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Frisk Jan 2016
“Big change, huh? Bet you could take some awesome shots here, Max.”

Max nodded, only hearing the last part of Warren’s sentence. Truth was, she was distracted by how beautiful this place was. If Max stood at the end of the street, she could get a killer depth-of-field perceptive image by aiming towards the long and skinny winding roads being enveloped by the building’s shadows. San Diego seemed to flourish with art and photography culture, and great opportune shots to shoot photographs.

“Earth to Max.” That seemed to knock her out of her thoughts. *****, focus.
“Are you going to go swimming with me and Brooke?”

From the look on Brooke’s face, she was hoping to God that Max said no. Brooke is the relationship equivalent of a boa constrictor, and she wasn’t sure how this hasn’t dawned on Warren yet. “I’m not sure. Maybe. Let me unpack first.”

After Kate dropped out of going to San Diego Comic Con last second, Max was nearly going to join her when Warren practically begged her to come. Coming back to the present - equipped with her suitcase and messenger bag - Max lingered behind the couple by several feet. This was her way of trying to avoid the reminder that she was third-wheeling with a boy who used to have a very awkward crush on her and his salty girlfriend.

“I’m going to go down to the pool.” Warren said, sliding his key card into room #228, turning his head to face Max before opening the door. “Maximillian, are you sure you don’t want to join us?”

“Like I said, I’ll think about it.”

The moment the three of them walked in, Brooke and Warren beelined for the restroom with their bathing suits in hand. Once they came out, Warren had a blue and black plaid board short swimsuit on whereas Brooke came out with a highlighter-colored graffiti two piece.  “Alright, Mad Max. We’re out of this joint. Catch us at the pool if you need something or want to swim. If not, we’ll be back in an hour.”

Max waved them off, digging through her bag for that bathing suit. The crimson colored ruched one-piece vintage bathing suit sat abandoned at the bottom of her matching vermillion suitcase. Down below at the pool area, she could hear screaming and laughing and splashing of the pool water. Max got up from her suitcase, and opened the curtain enough to look out at the hotel pool. Several other people were down there, pushing the time limit very close to closing in an hour from now. Come on, Max, you’re really going to let your whole adventure be ruined by the usual high-strung Brooke?

**** it.

Max nabbed the swimsuit from the hidden corners of her suitcase, stripping herself down to pull the swimsuit onto her body. Once the swimsuit was on, she turned her waist feeling the soft fabric conform to her small but still vaguely prominent curves. Max can remember Mom always saying that she looked good in red, so she recommended a red one-piece since Max doesn't have the confidence to show her stomach to anyone.

Well, except her best friend Chloe. They used to take bubble baths together as toddlers so it used to be the most natural thing in the world to get dressed in the same room together. It must have been a better time, where there were no insecurities. Now Max has trouble calling her up without her finger freezing up as she attempts to type the very last digit of Chloe’s phone number into her phone.

As Max turned around in the mirror, she noticed how her lack of a rear end was a lot more distinguishable in red. Wowser, Max thought, this looks really good on me.

“Wowser.” Max said aloud to her reflection, and threw on a bathrobe.

It must have been ten minutes into Warren and Brooke swimming when Max opened up the pool gate, entering the vast perimeter of the pool area. There were significantly less people around the pool, where most of the people still inside the pool area were kids our age. “Max, you’re here!”  

This made two teenagers stop in their tracks as they were opening up the pool gate at the other end of the pool to leave. One of them whipped around so fast that it was a blur of blue hair.  “Wait…”

“Is that…Max Caulfield? It looks a lot like her.” Rachel asked to Chloe, who hung her jaw open in disbelief. No ******* way.

Furrowing her eyebrows, she watched Max drop the robe on a nearby chair. Like an awkward penguin, Chloe watched her best friend waddle up to the pool edge & cannonball into the waters below oblivious to the two girls standing at the gate watching her. “You’re going to wake up the neighbors and the owner of this hotel's parents forty miles away, Warren!”

“Do you want to go say hi to her?” Rachel asked Chloe.

As Chloe decided on actually going to surprise her, Max's friend said something that made Chloe change her mind in a split second.

“How would you know? Besides, you’ll eventually forgive me for that once you meet the entire cast of Star Trek tomorrow, Max.” Warren yelled at Max, and Chloe did a small grin as she turned away from her best friend, closing the gate on both of the girls.

“No. Guess the oblivious nerd is going to Comic Con too.“ Chloe took one last look at Max before going back inside the hotel with Rachel Amber at her tail. "Do you think she'll recognize me in cosplay?"

"Probably not. Unless I drop the bomb on you guys."

“Shhh. I don’t need you ruining my surprise party, *******.”

Max, Brooke, and Warren weren’t in the pool for long, since Warren bumped his head into the side of the pool while doing laps with Brooke. They had to get out, and put an ice pack on Warren’s sore bump on his head. “Now how am I going to cosplay the 11th Doctor? I need to gel my hair back, but I have this gargantuan bump on my head.”

“We’ll figure it out, sweetie.” Brooke said, and Max nearly gagged.

Max went back to the hotel room first, since being around Brooke made her want to strangle her.  This whole third-wheeling thing was annoying, and Max was regretting coming alone without Kate as her faithful chauffeur. Nonetheless, she wasn’t going to let that ruin her trip. She was here to have fun. And to take a bunch of photographs, of course.

The next morning around 4:00 am, Max was rudely awoken by Brooke who shoved her in her shoulder. “Get up, Max. We’re leaving in thirty minutes from now.”

Was that necessary? Max thought, crawling out of bed. From the bathroom, she could hear Warren fretting over the mammoth-sized bump on his head as both of them got dressed in their cosplay outfits. “Okay. That hurt a lot. Ow, ow, ow.”

“Oh, is there anything I can do to help?”

“Shut up, guys.”

Feeling slightly irritable from the loud ruckus Brooke and Warren were making in the other room Max rolled out of bed. She rustled through her suitcase for a pair of skinny jeans and a white t-shirt with the print of a doe on the front. Once she had her clothes, she stood up to walk into the restroom to change when she noticed the ending result of both of her companions.

Brooke’s multicolored dark hair was pulled down in waves framing the scarlet dress with a black belt fastened around her waist. As for Warren, his usually shaggy brown hair was gelled back for his cosplay. She had to admit, he looked handsome in his mahogany jacket, red bow-tie and matching suspenders, and the cotton collared button-up he wore underneath. For a cosplay of The Eleventh Doctor and Clara Oswald, it was quite impressive how close they looked like the actual characters of the TV show Doctor Who.

“Take a picture of us, Max!” Warren said in a chirpy voice.

“On it.”

Max pulled out her camera, and pointed it at the couple who held up peace signs together. Once the picture rolled out, the couple split apart to put on the finishing touches of their cosplay.  As for Max, all she had to do was throw on her clothes. There wasn’t a lot of work in dressing up like normal people. Besides, she’s never really been a fan of cosplay.

If you want to count dressing up as pirates with her best friend Chloe on Halloween five years ago cosplay, then yeah, Max has cosplayed several times before.

“Max, hurry your *** up. It looks like the amphitheater is getting crowded from here.” Warren yelled from outside the bathroom door towards Max, who sloppily tied her shoes.

As they exited out of the large double doors of the four star hotel, Warren and Brooke took the crosswalk, pointing out people cosplaying as characters from TV shows or video games. They were smiling and laughing, leaving Max to third-wheel again. Instead of lingering on it, Max put in her headphones and turned on Crosses by José González tuning them out.

“Where is the line?” Max asked Warren as they approached the crowded complex filled with restaurants on one side and the amphitheater on the other side. Tents were set up here, even.

“This is what I call natural selection. If you come prepared with prior knowledge on how this works, you can conquer this haphazard looking line.” Warren spread his arms out, motioning towards the crowd that was rapidly growing in size.

“Let’s go, Warren.”

“Wait!”

Like an octopus, Brooke latched onto Warren dragging him into the depths of the growing sea of people. After three painful hours of waiting, Max felt the crowd start to lighten up around her as excited but deafening chatter filled the air of the surrounding herd of people. Everyone was clamoring loudly, quickly rushing into the open doors with their San Diego Comic Con day pass thrown around their neck.

As soon as Max received hers, she eagerly threw her day pass around her neck. After buying a small breakfast sandwich from a booth, Max decided to start people watching. Some of the cosplays made her laugh like the Darth Vader cosplayer leading a conga line of faithful storm troopers, taking long confident strides.

Max took several photographs of several different cosplayers, ranging from Doctor Who, Scott Pilgrim vs The World, The X-Files, Breaking Bad, Undertale, Magic: The Gathering, and Family Guy. When it started getting crowded, she got up from her chair and entered the large archway into the convention center filled with colorful tents and cosplay galore.

Wielding her camera bag close to her waist, Max carefully maneuvered her way through the sea of people as she took a look at the booths. Suddenly, the throng of people became too much for Max. An elbow into Max's side pushed her into the left side of her waist, throwing her into a booth.

“Hey, are you alright?”

Max’s eyes glanced up towards a blue-haired girl cosplaying as Pris from Blade Runner, who had grabbed her waist. Something about her was actually kind of familiar, however, Max couldn’t tell. “You hit that table pretty hard.”

Max felt the warmth from her waist leave slowly. “This crowd is suffocating. I need a place to breathe around here. It’s too claustrophobic for my liking.”

“Are you alone or something? Because I could always use company in my tent. It gets hella boring inside this tent sometimes.”

“Do you say that to all of your customers?” Max asked, chuckling nervously at the blue-haired cosplayer’s comment.

“No.” She mumbled something under her breath that Max didn’t quite catch. “I mean – unless you’re uncomfortable with it. I’ve seen people faint multiple times from claustrophobia here.”

Since her head was bent down over a sketch she was doing in a journal, the only way Max could tell that the girl was blushing was by how red her ears had gotten. The realization that the girl became a nervous wreck all of a sudden after that comment had made Max’s day already.

“Maybe you’re right. I should just sit down. There’s no places to sit around here, though.”

The blue-haired girl patted the armrest of the empty fold-out chair behind the table. “This is Rachel’s chair, but Rachel is helping out with the convention rave for later. She’s on the committee or some ****.”

“Coworker?”

“And an annoyance at times.” Max went around the table, taking a seat in the chair the girl patted. It was itching at her brain that there is something about this girl that is so nostalgic.

Suddenly, a long brunette-haired girl billowed through the back curtains of the booth, where Max saw a tattoo chair in the back along with an extended table with clutter everywhere. “Chloe, do you have my phone? I really need it right now.”

Wait a second. “Chloe?”

“Great. Thanks a lot, Rachel. You ruined the element of surprise.”

"No ******* way!"

After Chloe handed the phone to Rachel, Max followed with her first impulse, throwing her arms around Chloe. Immediately, Chloe laughed as Max nuzzled her head into Chloe's shoulder blade. Max could feel the initial excitement pounding in her chest as Chloe tightened her grip on her as well. “Get a room, Chloe.”

“I will shove this combat boot so far up your *** –”

“Okay, I’m leaving. I need to call Frank and see when he was going to get here.” Rachel stated matter-of-factly, then added as she was leaving, “Hope you have a fun reunion.”

Once Chloe let go of Max, she held onto her arms staring into her face. “Wowser. This is crazy. You’re dressed as Pris from Blade Runner. That is definitely my ****.”

“I hope so. Someone asked me if I’m cosplaying Ramona Flowers from Scott Pilgrim vs. The World. Now I will accept that misunderstanding because Ramona Flowers is my woman crush.” Chloe glanced over at Max, changing the mood merely by narrowing her eyes at the brunette. “Alright, are you going to explain why you didn’t call or text me for five years?”

It was so sudden that Max suddenly felt inferior to Chloe. "I'm sorry. My parent's decision to suddenly move to Seattle wasn't my choice."

"That's not a good enough reason." Chloe attempted to change the tone of the mood lighter, since this wasn't exactly the place to discuss that. "So what's up with you? Living it up here in San Diego or something?"

"I - uh - moved back to Arcadia Bay. Two months ago."

"Without a phone call, telling me that you moved back." Chloe pressed her lips together, annoyed. "Nice one, Caulfield. That's just ******* peachy."

Max started to get a little irritated herself. "Look, I'm sorry. Can we just drop it?"

"I’m sorry, Max. I don’t want to be the ******* to ruin your day. In fact, this was the complete opposite impression I was going for. If you want to punch me for being such an annoying rat, go right on ahead.” Chloe pointed at the bicep of her left arm.

I shook my head – chuckling as Chloe kicked back her chair – propping her feet onto the table cluttered with various types of artwork. There was a dozen pieces of art here, but I noticed Chloe was really into abstract watercolor paintings. Mostly Chloe did sketches of characters from TV shows and video games and painted it in watercolor. One of the paintings in particular caught my eye.

Of course – like all of Chloe’s paintings – it was strikingly beautiful: In front of an obsidian background was a butterfly with eye-popping azure wings. One of the wings seemed to be slightly blurred to give more definition to the closest wing. “Wow, you’re a real artist.”

“I’m also a tattoo artist. If you want to get a tattoo, just hit your girl up. It’s on the house for you.” Chloe said, holding out her arm to show me. “Rachel helped me with both designs.”

Chloe had a beautiful sleeve on her arm and a tattoo on the top of her hand of a red chrysanthemum. Max traced the red ribbon detail on her arm tattoo with one finger, making Chloe shiver. “Dude, you can look, but you can’t touch the tats.”

“Sorry, it’s beautiful.”

“Hopefully it will still look beautiful when I look like the human equivalent of a raisin when I’m 80.” Chloe joked, holding out her arm in front of her face. “How about it, Max? Wanna get tatted up by your best friend Chloe? It might be a great experience for you, hippie. No gang related tattoos, though.”

“Yeah, because I’m totally a part of a gang.”

The smile that lit up Chloe’s face sent Max into a comatose state of delirium. Her eyes focused in on Chloe like a lens, taking shots in her head so she didn’t forget this moment with her best friend. For once, Max was having fun. “You’re still a ******* geek. That’s good news.”

“Always.”

Chloe shook her head before getting up. “Alright, so do you want a tattoo or not? This is your final offer, Max. Don’t let it go to waste.”

“I don’t know. You know I’m scared of needles.”

“Still?” Chloe grabbed Max’s shoulders. “Come o
Dear society,

I have no "thigh gap"
nor any desire to wear makeup,
but I am still as beautiful
as the cover model on the
Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition.

Make sure to include me in the next issue.

Sincerely,
Wistful Wanderer
Chris Oct 2016
I suggested leaning but they chose to jump. Never once looking to see what waited for them at the bottom. Still I called in a voice of heroic fashion, though slightly chapped from the lack of judgment shown. I stood listening for an echo or anything resembling a voice from the depths, but heard only waves, crashing against the rocks lining this coast of last chances. Gulls swooped and sang midnight songs while the moon snickered in its own lunar way. I found the darkness to be threatening as I peered over the edge, seeking but a plaid shirt, a pair of jeans or a chrome button dangling from an exposed root to no avail.  It had happened and poetry was the thief. Stolen in our prime, wading in shallow waters, watching ripples of time count minutes as our thoughts began to swim. It was no use, it beckoned and only one remained to answer the never ending call. So I dove head first into the phrases and verses that would spell my doom, sentenced for life, writing graphic details of those things my heart had held and my eyes had witnessed, knowing this was it, the end of my life as I knew it, lost forever in the abyss, the drowning point of creativity, poetic imprisonment and me without a swimsuit.
Bryan Amerila Apr 2016
Purple hibiscus,
gathered from depth of the woods.

Serpents, in the wild,
captured for haute couture.

Coffee beans,
defecated by civets.

Foie gras, caviar, champagne flutes,
Evian, sipping her piña colada,
getting her tan.

Serpent’s skin,
rubbing elbows,
with the alta sociedad,
plucking her eyebrows,
rouging her lips.

" And  lead  us  not  into  temptation,
but  deliver  us  from  evil. "
April 15, 2016
wecanonlywish May 2014
never in your life will you have so much ahead of you
and yet you have nothing at all.
the first party, you drank too much.
at least your best friend held your hair when you vomitted.
the first kiss, was in the back seat of his car.
he ignored you the next week at school.
the first trip to the beach was in july.
the boys stared at you in your swimsuit for the first time.
the first date was at the movies.
he touched your knee and kissed your neck.
the first time life when really hit you,
was when you realized growing up isn't a good thing.
I wanted this to sound really disconnected, much like a teenager's thoughts. Hopefully you guys can relate to this--I sure can.
I thought                                         you'd left us, long ago
desolate on a swing
                       rocking stale, dry grass and still air
                      
                      crossing
never quite                  the hurdle

                                                               ­                                                    lost

unaware
sweating youth in this humidity

I thought we'd never make it past the
rusty red and brown of weathered fences

                            like
              felt                        moun
   They                                  
                                                     tains

                                                               ­   Made of dirt
                                                                ­                       (guilt)
and an endless turmoiling scent, still fresh



I thought you'd forlorned us                  
h     e     a     v    y       r  a  i  n   and warm bodies
standing next to oxidized hoops
                                                          one adjacent to the other
The haze of the heat hard, but not impossible
to withstand                swaying like the gust of wind, swaying  
                                            the blazing sun and my open palms swaying




Why was it here                                         that it felt like you left us
                                                              ­                                              stumped,  
unaware,­
consuming  with no  
                                              idea of the Greater



2.


                                                W­ H A T was it about inner cities
And skin that would tan
Or resist the sun
   that made you  mutter murky words  


judgement
                   that made me hike a

                                  K
                       A
            E
P
that for so long made feel like a (lost) traveler
unable to come find my way   D O W N.

Still on a mountain top
Never quite crossing the hurdle.
That’s how you wanted me
A
     B
          A
                N
                     D  O N E D.

3.

But my tongue made sounds
copper pots and plastic measuring cups
became the pious  accompaniment
of a song sung inwardly
until it manifested
Words on lips
                            Lips willing to kiss the purple clouds made out of strange fruit and a high border walls over my hand and back

4. A Swimsuit and a pool that could cool
me
small children see the cicatrixes
      But I walk towards the water; I have long abandoned shame.
Tallulah Nov 2012
Her skin
Was like almond milk
Wearing chocolate lace silk
She glistened on the shoreline
In moonlit gaze she made a sign
Asking me to come join her in the sea
She couldn’t possibly mean me
This Siren in full pursuit
I wasn’t in a swimsuit
But then again
Neither
Was
*She
She
She
She
She
She
She
She
She
She
She
Madeline Janisch Mar 2015
Body appreciation is important. Learn to love the skin you're in. Yes, i posted a picture in which I am in my underwear. What more is showing than me wearing a swimsuit? Nothing more. Why is it okay for men to walk around without a shirt on but considered unacceptable and pornographic for women to be seen *******? Who created these rules? Who decided it was okay to discriminate against women? I don't ******* want to be "sugar & spice & everything nice," I want to be my own person. I am powerful. I am mad about stereotypes and "boundaries" placed on women. I don't ******* like the color pink, why is that a problem? I like blue, but I was raised in pink tights and pink dresses. I am breaking free. I am being my own unique person. A powerful woman.
Terry Collett May 2013
Janice
sans red beret
walked with you
to Bedlam Park

where you swam
in the open air
swimming pool
(she swam

you tried
but failed)
there in her
green swimsuit

her arms pulling her
through water
her hands
pushing away

the water’s skin
while you stood
waist deep
gazing at her skills

her wet hair
her bright eyes
you gingerly standing
feet on the bottom

feeling the water’s
pull and push
come on
she said

try to swim
be brave
and you dived forward
into the water

and splashed
and sunk
like some broken boat
water in your eyes

and ears
you rose
helped by Janice
to the surface

choking
and spluttering
wiping water
from your stinging eyes

she had her hand
in yours
holding you steady
keeping you balanced

she apologised
for not helping
should have helped
she said

not just stood
and stared
and you gazed at her
through wet eyes

forming an image
making sense
of the shape of her
her eyes on you

her damp hair limp
against her skin
o mermaid of the deep
you said

where is your tail?  
and she laughed
and took you
by the hand

into the shallower water
her warm hand
in yours
her thin fingers

clutching
her damp swimsuit
dripping
try here

in less deeper water
she said
and let go
of your hand

and she lowered herself
into the water
and showed you how
to put your body so

and hands and arms
to move and legs
to kick and push
but all you could hold

in mind
could bring to bear
was her beauty
swimming there.
Kelly Bitangcol May 2016
I have always been known as the person who remembers everything.* Not just big and major things, even the small ones. Every time my family and I are going on adventures I am the one who remembers the place and the travel route. When we went out of town one time I can still remember when we asked a man in the streets for directions and it turned out he told us the wrong way, and me, being the scared little child, I was asking for my mom to just drive back and go home. Fortunately, we arrived to our destination and I remember that it was 12 am when we got there and I was too tired to function. I still remember the name of the resort we stayed in, I remember the design of the swimsuit I was wearing, it has the number 21 in it, and I remember posing for a photo where I was wearing goggles and I made it my profile picture on Facebook. I remember the name of one hotel in that town was similar to my ex crush’s last name that’s why my sisters were teasing me about it.

That one time we joined a halloween costume contest and my costume was a cheerleader (cheerleader in Glee, specifically speaking) and my sister went as a ballerina but we all know that wasn’t a costume because she is also a ballerina in real life. I knew she never wanted to go with me, but as usual, i needed someone to be with. I remember the costumes that the people were wearing, that the white lady was the one who won the best in costume. I remember how sweet the halloween candies were. I remember that a stranger took a picture of us, and me, being the usual one who overthinks, got scared and asked my sister if we could leave already.

I remember going to the mall with my sister before and I accidentally stepped on a lady’s foot and she got so angry with me and I became frightened. I remember ordering a green mango shake and didn’t finish it because it was too sour, and then my mother scolded me and until now she’s still bringing that up whenever I try to order a shake. I remember watching A Series Of Unfortunate Events one Christmas and after that I became obsessed with it and it was the only thing I’ve watched for weeks. I remember the girl I met in a cafe, she was wearing a yellow dress and **** I remember her smile was brighter than the sun. I remember all the things that happened the night I lost my concert virginity, it happened January 24, 2015 and when they played my favourite songs it felt like home. I remember the perfume I was wearing when I had a date with one guy so whenever I smell it I will always remember his eyes.

I can still remember the song that was playing the night when we were dancing, the night where it started it all, and baby, I remember how you took my hand and suddenly I felt electricity in my body. I remember being at a friend’s house after that night and when she tried to show me photos of us I couldn’t look at them without smiling and thinking of the feeling you gave me. I remember spending a lot of nights thinking of you and promising myself I wouldn’t fall and that was when I knew everything was going to be a mess. I remember the night when there was a storm and you texted me and asked how was I doing, and then the following days consisted of us texting each other. I remember one afternoon when you asked me if I could be yours and you could be mine, I remember the nervousness in your voice and the way you were scared for the answer I was about to say, and I also remember the happiness in your face when I answered your question. I remember feeling contented with everything when our fingers intertwined and I remember feeling safeness when your arms were wrapped around my body. If I would tell all the things I remember then this poem wouldn’t be finished and will be proclaimed as the longest poem that was ever written. But one thing is for sure, I remember it, all.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t remember the pain. I remember how it hurt the first time you lied to me and how your apology suddenly removed all the pain away. I remember how I asked you if you’re giving up on me already and you just told me you didn’t know. I remember the days we didn’t talk to each other and I spent my nights crying myself to sleep and when we finally talked, it didn’t feel the same. I remember you getting too tired to fix my broken pieces because you have been wounded by them so bad so you just walked away and left them even more broken than before. I remember your hands that were too strong before, too strong to hold me, I remember how I made them weak that’s why you can’t hold on to mine anymore and had to let go of your tight grip. I remember you replacing the word ‘promise' with ‘sorry’, ‘I am always here’ with ‘I wish I was there for you’, ‘I would never leave you’ with ‘I guess this is goodbye.’ I remember you leaving, like everybody else does. I vividly remember it.

But what bugs me the most is that I couldn’t remember some things, I was known as the person who remembers everything but then there came things that I couldn’t recall, even some moments of them. I couldn’t remember the sincerity in your eyes when you told me I was beautiful, I couldn’t remember you being there for me when I needed a shoulder to cry on, I couldn’t remember how you would do everything just to ease the pain, I remember you telling me you love me but I couldn’t remember you meaning it. It bothers me how I remember the smallest details in everything, how I could remember the colour of my first iPhone case, the meal I ate when I was 7 years old and watching my favourite cartoons, the t-shirt I wore on a birthday party before. But I couldn’t remember the things that were worth remembering.

And then it hit me, epiphany hit me.  **I only remember the things that really happened. I only remember the things that were real. I only remember the things that were true.
Little black girl don’t cry,
They just don’t understand your grace.
Too scared to try and give you an embrace,
Because the media have taught you to hate your face.

Curly hair and plump lips,
They wish they looked like you so don’t feel dismissed.
I know It’s hard sometimes to wake up with a smile,
But baby girl you’re something worthwhile.

Little black girl don’t cry,
If they appropriate and take your style.
Doesn’t mean you still cant shine with that beautiful skin,
So reflective that the sun can’t help but compliment your melanin.

They say you’ve got that black girl magic,
But drag you down when you try and project what you want to say.
Have you noticed that you get more attention when you wear that swimsuit,But not in that cultural garment because it is too empowering and not subtle like a flute.

Little black girl don’t cry,
When they point at you and laugh.
Dignity is what we were born with
and unfortunately it can never be taught.
We are strong, powerful and so full of prosperity,
that we will always have the last laugh.

From one stereotype to another,
Life can be nothing but trouble.
But from one black girl to another,
Keep slaying like no other.

Stay bright like the star you are,
They only see darkness in our appearance because they cannot fathom the indescribable.
Your skin tone is the beauty they refuse to see,
But don’t you dare let it be the reason you cry yourself to sleep

Because little black girl you are a beautiful sight to see!
https://leynnasimplywrites.wordpress.com/2017/10/03/little-black-girl-dont-cry/
S Fletcher May 2015
“The longing in our faces cannot end until both shores unite, yours and mine…”    
-- Virgil Suàrez*


Sky Deck, Promenade
You’ve got me: at anchor, arched back over the deck rail, swimsuit slipped to the side, I’m strolling your shoreline, thinking teeth, tongue and technique. Thinking about the worthy circumstances under which I could allow myself

. . .

to drown here with you.


Observation Deck, Tiki Bar
The making of a luxury cruise ship is always also the making of a vast, well-haunted wreck. The Accident, a promise, not unlike Death’s. This is axiom, accelerated by upper middle class leisure trends and the modern misunderstanding of the word “travel." It's five o'clock somewhere,

. . .

it's a matter of time.


Upper Deck, The Casino
It might not be cool to think about the Accident on a cruise ship. To whisper “Titanic” under the breath on the deck, is like “Macbeth” murmured in the wings. But the wreckage awaits, people! A tidal guarantee:

. . .

we verge always on crashing.


Main Deck, The Spa
Cruise ships make beautiful reefs. Deck chairs calcified by culling. Drowned halls streaked with schools of silvery ****-dressed sorority fishes flashing their empty ghostgirl glares.

. . .

The demise is in the design.


Deck 5, Main Dining Room
A good quick cry in your cabin’s matchbox bathroom, we’ve found, calms the seasickness within. Or, maybe it’s just the gin. So wanders me (engulfed in you) on the shore. Death’s sweet certainty scummy on my tongue, I want to ask you how it tastes,

. . .

we break for air.


Deck 6, Executive Suite Balcony
I map your profile. Or I try. I look for a crag to sweep my lingering thoughts of lifeboats beneath. Why me, anyway? I’m no angelfish. I am nothing (almost.) A spray of white noise in the night’s endless ink. A mouthful of seafoam spat off the stern. I am the lowest of poets with a cruel patchy sunburn,

. . .

I am slurring.


Deck 7, Slightly Smaller Luxury Suite Balcony
A gale catches my blouse in brief breeze-love. An Accident, momentous, sprays me in sea salted understanding—it pools in the kissprints that you left in my sand. Maybe I want me too. Maybe drowning isn't so bad. I let your wake flood the hull,

. . .

and together we swell.


Deck 8, Emergency Exit Stairwell
But the lifeboats linger. The Accident is pending, and from some recess in me, unheard before, the false urgency of the gull’s squawk wails. Within the invention of the ******, lies the invention of the broken ******. Within the invention of the heart, lies

. . .

the invention of poetry.


Deck 9, Economy Cabin 902
The surf beats on, our maps unchanged. I sink into bed alone, abuzz. Men are predictable fishes. The Accident barnacles me over with the stuff of graveyards. I am sorry for pocketing these stones. For thinking that I could walk into the surf, that I could sink with you, with any grace. I take no pride in this ***-soaked wreck, these postcard views ***** in triangle trade residue. A curse, a cruise,

. . .

an all-inclusive escape.
Cass Lee Aug 2016
when you are twenty something and haven't
grown out of what your family called “baby
fat” don't worry, because you are still loved
by your body. everyday it wakes you up and
nourishes you, and when it fails to do that, it's
only a malfunction, a button hit wrong. when
you get shamed into wearing a one piece by
your friends in eighth grade, don't panic, because
that swimsuit is killer and everyone you are
with is working it. when your friends talk about
skinny shaming since they have never experienced
fat shaming, listen. when you see fat shaming,
talk about it. when your mother starts shopping
in the plus size area for you, don't feel ashamed.
your body is meant for what it is meant to do.
when you have a panic attack in the dressing
room of the local american eagle for not fitting
into size sixes, calm yourself down, no one will
ever see that size. black it out with a sharpie, cut
it out with scissors, let the tag fly. when you
get ****** into pro-ana sites, shut off your phone.
when you are on your knees with ******* in
your mouth, close the toilet. when you use ice
cubes as a snack, eat something else. don't
let your brain become a calculator before it’s
too late. when you come into school the next
day, your friends complaining about a not flat
stomach, tell them that the sack needed to hold
parts of your body is not flat for a reason. when
they complain about size four jeans, show them
how you wear eights like a badge of honor, like
your lipstick or your hair. show your stretch marks
as tattoos, show your cellulite as gold, your hips
as the gates to your mansion, and your thighs are
thunder thighs, let them boom down and let them
be free.
thanks for reading!
samasati May 2013
I wish there was a better way to say I just cut myself again
a tidier way,
something that makes it sound less morbid and a bit more romantic
like barbados
like *** on the beach
for the irony of sabotaging a fling of intimacy for myself
sabotaging swimsuit and short-shorts season
I don’t want anyone to touch me
or even look at me
anyway
so it’s all in my favour
with
nails that are painted colourful like clowns
and there’s a red and white polkadot bow in my hair
personally, I think it’s kind of funny
that when people look through a kaleidoscope, all they see is
pretty colours instead of shards of broken glass
judy smith Mar 2016
Capturing scenes from fashion shows in the past, Glamourizing Ladies And Men modeling hosted their annual spring fashion show.

The event was a runway-style fashion show, with looks recreated from GLAM’s past. The show also featured talents ranging from poetry and singing to painting.

Patrick Davis, a senior general studies major, and Christina Brown, a freshman biological sciences major, hosted the show.

The introduction of the show was called “Once Upon a Time.” The scene was from a 2012 show and centered on a little girl’s favorite fairytales taking a twisted turn in her dreams.

It opened with the little girl getting told bedtime stories from her father.

After getting the stories read to her, the rest of the GLAM models emerged from under her bed and began to torment the little girl.

The ladies of GLAM then emerged for a scene named “Pop Art.”

“Pop Art” was created in 2012 and incorporated the use of recyclables such as newspaper, duct tape, water bottles, cups and more in the model’s outfits.

The models were dressed in outfits that they created.

The first model wore a dress made out of a plastic bag and yellow caution tape.

The next model wore a dress that was fitted and made of plastic bags and duct tape.

There was a flare skirt made out of newspapers, and another skirt was made using old magazines.

There was also a fitted skirt made only of caution tape and a flare skirt made of white foam cups.

The final outfit of the scene was a dress made of black plastic bags and caution tape. The caution tape was also made into a necklace.

The following scene was titled “Lust/Burlesque.”

Burlesque was created in 2013 for GLAM’s Halloween show “The Seven Deadly Sins.” It incorporated tasteful dancing and runway style walking.

This scene opened up with three models dressed in all black attire, performing a dance routine.

The models hit the stage in several costumes, many of which were handmade by the models themselves.

One model wore black shorts, a black cropped shirt and blue high heels with blue and white wings.

Another outfit used a cheetah print swimsuit, with pink coverings and a back piece made of twigs and feathers.

Alexis Scott, a junior pre-nursing major, performed her poetry piece titled “Honest Truth.”

In her poem, she spoke about a broken relationship with her father. She also spoke about hiding all of her feelings and often putting on a fake smile to the world.

“Yesterday I tripped on my self-esteem and landed on my pride,” Scott said.

The next scene of the show was titled “Concrete Jungle.”

This scene was adopted from a 2014 show and featured business attire with a fashionable twist.

Outfits from this scene included a pleated black dress with white stripes at the bottom, a gray handbag, and black heels.

Another outfit included a purple blazer, a crème and yellow floral printed top, black dress pants and black high-heeled shoes.

A model wore a blue fitted miniskirt, a black and white cheetah print satin shirt and black heels.

The scene after this was titled “Criminology” and was taken from a 2011 show titled “FAME University.”

This scene gave a glimpse into the mind of a woman when she has snapped.

The scene opened up with red flashing lights with four models doing a dance routine to Beyoncé’s “Ring the Alarm” and a monologue.

The monologue told the story about how each woman killed their husbands. The models wore outfits such as black shorts, black leather shirts, black boots and black high heels.

In a talent section, while Keyana Latimer, a sophomore sociology major sang, she was accompanied by Taleiya Baker, a junior music education major.

While they were singing, D’Ajah Douglas, a freshman studio art major, and Yasmine Washington, a freshman studio art major, painted pictures while Latimer also performed a tap dancing piece.

The show concluded with a final walk from all of the GLAM models wearing black and purple shirts with GLAM Modeling written on them, blue jeans and high heels.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses
Conor Oberst Jul 2012
Tomorrow when I wake up I'm finding my brother
and making him take me back down to the water.
That lake where we sailed and laughed with our father.
I will not desert him. I will not desert him.
No matter how I may wish for a coffin so clean,
or these trees to undress all their leaves onto me.
I put my face in the dirt and then finally I see
the sky that has been avoiding me.
I started this letter; I'm going to send it to Ruba;
It will be blessed by her eyes on the gulf coast of Florida.
With her feet in the sand and one hand on her swimsuit,
she will recite the prayer of my pen.
Saying, "Time take us forward, relief from this longing.
They can land that plane on my heart, I don't care.
Just give me November; the warmth of a whisper
in the freezing darkness of my room."
But no matter what I would do in attempt to replace
all these pills that I take trying to balance my brain;
I've seen the curious girl with that look on her face,
so surprised she stares out from her display case.
Hea swimming and sunbathing
doing nothing but lying by the pool
enjoying the hot summer sun
feeling the gentle breeze blowing on my body
producing the cooling effect no air-conditioning system can compare

Hea swimming and sunbathing
doing nothing but lying by the pool
when all other city folks are busy working at office....
wearing only swimsuit to enjoy sunbathing
giving me the freedom and joy no other activities can compare

(Hea is a Cantonese word that means wandering around, doing nothing and killing time.)
Lauren Sage Jan 2014
If there's one thing I fear will always be a mystery to me, it is with the ease that some people fall asleep.

Like, seriously just lie down and that's it. That's it?

That's it.


It's 4am and when I lie down my mind is still racing a million miles an hour, even when I'm so tired I can't even walk straight. And I check every limb for a sense of weighted-down, for that sleepy-fuzzy feeling in my knees and calves, tense abdomen, fixed shoulders, arms crossed like a saint, or flung up, whatever feels right, trying to find the holy grail of comfort that may or may not exist depending on what night and how long until I have to get up. 5 hours. 4 hours. 2 hours and 46 minutes.


It's the sound of an entire town sleeping, the privilege of hearing the secret noises that houses make when nobody else is lucid, praying your mind will wander, willing yourself to wander into it, setting traps, trying to find solace when you're left out of sleep, when everyone else sleeps, and it's tantamount to the feeling of being picked last for a soccer game in elementary school.


I used to imagine making soup. I would imagine my feet on the ground, planted firmly, gravity on me vertically instead of horizontally. The gritty tile, barefoot. Savor every step to the drawer, rummage for the can opener. On your tip-toes to reach the can of mushroom soup on the second-highest shelf, turn the can around to see the label and make sure it's the right one. Get a pan out. Scratch a flake of dried food off the metal side. Open the can, pull the little slice of paper off the jagged rim, pour in the water and mash the solid with a fork. Turn on the stove. I would be asleep by now. Or I would have wandered into a variant scenario. The saucepan was full of water and dead flies. I had to drive to Giant Tiger for more dish soap. I was a kid again, when I was wearing a swimsuit and anxious they wouldn't let me in. I needed a watergun. It was summer. It was finally a dream. Free of reality.


But it isn't. I feel my head heavy, the grinding feeling on the inside of my forehead. I ease myself with facts that hold little solace. Insomniacs have higher IQs. Insomniacs function better. Insomniacs succeed. You know what? Insomniacs have higher rates of breast cancer. Insomniacs have frighteningly higher rates of depression, anxiety, memory problems, automobile accidents, functional issues, all because they soup trick didn't work one time cause I tried it with tomato, all because I woke up too late this morning, it's 4:30 and I have 2 hours and 30 minutes to sleep and is it even worth it?


When your head falls back into the pillow and you feel the muscle unfurl, the slight pain that loosens into nothing, warm legs, heavy knees, weighed at your ankles, arms crossed like a saint, flung up, fetal with your knees grinding into each other, your hips off-kilter, and your mind still races a million miles a minute, dances around every trap you set, your stomach clenches in panic at nothing, you hear the secret noises that houses make when nobody else is lucid, you see the orange haze of the sky from the streetlights of the city next over, you've seen so much half-light the color is saturated into the skin under your eyes, bleary blue, sharp blue, blue raspberry kool-aid powder, half-everything and you know you've lost the fight, it's over, it's morning.



Can you dream during the day?
Can you stop your head from lolling on the desk?
Can you finish the assignment when you're ankle-deep in IQ?
Can you simply get into bed and go to sleep?


That has to be the worst advice I've every gotten from multiple people.


"Just go to sleep."

I can't describe the dark, moreso how it fades away to blue or hazy orange depending on whether we're rural or urban. I've not slept in a hundred places. I've not slept while a thousand different birds chirped and it blended into some sort of organized chaos and I can still hear the most persistent of them to this day. I've not slept in light-polluted cities where the falling snow was tinted orange and the closest thing to a star was the airplane that I mistaked for Venus. I've not slept in my boyfriend's bed where I woke him up to half-stroke my hair at 2am when he'd been asleep since 12. I've not slept in camp rooms where I  lay there in the darkness, scared to wake them up, surprised when the prettiest girl snored the loudest. I've not slept on couches, after ***, before scaling 30 foot poles in some version of a trust exercise, above and all else in my own bed, and you can just lie there and go to sleep?


You can just lie there and miss all that?
Terry Collett Nov 2012
It was a warm day
and you were sitting on the lawn
of the nursing home
when Anne came across the lawn

on her crutches
her summer dress
flowing as she moved
come on Skinny Kid

she said
I want to show you something
what?
you said

never mind
what just follow me
and so you got up
from the chair

and followed her
across the lawn
and along the path
that went through the trees

to the back gate
open up the gate then Kid
she said
standing impatiently

while you opened
the gate
you lifted the latch
and opened the gate

and she crutched
her way through
and you followed
letting the gate

swing shut behind you
what you want to show me?
you asked
but she just cursed

and swore under her breath
and moved across
the pavement
and onto the beach

until her crutches
became stuck in the sand
and she stood still
staring out

at the sea
look at that
she said
what?

you asked
the ******* scenery
she said
pointing at the horizon

with one of her crutches
I’ve seen the sea before
you said
yes maybe

she said
but have you let it
embrace you
and hold you? she said

I’ve been in the sea sure
you said
looking at her
beside you

I want to go in
she said
you’ll get your dress wet
you said

I’ve got my swimming costume
under the dress
she said
help me get out

of this ****** dress
and I can go in
what here on the beach?
you said

undress here?
yes here
she said
now unzip me

at the back
so you unzipped
her dress at the back
and she said

now pull it
over my head
so you lifted
the hem of the dress

and began to lift it
over her body until
her dress was in your hands
and she stood

in a bright blue swimsuit
with her stump hanging
where her leg used to be
then she slowly

crutched herself
down to the sea
until she was at
the waters edge

you stood just behind her
holding the dress
right take the crutches
she said

but you’ll fall
you said
I’ll swim
she said

can you swim
with one leg?
you asked
of course

I can ******* swim
with one leg
she said
and handed you

the two crutches
and fell forward
into the sea
where she made

a big splash
and then she was off
into the sea
her leg and stump

out of sight
her arms moving in motion
and you stood there
with dress and crutches

staring at her swimming away
what if you drown?
you called out
but she just sang loudly

her voice mixing
with the sea’s sound
just you and Anne
with no one else around.
Dustyn Smith Nov 2013
And it stings in the shower
Just the water running over
Let alone to wash it with soap
So you leave it alone
You tried to go around it before
But that only made it worse
And you can't wash above
Because it runs down into the cuts
So they notice the smudge
That was there yesterday
And didn't quite rub off

They wonder why
You don't take as long as you used to
And they notice that your body wash
Is still three quarters full
Even though you bought it six months ago
They wonder why then
If your soap is still full
And you don't shave in the shower
Why do you need more razors
When you just bought a pack
Not even a month ago

They noticed in summer
But now its winter so its okay
For you to wear long sleeve shirts everyday
You hid your t-shirts so you could tell them
That you had nothing else to wear
They noticed that you never went swimming
You sat on the beach or in the car
They begged you to come in
And said you lost your swimsuit again
Even though you knew exactly where it was
You just couldn't let them see your scars

They notice the smile on your face
But not the pain behind your eyes
And they don't care to see the fear
That they might find you out
Its easier for them to believe the lie
Than to face the truth
And help you
They would rather the easy way out
To live in ignorant bliss
Than to notice your scars and cuts
And ask you what was wrong

And eventually they stopped noticing
The no longer asked you
How your day went
They met your cries for help
With harsh words of get over it
And calling you an attention seeker
But that really is all you want
Is for someone to pay attention
To start noticing again
That you are not okay
And you can't just get over it

Too often do these things go unnoticed
Or they are mocked
As a cry for attention
And ignored as a call for help
Too soon do people end their lives
Because its easier for you
To live in ignorance
And not deal with it
They say ignorance is bliss
But it only is for you
Not for the people suffering everyday

So it is up to you and me
To break through the ignorance
And see the fear and pain in their eyes
Because if we don't say anything
Then they won't either
I know this because I've been there
And I still put on that mask
Because I was told to just get over it
But that only made it worse
The fact that I should be able to get over it
But I couldn't

So it is up to us
To see behind that mask
And ask someone if they are okay
To see the cuts and scars
And lend out a helping hand
Because if we don't then who will
We need to speak up for those too afraid
Of speaking for themselves
To make a point that it is not okay
Just to say get over it
And we need to start noticing
JP Jan 2016
a brave show
the curves
allow men
eyes to crash..
Peyton L Feb 2020
Trigger Warning* depictions of ****** assault

Beach sands
peeling off a swimsuit
a wet slap
not quite drenched to the bone
yet still a burden
how it sits heavy on the tongue
a humid storm
inside you
heaviness in the prison of my ******
I am trying to pull up my *******
after my friend ***** me
in December
and I'm thinking of how everyone I love
has once hurt me
'moist' is the sound
of his fingers slipping inside me
I am closing my eyes
as the cotton of his shirt clings to my bare legs
and I am thinking that all the wetness must have
teeth
especially the wetness that grows within
and spills out
or chews its way through the skin
and falls onto another's
the night I was *****
everyone laughed
until the walls were moist
until it rained indoors
I say moist
and first, think about two naked bodies
the sound their skin makes
when I try to fight him off
underneath a hungry moon
in a house of warm heat
I saw moist
and think of his tongue against me
the bullet in his brain as I curse him
on a cold December night
the room
my *******
a dark red
I say moist
as in
my own blood spilling in my white ******* moist
or
his fingers moist as he pounded into me
so hard I bled
or my eyes moist when
I told my Momma what that boy had done to me
it felt like winter for ten years.
I wrote this in creative writing as an imitation of Hanif Willis-Abdurraqid's "In Defense of Moist"
MoMo Oct 2012
Blue.
That’s all I can see everywhere I look.
Beautiful dangerous blue.
I feel like I’m suspended in air, light, free, but sinking.
I’m running out of air! I think as my lungs start constricting themselves.
My feet finally touch the black and blue-white tile; my hair comes down around my face, soft, like feathers.
I look up and I can see the lights on the ceiling, and beyond that the fluffy white clouds in the baby blue sky.
I feel so heavy. I don’t think I can make it back up again. I push feebly at the floor, but I don’t get anywhere.
My vision starts to dim, and as I sink limply to my knees, I sigh.
What’s the point of even trying anymore?   I watch the bubbles dance their way back to the surface.
I know I should try again, but I’m just too tired.
Another parade of bubbles escape my parted lips, my drowsy lids slowly close, the thudding heartbeat in my ears lulling me to sleep, and setting the tempo for the tiny  air dancers as they float toward the sky.
In the darkness I feel an immense weight lift from my shoulders, and my eyes fly open.
What’s going on?!
I look to the left and right, everything is still blue. I realize I’m still at the bottom, but I feel weightless.
The pain in my chest is gone and the thumping in my ears. I turn around and look directly into my own face. Understanding hits me like a runaway whale, but I don’t want to believe it’s true. I want to feel sad, yet there’s no emotion trying to overtake me; nothing to fight. I reach out and touch my cold cheek.
Why?  Is the only thing running through my cotton stuffed head. Again I look over my sleeping face, my hand traveling over my features.
I have to be sure.  I gently lift one lid.
The brown eye I look into is dull, empty… lifeless. I expect a train wreck of emotion to come crashing down on me, but I feel nothing.
A flurry of movement above me catches my eye, and I look up to see Mr.Jones jetting down towards me. He reaches my body, quickly wrapping an arm around my stomach.
He kicks off the bottom paddling his way to the surface, my useless arms and legs trailing after him like limp seaweed. I follow him, walking through the smooth blue. Mr.Jones breaks the surface, clenching me to his side as he tows me to the wall.
A waterfall of chlorinated water gushed from my mouth, and I am yanked, like a shard of metal to a magnet, back into my body. I cough and spit, riding my lungs of the foreign substance. Mr.Jones boosts me up on the wall and pats my back until I can breathe again.
My grandmother rushes over and hugs me to her despite the fact that I’m sopping wet. She brushes my hair away from my face and asks if I’m alright.
I do my best to nod, but I don’t think I’m very successful; seeing as I’m shaking so hard. I try to get up, but my legs are like silly string. Gram helps me up and half supports half carries me to the locker rooms.
I stand under the shower in my swimsuit, hot water pelting the top of my head; masking the silent tears that are streaming down my face. Despite the water’s heat, I’m still shivering and my whole body is cold; inside and out.
I get out, towel off, and put on a pair of blue jeans and a plain red shirt. The bright red a comforting change from the cold, clear blue.
I stand in front of the mirror and brush the tangles from my hair, but I won’t look into the mirror. I cant. I’m afraid of what will be staring back at me.
I don’t know how long I stand in front of the mirror trying to make myself look up. It feels like hours. I feel a hand come down on my shoulder and I jump. I look up warily and sigh with relief.
Oh good, it’s just Gram. She says its time to leave and she goes to get my bag. I take a deep breath, cough a few times, and force myself  to face the mirror. Staring back at me is a girl- me yet its not me somehow. Something is different, my hair is the same, my face is the same, but wait!
I lean over the sink, nearly pressing my nose against the glass. Now I see whats so different, what changes everything. I step back from the mirror and stare into the strangely cold, older looking eyes, and think...
*That's me...
Debbie Lydon Jun 2022
Living on with a smile,
Transmuting in unknowing,
Swimsuit ready for more suffering,
What a chance! What a circus!
At an end, I say thanks.

I, who have blinked,
And glad to have felt
bed sheets and petals and melancholy moods,
And my god! The blossom and the sadness of falling,
Wretched cold,
Pain of poverty
And power too.
What a life! What a moment!
To it all, I say thank you.

And birds, many times my soul knew you,
And dirt, on my hands grounding my mind,
Dear trees, in my solitude you were always so kind,
What a world! What a time!
I'd live again, rewind.
Lily Oct 2021
The slide has a 60 pound weight limit.
The slide has a 60 pound weight limit and
It smells like freshly mown grass and a
Soaked one piece Ariel swimsuit—the pink ruffles that
Cling
To a toddler’s stomach rolls as she squeaks and squelches down the plastic
Into the dark blue Made in China kiddie pool
That has creatures from all levels of the ocean together
And she doesn’t care.
The slide has a 60 pound weight limit and
Has visible handprints on the sides from
The toddler holding on for dear life before
She gathers the courage to balance on top on her own.
The slide has a 60 pound weight limit and
Sits in that yard for almost a decade at the end
Of the sickly green swing set that lifts up out of the ground
Whenever the toddler pumps too hard,
And is a end destination for the intense races across the apparatus
That occur every Sunday noon amongst the Sunday School kids without fail.
The slide has a 60 pound weight limit and
Under it is one of the best places for hide-and-seek in the winter,
When it is almost buried under the glistening snow
And the toddler can’t feel her legs anymore but she doesn’t care because
She can’t be found.
At that age she has no limits, no mental restraints that
Cut her dreams off before they bear fruit.
The slide has a 60 pound weight limit,
And of the world beyond it she is only a
Prisoner of fierce fascination.
Jack Oct 2014
~

Fall glides in on the wings
of migrating monarchs,
stained glass visions seeking respite
from a tedious journey
signaling a change in our surroundings

Blushing, the complexion of October
slips from swimsuit informalities
to fawn layered outfits of earth tone lace
Singing of cool breeze melodies
on chrysanthemum dance steps

Sweetly autumn reaches,
filling every part of my heart,
collecting at my feet like fallen leaves
Swirling about me on winds of fleece lined affection
tickling fancies and coaxing smiles

Maple syrup hues cling to pumpkin seed desires,
painting pathways in tinted curves,
outlined in kaleidoscope siftings,
champagne ribbons winding
to stroll with the one you adore

Fireside encounters
warm of passion’s enduring flame
a’ glow on shade drawn windows
and pine needle temptations,
floating of chilled evening whispers

Wrapped in my arms, hot cider dreams
gather amidst comforting aromas,
weaving scented shadows neath wool blanket motions
and as the season changes, so do I…
*I fall more in love with you
Hope Aug 2013
hard-candy crunches between
chattering teeth--warm blue
drool pools down wet chin. wet skin
reeks of chlorine, and swimsuit
sticks to piggy thighs
and pancake chest. eyes
are everywhere: eyes to stare
and judge and mock
and compare. it’s unfair
how these other girls eat
chips and pizza yet
their bodies are set to be
nubile marble demigoddesses
living off six pomegranate seeds.
i am teenage Taweret.

the unforgiving spandex drips
upon the floor, as if i had peed. quick!
get a towel, you’re ruining the parquet!
leg bones, feet bones hit the floor,
followed by white waves of flesh, always late,
rebounding wetly. bones and fat.
soggy pig bones.
s May 2020
sometimes
i think about being a kid again

back when i played tag..
running away from my friends was fun.
i remember how exciting it was to run fast.
i always got an adrenaline rush running away.

back when i would spin in circles over and over to feel dizzy and fall down,
and after i fell i would lay in the scratchy grass and watch the sky because it was fun to see the world spin for a minute.
it was new to see things spin that weren’t supposed to rotate.

back when a swimsuit was just a swimsuit that my mom got for me at walmart,
i didn’t care what it looked like because i just wanted to play at the pool
or in the sprinklers
or to wash the car with my siblings on a crispy summer morning
(but the water always ended up being dumped on eachother rather than on the car)

back when the only validation i needed to be happy was a thumbs up and an encouraging “good job shay may!” from my parents.
because i’m pretty sure they knew everything when i was 5 years old.

back when i heard the garage door and would run to give my parents the biggest hug because every hour they were gone felt like a week..

and now it’s different
everything has something motivating it..

as we learn more,
we hurt more
we feel more
and tbh it *****.

because now
i run to prevent a mental breakdown
i run to burn calories

i spin in circles not by choice,
but because life is ****** and confusing
and makes your head spin..
it’s not anything new
i’ve grown accustomed to my mind
losing balance and falling over and over..
the ceiling spinning in my room at 2:00am doesn’t bring the same joy as the blue sky did.

now a swimsuit has to look flattering
and not show my body too much
because of course,
i’m actually a *******.

now i need validation from anyone willing to give it to me and also from the whole freaking internet
and honestly it’s still not even enough.
never will be

now when i see my parents
i walk up to them
and hug them and say
“hey how are you?”

it’s boring
it’s hard
it’s ******

and i wish i was little
when food was just food

and when running didn’t include
running away from myself
Growing up *****
Miranda Peterson Jun 2010
eyelash on wet skin
I point, push shiny swimsuit
She blows wish away
Samantha Dec 2017
Have you ever
Read Dr. Seuss
To a rap-song beat?
Have you ever
Browsed the Net
Just to want a treat?
Have you ever
Tapped the top
Of a doorway as you went past?
Have you ever
Played a game
And want it to last and last?
Have you ever
Sung the alphabet
In your head to find one letter?
Have you ever
Wrote something over
Because you thought you could do better?
Have you ever
Eaten chicken
On the day of Thanksgiving?
Have you ever
Said something dumb
To find yourself unforgiving?
Have you ever
Taken a bite
Instead of pulling string cheese apart?
Have you ever
Used big words
To make yourself sound smart?
Have you ever
Shaken your head
To get out of being dizzy?
Have you ever
Doodled in class
To make yourself seem busy?
Have you ever
Explained your steps
To a toy so you could fix it?
Have you ever
Read a site
Although it was elicit?
Have you ever
Attempted to write
With the wrong hand?
Have you ever
Went to the beach
And got your swimsuit full of sand?
Have you ever
Used a straw
To drink a glass of water?
Have you ever
Wished it would
Never get any hotter?
Have you ever
Tried to use
A spoon as a mirror?
Have you ever
Actually liked
Chocolate that was bitter?
Have you ever
Tried to boast
About how humble you are?
Have you ever
Looked at the sky
And wished you saw the stars?

All of these are things
That I have, indeed, done.
So I wrote them all out...
I sure had some fun.
Alex Fontaine Jul 2017
I am the son of Thor.
The blood of Odysseus runs in my veins.
I breathe thunder.
My heart is the ocean.

Do you think I am the son of Cain
To trade my inheritance for your bowl of soup,
For your shiny things that vibrate and spin,
For your **** and violence,
For your ***** pills and swimsuit models?
I will close my eyes to your neon lights.
I will hold my breath against your sweet poison.
I will close my ears to your siren call.

I will dive below the cluttered surface of my consciousness.
I will seek in the darkness and find the spark of the sacred feminine
where she slumbers in the cold stone stillness,
Lightning will surge through my nerves
and I will explode into flame.

Your filth will rise from me like smoke,
Your carnal lies will fall away like ash,
I will smash your idols like twisted mirrors,
And you will remember god.
At what point does it become your job as a man to question the stereotypes that our actions support? Where do they come from? Who are they really serving?
Reg Mar 2015
Baggy clothes and braces
Socks with printed laces
Along with sweatpants to cover
What was given by your mother
A putrid odor
Burned into skin by a motor
A face rounded at sides
Little girl, splashes in the tides

Shirt over swimsuit
Looking for pirate's loot
Unaware that she looked like a princess
Protruding dress
Her hair a mess
I think that she's beautiful

Though, God forbid they know
She had a face, she'd not dare show
Hillary B Apr 2018
summer pains
a sunburn that outlines your swimsuit, straps and all
sore muscles from hours of treading water with a new friend
starving for something to eat, other than lake water
feet stinging on the hot sand as you both run to your towel
sand that never stays on the ground, you can taste the grit
sharing a now hot soda, as the fizz burns your throat
laughing till your abs hurt
hour after hour
trying to wipe the sweat out of your eyes, but instead adding sand
looking out on the lake as the sun’s reflection stings your eyes
as you turn back, your new friend leans in with a smile
tasting the salt of their lips
as time passes
the sun starts to set
you pack up your towel
hold hands
say a long good bye
mumbling something about staying in contact
knowing now
the summer sun isn't the only thing that stings
Bryn May 2013
I bought a new swimsuit today,
pulling the material tight across my body.
Seams stretching,
Arms stretching as we bath in the free sunshine.
Bare feet, bare skin, and we bare our hearts as well.
You drink in the air, and I drink in you.
Too much, too fast.
Intoxication, infatuation-
found side by side in my thesaurus that sits on my shelf.
My shelf that holds all my swimsuits,
all with the tags still attached.
Etta James Feb 2010
I’m too short

No I’m too tall

My nose is too wide

My eyes are too small

My cheekbones are too high

My lips are too thin

Yet it’s not about looks

It’s what’s within?

Well I don’t believe that

I’m not stupid

If I looked differently

I wouldn’t need Cupid

Alas you only can realize

That I look remotely cute

Is right before I dive

In my swimsuit

But even then

You want it all

And my forehead’s much too high

And my eyes too small
Copyrighted by author
Vianga Dias Aug 2014
What I take when I go to the beach
A pair of slippers
A bottle of cream
One sunglass
And   a lovely swimsuit
A nice looking umbrella
A basket to put all the food
A beautiful Bag to put   all clothes
That’s what I take when I go to the beach!
By: menu vianga Dias
Spring, summer, fall and winter,
Rain, hot, change and December.
Umbrella, swimsuit, coat and boots,
Strolling, running, slipping, oops.
The seasons of our lives, the changes they bring,
Embrace every day, come what may.
Graced Lightning Mar 2014
My lips are almost chapped even though I use chapstick more often than I eat. They are in limbo, halfway between being soft and kissable and being dry and raw. I don't kiss you as often as I'd like, even though I kiss you several times every day. Kissing you feels so good, because your mouth is warm and soft and moves perfectly with mine. The touch of your lips is tender and sweet, except when it's not. Except when it's deeper and more urgent and your body tenses up and presses itself against me and your arms pull me closer. Except when I can tell you want more, more, MORE. Except when I want that too.
            2. My chest is small and pale and I might be allergic to something because I've got a rash. My chest is always covered by some brightly-colored piece of fabric. It's only bare when I'm in the shower and to be honest that's where I think about you the most. With the water running through my hair and across my skin I think about your eyes and your shy smile and your hands and your laugh. My chest is what you'd call 'petite' but I love it because it lets me pretend I'm a size XS.
            3. My arms are skinny but strong. They're pure muscle and when I move them around, miracle of miracles, they don't jiggle. They're pale too, but that's ok. I'll get tan this summer. It'll probably be a farmer's tan. My arms have about a million nerve endings and I never knew that up until a few weeks ago when you decided to discover what drives me insane. And guess what? You found it. I love it when you move your hands around because your touch makes me light up but the light dies down after a while if you don't keep reminding me that you're there.
             4. My back is the only part of me that got tan. I was wearing a one-piece swimsuit all of last summer and there was a hole in the back. My spine has a 17% curve and I have a few blackheads here and there because I work out so often. I can feel your arm slipping around my waist before it gets to where it wants to stay and that makes me crazy. It makes me want to lie on my back someplace where we can be alone and let your hands go other places (like to the zipper of your jeans or the scar on my ear)
               5. My stomach is the most important part of me. I like to keep it pink and clean and empty. I'd like it to be pure muscle and curves because skinny is good but I don't know if I have the strength to make that happen. Whenever you touch my waist (or anywhere, everywhere), something stirs deep inside of me. I wonder if you feel it too, if you feel it in your stomach or somewhere else or everywhere else.
                6. My inner thighs are probably the only part of me I haven't let you explore yet. Don't worry baby, I promise I won't hold back forever. It's just that my thighs are covered in stretch marks and memories of scars and I don't want you seeing that because I don't want to hurt you. But sometimes it feels like you're holding back too because you don't want to hurt me. I'll let you in on a little secret though- nothing can hurt me. I have armor made of titanium and nothing can pierce it except for words meant only for me and little touches that no one else can see. But here's another secret - there's a pretty little gap between my thighs that measures almost an inch if I lean forward a little bit. When I stand normally it measures only half an inch but that doesn't matter because I promise that I'll make room for you when the time comes, whether it's tomorrow or next week or next year. I promise there's room for you between my thighs.
                  7. My calves are muscled and look hot when I wear high heels. They are strong and that's really helpful when I kiss you because you're kind of tall and sometimes I have to stand on tip-toe. Sometimes one of my legs accidentally goes between yours and then you have to hold me up and I give up and melt into your embrace.
                  8. My feet are always cold. I don't like people seeing them because my toes are weird and so I always wear socks. Except when I don't, but that's only when it's summer and I'm too classy to wear socks with sandals. I wear cute socks though. Flamingos and whales and polka-dots and owls and squirrels. I paint my toes with colorful polish. Right now they're teal, like my eyes.
                  9. My eyes are ever-changing, but always beautiful. They're almost translucent sometimes in the sunlight. Sometimes they're angry and cold and emotionless, and that's when I scare people. Occasionally they're the color of jade, a light green that you could lose yourself in. Sometimes they're dark green, the color of moss and the top of the forest. Sometimes they're light blue, reminiscent of the sky on a cloudless day. And once in a blue moon, they're stony gray and I use them to pierce through the facade. Sometimes they're dark blue, the color of the ocean and I let the boys drown in them. But not you, baby. I'll keep you afloat.
                 10. My body was never a temple. But you can worship me if you want.
if you read all of this, thanks :)

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