful chatter
of a girl years younger than I.
I asked what was the matter;
'I'm laughing!' was the reply.
Her carelessness got the better of me,
and in her freedom I cheered with rejoice,
as we danced and shared the eternal glee.
I was jubilant to hear the guffaw in her voice.
I was so ecstatically presented
by this lightened and carefree soul
with the sense of freedom, cemented
knowing that, of myself, only I am in control.
So I took her hand, and gave a great bellow,
as I gave her a laugh like a jolly 'ol fellow.
I could feel the totality of the earth
in my humble, but powerful heart.
I was a part of the on-going mirth
as I saw creation as God's art.
I could feel the boundless love
that was radiating from every being.
Twas the state of bliss I had been dreaming of;
A feeling that is oh so freeing.
I was permanently endowed
by this force I was so familiar with,
with a love, of which I am proud;
A feeling that is more than just a myth.
So I vulnerably opened my heart with pride,
and returned that love worldwide.
Ever since the day
of those subtle realizations
I have made a point of each today
to join in the celebrations;
by laughing, loving, and befriending.
Dec 15, 2010
Dec 15, 2010 at 5:21 PM UTC
The gracegel fixed a whisilpur stir
Of beamish walldows plenty glee
Lursting gentile sodjar words
To rise a slumgraven lad from slee
Wiss! Youshun beware of me!
Yelpsured this famil somber chord
For I tis sent from spirits upthee
To scrapple luscious souls earthwart
Whose frangled lives are of odd degree.
The lad’s eyes engrossed with squinty cheer
Permazed at this zartrous sight.
The gracegel behooved its transparent skin
Then wishbamboozled the rooms in a fandacisnt blight
And Together lad and gracegel consured the night
Word Meaning
Gracegel: a high and elite angel Whisilpur: silent, purring noise
Beamish: concentrated light
Walldows: shadows on the wall
Lursting: quiet echoing whispers
Sodjar: important, necessary
Slumgraven: distraught, troubled
Slee: worried state that leaves people to stay awake before sleep
Youshun: you shouldn’t
Yelpsured: to make certain
Famil: inherently known
Upthee: refers to head gracegel
Earthwart: out of earth
Frangled: mix-matched
Permazed: perplexed and amazed
Zartrous: uncommon
Wishbamboozled: to spin something violently
Fandacisnt: magical
Consured: to fly without wings
Sep 23, 2010
Sep 23, 2010 at 3:12 PM UTC
The veins in your hands,
The strong structure of your body.
Eyes that have haunted my dreams for months.
The same pair of sweatpants every day,
That somehow completes you.
And the random stares that make my stomach drop.
The low voice you use when we are close,
And the shaky whispers when we are alone.
The colors you radiate are brilliant.
And the energy you give sends shivers down my spine.
The smell that lingers on the clothing you lend me,
And the strength that gives me during the day.
Your strong arms around me when I fall asleep.
Did I ever tell you that I can hear you?
Faintly, but one time I could remember.
No dream, just a voice.
And I tried to say it back,
But my voice caught in my throat.
And it was then that I knew,
We'd be that way forever.
Or at least a very long time.
The bright, squinty eyed, smile when
You're having fun,
Or when a friend says something perverted.
And the laugh that is contagious.
Your annoyance when I wear heels,
And your in insistence that I am indeed a gamer.
Even if it is a joke.
Your ability to stay strong even if life kicks you where it counts.
And your determination to save people,
Help everyone you can,
Before saving yourself.
I could go on for eternity.
But, and I will steal your line,
I need something to write about later, right?
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 9:35 AM UTC
she is lovely
a bit crazy for details
but at least she cares.
small frame
arms that wrap for miles
squinty eyes
no brows
all smiles.
will work to play
cook in ‘waves
or take us out
to share her pay.
simple
thoughtful
quirky
probably *****
radiantly charming
sometimes smothering
but never annoying, well
maybe a little, but she taught me
to be strong
independent
overbearingly anxious now and again
but sweet and funny and no, mom,
ice cream doesn't make everything better
but the people you share it with do—
have I told you lately...?
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 5:17 AM UTC
I'm all squinty-eyed this am (A.M.)
with a certain je-ne-sais-quoi
here,
in my brain,
today.
Strumblin' about, trippin' on stuff;
My body responds not as it should!
I'm in dire need of coffee or bacon or toast or ELECTROLYTES
(my friend assures me this is so).
Hands up! Who's all broken?
and disjointed
and confuddled
and hell — bedazzled!?
The sparkles in my eyelids won't go away
and-
I've-
had-
the-
hic-
cups-
since-
last-
night.
What a great time tho? I think...YES.
Later that day...
— Happy ***** Times!
Jul 2, 2011
Jul 2, 2011 at 8:43 AM UTC
I'm the Nat Geo reader
the Facebook creeper
the go- to- sleep- later
the fake ***** hater.
I'm the question asker
the things- I'll- never- use- again stasher
the big stomach eater
and natural leader.
I'm the girl with the
small eyes and big hands.
And why would God
give a girl
with so much to see
and no one to hold
small eyes and big hands,
can you tell me?
God is laughing you see.
He's saying Child..
I knew you'd be a
seer- to- believer
a mental image taker- not- leaver
so I gave you small
thirsty eyes
and big hands too,
because you're usually a pusher
and bigger hands would
make you that much more likely
to hold things close to you.
So my squinty eyes can see
that my big hands push me
to pull things close.
And I completely forget their size
when I thank God
for a mighty fine pair
of hands and eyes.
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 9:46 AM UTC
If I was given a day
By god
Or whatever force there may be
It would be with you
In an empty room
and you would speak to me
I would ask no questions
Utter no words
Invisible buttons would be connecting my lips
You would speak of it all
What makes you laugh
Favorite memories
Why you're so shy
your weak spots
If you're selfish
what side of the bed you like
hot or cold
sweet or sour
Marvel or DC
I would watch
knuckles cracking
touseling of thick hair
squinty giggles
My heart would grow immensely
With every
Secret. Hobby. Weakness. Preference.
watching your lips move
and your face morph
With every emotion
my heart would reach to you in sorrows
and leap at triumphs
Butterflies would become a typical occurrence
a smile tattooed on my face
that's all I desire
You
I
voluntarily trapped in a room
shedding our skin
specifically yours
in no way is that strange
In fact it's beautiful
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 3:38 AM UTC
Self hate is so much more than based off personal looks.
The way your eyes slant downwards or are just a little too squinty, the way your nose takes up a fourth of your face.
The way the kids tease you that your lips are too big or small.
The way that girl called you fat,
ugly,
skinny,
sick.
The way they told you you can never be loved.
Self hate routes from something bigger...
A fire burning deep inside.
Self hate comes from emotion.
It comes from the people closest.
The ones your told to trust.
Mom, dad, sister, brother, aunts and uncles.
Mom and dad used to fight...
Your older sister said it was all your fault.
You blamed yourself for so long.
Then one day you took a blade.
First time you ran it down your arm.
Let out your demons.
They screamed inside.
And now they are free.
Sure the kids at school all play into this.
But it's so much more.
If only you could see.
Within you there is still beauty.
You survived.
Therefore insperation remains alive.
You got past every name you've ever been called.
Every word your parents cursed.
You got through it all.
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 4:52 AM UTC
The chickens watch us
with their tiny T-Rex eyes,
their funny feather hats shaking
and pulsing
with Heaven only knows.
Collecting warm brown eggs
from haughty hens
is an honor.
That’s what Papa says, at least.
Papa built these coops himself,
I tell all the chickens.
He made them because he loves you
or maybe just because he wants your eggs.
I’m not sure which,
I say,
but it’s one of those two
or both.
The silkies are doubtful
and pacing
and ready to peck me into a bare corn cob,
but I’ve got an egg carton to fill
and this is the first time I can help
because Grandma isn’t home.
Papa humors my toe-turns
and my untamed joy
the way that only Papa can,
with squinty jokes
and whistle-wheezy laughs.
An almost dropped egg here,
a yellow yolked yelp there,
and my egg carton is full.
Papa wears a sunny-side up smile
and the chickens don’t mind if we sing.
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 11:04 AM UTC
Fat cats sit on mats
for kids to rhyme
and wile away the time
of day and I'm dazed
by the haze of my days,
'cause seeing clearly's
overused and I'm
amused by your subtle
clues you choose to drop
and hint that we're a pair.
You squint your eyes
at mine and find I'm
back inside my head
rhyming kid words
too cold for snow and
too old, so though
you think it's bold for
you to say, I was told
you'd stay to play, which
makes me not surprised
you'd spill your guts
through your squinty eyes.
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 6:56 PM UTC