"stilettoes" poems - Hello Poetry

She wears dresses of calendar papers Makeup of cremated ashes Stilettoes of assassins' accurate daggers Diamonds, tears of angels Heart a ticking time bomb Each swell of emotion, increased heart rate Acceleration of expiration

0

Jun 16, 2013

Jun 16, 2013 at 10:41 AM UTC

screaming-wallflower

Time's **********

She wears dresses of calendar papers Makeup of cremated ashes Stilettoes of assassins' accurate daggers Diamonds, tears of angels Heart a ticking time bomb Each swell of emotion, increased heart rate Acceleration of expiration

7

Weaknesses My weakness is sweets, but don’t get it twisted, no food is found to weaken me. But a sweet personality can, so can a sweet smile, or a sweet touch. Basically sweet people are like sweet candies of different cultures, and I shall be a proud cultural culinary taste-tester, moving races like NASCAR in motion. My weakness is money. The all mighty dollar isn’t so almighty to me, but what it can do is. I long for the materialistics of life that money can bring, and the attention it can get you from supermodel brides or low-key bed warmers. I like the feeling of being wanted and tolerated regardless of what I’d do and how I’d do it. My weakness is power, for, if I held the power of a man’s life and spared him, he’d be loyal indefinitely, and that would be enough to satisfy my needs to feel loved. I’d have a friend who felt indebt to me, and that feeling of needing to accommodate would change my view on what was real and what wasn’t. My weakness is attire, for you see, when I walk into a room, I want to draw the eyes of those watching, hateration rising in their veins and jealousy shown on there face. I want the Black haired beauty with the short red skirt and open-toed stilettoes with the dark purple toe nails and thick hips to come my way and think lustfully of me, is it a crime to desire such reactions? My weakness is body, for I love a girl who can take care of herself. Long hair, manicured nails, teeth that aren’t begging to be drilled, it’s a weakness I have and can’t seem to fix. But then again, why would I desire to fix it? I’m not asking for perfect like a conceited rejectionist, or wanting more than what I can give like I was lying to myself, I want someone who can keep up with themselves before even attempting to keep up with someone else. My weakness is *** appeal, because whenever she bites her lip and looks in my eyes, I can see rockets shooting through her glass lenses and aiming at me. But once I smile back, determined face, cute features and as much appeal as I can muster, explosions happen in her body that causes goosebumps to pepper her flesh like shrapnel in a war-zone. My weakness is skin to skin, after all, it’s my right to want to be loved, why not demonstrate it by holding hands? Why not live past the edge and on the tip of existence like birds on a powerline? I am careful enough and she’d be loving enough that no vibes of failing would even cross our way.

0

Sep 21, 2015

Sep 21, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC

Poeticjustice

Weaknesses

Weaknesses My weakness is sweets, but don’t get it twisted, no food is found to weaken me. But a sweet personality can, so can a sweet smile, or a sweet touch. Basically sweet people are like sweet candies of different cultures, and I shall be a proud cultural culinary taste-tester, moving races like NASCAR in motion. My weakness is money. The all mighty dollar isn’t so almighty to me, but what it can do is. I long for the materialistics of life that money can bring, and the attention it can get you from supermodel brides or low-key bed warmers. I like the feeling of being wanted and tolerated regardless of what I’d do and how I’d do it. My weakness is power, for, if I held the power of a man’s life and spared him, he’d be loyal indefinitely, and that would be enough to satisfy my needs to feel loved. I’d have a friend who felt indebt to me, and that feeling of needing to accommodate would change my view on what was real and what wasn’t. My weakness is attire, for you see, when I walk into a room, I want to draw the eyes of those watching, hateration rising in their veins and jealousy shown on there face. I want the Black haired beauty with the short red skirt and open-toed stilettoes with the dark purple toe nails and thick hips to come my way and think lustfully of me, is it a crime to desire such reactions? My weakness is body, for I love a girl who can take care of herself. Long hair, manicured nails, teeth that aren’t begging to be drilled, it’s a weakness I have and can’t seem to fix. But then again, why would I desire to fix it? I’m not asking for perfect like a conceited rejectionist, or wanting more than what I can give like I was lying to myself, I want someone who can keep up with themselves before even attempting to keep up with someone else. My weakness is *** appeal, because whenever she bites her lip and looks in my eyes, I can see rockets shooting through her glass lenses and aiming at me. But once I smile back, determined face, cute features and as much appeal as I can muster, explosions happen in her body that causes goosebumps to pepper her flesh like shrapnel in a war-zone. My weakness is skin to skin, after all, it’s my right to want to be loved, why not demonstrate it by holding hands? Why not live past the edge and on the tip of existence like birds on a powerline? I am careful enough and she’d be loving enough that no vibes of failing would even cross our way.

8

The hardfaced queen of misadventure Dressed in a robe of insecurity Seated on a throne of infidels Ornate with misled hearts of a thousand men. The resenting mirror of insidious lies Confessed all the ugly truth Of all those swollen eyes and wrinkled cheeks Concealed behind a facade of smiles. The incongruous pair of unfortunate heels Tells a thousand stories of her exploit In worn out stilettoes of faded red By the futile resistance of those frozen feet. Playing god on the hellbound streets Her thighs bewitching weak and drunken hearts In a fiery throng of mutilation For a decisive battle that shall claim no victor.

0

Aug 12, 2013

Aug 12, 2013 at 8:04 AM UTC

larry-potter

The Muted Angel

The hardfaced queen of misadventure Dressed in a robe of insecurity Seated on a throne of infidels Ornate with misled hearts of a thousand men. The resenting mirror of insidious lies Confessed all the ugly truth Of all those swollen eyes and wrinkled cheeks Concealed behind a facade of smiles. The incongruous pair of unfortunate heels Tells a thousand stories of her exploit In worn out stilettoes of faded red By the futile resistance of those frozen feet. Playing god on the hellbound streets Her thighs bewitching weak and drunken hearts In a fiery throng of mutilation For a decisive battle that shall claim no victor.

16

Although I have no glass stilettoes Have the height to reach with my toes. Despite, I never did chores, I am the lion, that roar at fears. Although I wasn't cursed to sleep years To have a king to kiss my curses away, I want to be a rat at least, Just like in the tales. Although I don't have the beautiful body, I want just one and nobody else like I appear to be those elves None can see, yet can feel.

0

Mar 2, 2016

Mar 2, 2016 at 3:18 AM UTC

sri-shruthi

Although fairytales,I, the reality

Although I have no glass stilettoes Have the height to reach with my toes. Despite, I never did chores, I am the lion, that roar at fears. Although I wasn't cursed to sleep years To have a king to kiss my curses away, I want to be a rat at least, Just like in the tales. Although I don't have the beautiful body, I want just one and nobody else like I appear to be those elves None can see, yet can feel.

12

She looks into the sky As does he Miles apart With the separation Of the sparkling sea He raises his gun high Fighting for his family She raises her glass high Grasping for reality One day after the next A year goes by She waits at the airport He comes from the sky His combat boots on his feet Her stilettoes on hers She is reminded why Her hero wears those combat boots. She drops her glass He drops his gun They can finally see The same sky

0

Nov 3, 2014

Nov 3, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC

karoline-quillen

Combat boots

She looks into the sky As does he Miles apart With the separation Of the sparkling sea He raises his gun high Fighting for his family She raises her glass high Grasping for reality One day after the next A year goes by She waits at the airport He comes from the sky His combat boots on his feet Her stilettoes on hers She is reminded why Her hero wears those combat boots. She drops her glass He drops his gun They can finally see The same sky

21

She walks down streets while love goes in and out of fashion an invisible halo above her head wearing size six inch red stilettoes the smallest of mini skirts shorter than all the sixties put together and sings punk rock Christmas carols while checking out her lipstick in the mirror she is your sister, potential mother, and the best friend someone ever had will pray for you and dream and make wishes share all she has in the way of fashion tips out of magazines and she strides down pavements confidently while love goes in and out of fashion.

0

Dec 17, 2015

Dec 17, 2015 at 3:22 AM UTC

nivek

In And Out Of Fashion

She walks down streets while love goes in and out of fashion an invisible halo above her head wearing size six inch red stilettoes the smallest of mini skirts shorter than all the sixties put together and sings punk rock Christmas carols while checking out her lipstick in the mirror she is your sister, potential mother, and the best friend someone ever had will pray for you and dream and make wishes share all she has in the way of fashion tips out of magazines and she strides down pavements confidently while love goes in and out of fashion.

8