"thongs" poems
if i was a girl i wouldn’t shave i’d be a tomboy ballerina with upper body muscles maybe a **** or surfer girl smell a little subtle i’d be tough learn to take a punch but i’d also be fragile sensitive intelligent i’d dress down like female ducks gray beige brown yet wear thongs boots bikinis heals girl stuff if i was a girl i’d be freaked out by ************ and even more freaked out by menopause depressed i lost my wetness if i was a girl i’d flash *** crotch drive boys wild be a complete nymphomaniac **** until i found the right guy he’d be strong gentle patient caring with a cute ***** i don’t care how big if i was a girl i’d learn to give blow jobs really good acquire a taste for ***** and play that skill as my trump card if i was a girl i’d find a job roll up my sleeves be a hard worker impress my managers become a manager quit i would find another type of work maybe a writer painter if i was a girl i wouldn’t compete with men i’d simply be more creative smarter if i was a girl i’d want to give birth as scary profound as that might be i’d want to be a mom a nurturing loving attentive mom i’d garden cook sew clean stand by my man my children devoted to home and hearth if i was a girl i’d cry a lot but not in front of anyone if i was a girl i wouldn’t want to become an old woman surrounded by other old women taking care of sick old men or no old men if i was a girl i’d want to die instantly in an accident or in bed reaching ****** age 82 if i was a girl
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 7:37 AM UTC
I love da sound ya ***** does make
While slapping up against your sister, for Christ sake
Watching you all doing the ***** deed, doggy style
On ya momma's brand new, multi coloured **** pile
***** young boys, are forever slapping, keepin’ it real
While viewing ya ***** in ya year nine, high school classes
Even some curious gals, like to slip in a quick feel
While flashing their hallway entry, fancy gold passes
Da sound ya ***** makes, ya must be using an amplifier
With a **** load of flaming, boom-boom, bass
Next time though, try turning the treble up, as you were
And turning down that flaming bass, just in case
This mornin’, I woke up stiff, like feelin’ as if dead
Then flicked through the paper, my obituary, I just read
Didn't feel that great, after we had finished the missionary
Wish I was much more aware, like a future visionary
I haven't even ironed my clothes or done my face
For my very last day of this bright sunlight
Will I need to pack a jumbo suitcase
Or maybe just some shorts and thongs
On my mystery vacation, one-way flight
Da sound ya ***** was making when shaking
Was maybe way too loud for some, last night
It put me in, like a clothes dryer spin
Police came by, just to check that no one was pranking
With some spray with mace, just when I was about to sin
Everyone's got an unusual craze in life
Mine just happened to put me in a daze
Should've taken a much deeper breath
When going down between ya momma's thighs
Send flowers to my ******* and hoes
And never ever forget, ya ****** nice ways
Always tried to satisfy the whole **** world
But still hearing some sad **** woes
I like da sound ya ***** makes
Reminds me of some ole dance tracks
Played by the DJ, named Georgie O’Kay
While everyone dances to a beat
I'm hard at work, while trying to get ya
To get down lower and pretend to be ya momma.
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 6:14 PM UTC
Young women know all about style -
how to fix the decimal point
between them and their mothers
differentiate themselves
from Special K over 40s wanna bees
mini skirted and high heeled
trying to catch their husband’s eye
Yummy mummies in their 30’s
are separated from the new stock
by firm elastic flattened midriffs
no bulge or wobble
unlined skin taut sometimes
navel peirced or *******
their legs wear the 4” heels again
on winklepicker pointed toes
for a mid century crop
of bunioned feet.
No scraggy necks or waddle
no tea tray arses only
plump peaches
in the bend over show
of skimpy, lacy thongs
of ****** floss
So, **** femme fatale is cool
body object the thing to be
flouncing and preening
flirting and *******
random hook-ups on the run
in the alleys of time on the net
in the warp of space
Killer ! Whatever !
Wicked ! Yeah feral !
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 1:08 AM UTC
There were once men, playing a lying game.
They had no heart, they knew no shame.
Like Sirens, what their songs told,
were stories of flesh on beds of gold.
Merely this, is what their songs were about,
for wine and flesh they lusted sparing doubt.
For all their bubbles, fizzle, show and gleam,
true love for them was but a funny little dream.
Some, it is true, had the voices of blue suede kings.
Yet, danced on rubble, coughing smoke, 'n' kissing rings.
Thankfully, their lyrics were quite naturally cold,
faintly sparkling true hearts, despite their gold.
No songs can, in the spirit, ever remain,
or one's path meaningfully ingrain,
unless dotted by a hearty blood stain.
Still, some blind and sleepy were enticed,
those who dropped their heart, who'd lost their *****
Much like a robber, who rests his gun in a heist.
Others, scrambled to plug their ears
wishing to avoid both song 'n' tears.
They knew not, that when fighting fear,
'tis not enough to keep it from getting near.
Simply stuffing their ears with wax,
failed to fade the hottest new tracks,
cause tanks groove on these tracks.
As tanks, they pop 'n' roll till you die.
Therefore... relax, pick your time, and lie,
not to your conscience, but on the ground,
so they pass over you, leaving you safe 'n' sound.
"You cannot fear what you haven't tried."
Remember, Odysseus wasn't deaf, only tied.
He, chose to fight and listen to the Sirens' songs,
using threads of logic, to keep from snapping their thongs.
Tightroping on wrong, he but fell to the song.
He wailed and spat, yet, somehow grabbed the gong.
And after a short but needed rest, after this soul defining test,
he did not lament the virgins lost, but carried on with his quest.
He, knew the lying men and their calls were real,
but to forms he didn't kneel, nor aimed to cut a deal.
He, stuck to his dreams doing his best to warn and tell the rest,
that though Sirens charm, they harm. "'Tis Ithaca who gives zest.'"
So, next time you see the chanting men of lies,
and their enchanting plastic bunnies in bow ties,
know that rhyme and shine may polish coal,
but listening to your heart should be the goal.
*"With a twist of logic to correct your steer,
you will run through fear, and forever, keep it rear."*
Dec 7, 2011
Dec 7, 2011 at 4:27 PM UTC
Oh, I should like to ride the seas,
A roaring buccaneer;
A cutlass banging at my knees,
A dirk behind my ear.
And when my captives' chains would clank
I'd howl with glee and drink,
And then fling out the quivering plank
And watch the beggars sink.
I'd like to straddle gory decks,
And dig in laden sands,
And know the feel of throbbing necks
Between my knotted hands.
Oh, I should like to strut and curse
Among my blackguard crew...
But I am writing little verse,
As little ladies do.
Oh, I should like to dance and laugh
And pose and preen and sway,
And rip the hearts of men in half,
And toss the bits away.
I'd like to view the reeling years
Through unastonished eyes,
And dip my finger-tips in tears,
And give my smiles for sighs.
I'd stroll beyond the ancient bounds,
And tap at fastened gates,
And hear the prettiest of sound-
The clink of shattered fates.
My slaves I'd like to bind with thongs
That cut and burn and chill...
But I am writing little songs,
As little ladies will.
2.9k
Theres an original Aussie lingo
That out there one can hear~
Most of all when you are in the country
And places like that you love so dear~
RIPPA RITA , An aussie bush expression of rejoice~
When something really goes so well
And usually not by choice~
FAIR DINKUM means simply for real
Are you fair dinkum mate~
STRUTH another real Aussie expression
A bush word for something that you hate~
Just a few words of real Aussie lingo
You might hear now and again~
SEND HER DOWN HUGHY they'll cry
When they reall do need rain~
STONE THE CROWS you'll hear them yell
When something happens by surprise~
Often in the country
When they can't believe their eyes~
HOWZ ZAT a bloke will often call out
when he manages to do something better than right~
And very indeed proud of himself
Without trying to skite~
RIGHTIO dad will call out to mum
When she hollows don't forget to get the bread~
TOO FLAMEN RIGHT he'll say back to her
When she says well ... did ja get it ted~
YA GREAT GALLOOT is what they'll call you
When you do something really wrong~
So much original Aussie lingo
They should put it all within a song~
SHIELA'S are of course suingle women
Who often are as well called BIRDS~
All this fantastic Aussie terminology
How I miss all these words~
Ocker's are usually blokes in shorts and thongs
They call thongs Japanese riding boots~
CODJA'S are older blokes
Sometimes they call them COOT'S~
COCKIES are blokes that own properties
STRIKEN A BLOW is a term for work~
BLUDGERS are those that don't like do do it
And being lazy is to of course SHIRK~
All that age old aussie lingo
I miss it so I do~
Can't wait to say HOWZ YA GOEN MATE
And G DAY to a mate or two~
It's all got a sound of it's own
One gets used to it in life~
Like the LITTLE WOMEN and THE BETTER HALF
Is what they call a wife a wife~
( Was'nt game to use spell check lol )
https://youtu.be/PT331BRkkP0
Terrence Michael Sutton
Copyright 2018
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 8:57 PM UTC
I admit that I am a man
and with that comes man things
I'm obsessed with the shape
and can't help but stare
when you pass by
Albeit a subtle glance
sometimes it's a full out
ogle
Tight jeans or yes...
the classic yoga pants
can drive a sane man wild
What is it that makes me crazed
why can't I stop?
If there was a 12 step program
to taper me off
I would be in rehab
Even the summer tiny shorts
and beach thongs... why do you
tease me to break my neck
I want and need help, but
a well designed bubble,
apple, onion, aka *****
is a terrible thing to waste
I love and respect all your
feminine parts, ****
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 4:03 AM UTC
We had Tie Dye hopes,
and hash laced dreams,
Smoke covers up,
Our heartfelt screams.
I was in pain,
and so were you,
That's the only thing,
I feel is true.
Numb me,
Numb me,
Numb me more,
I would smile,
as you'd implore.
My Fingers covered,
in the lightest green,
as I packed the bowl,
for my hippy queen.
Foot thongs,
and dream catchers,
little things,
That ease pressure.
Black leather,
a Devilish smile,
We were happy,
for a while.
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 12:44 PM UTC
Like when they found the chariot
wheels at the bottom of the
Red Sea so was I surprised
at the faint reaching of the
fig tree, clinging to life amidst
so much dust, as it reached
ever upward in an infinite dance,
unaware of its eventual wanweird fate.
But I tracked on, crunching through
the ancient dirt, scrolls strapped
upon my back, coarse leather digging
through my camel's hair robes, sandy
grit forced in the gaps of
my toes. I cracked the locusts
and devoured them, dampening their bitterness
with the sweet warming explosion of
wild honey. So with bound Pleiades
above me, I gave witness to
Jerusalem, saying "After me will come
one more powerful than I, the
thongs of whose sandals I am
not worthy to stoop down and
untie." And I took them into
the Jordan and made them new
men. As the chill waters numbed
their muscles, their hairs pricked up
like gooseflesh, the night echoing with
splashing water and murmured voices. But
slowly the people trickled away, back
to the twang of lutes, their
ladles of soups, and I was
left alone, sitting, contemplating, always waiting.
So I sent forth the ravens,
carrying my message, to meet at
the Brookhollow no matter the obstruction,
to come by wagon or camel,
no matter of rain or flood.
But they were stubborn and prideful,
and would be moved from their
couches probably by no less than
one of Archimedes' great battleship levers,
and even then with massive groaning
like the coarse wooden hulls of
those monolithic ships. Because the sweet
taste of pastries is lodged upon
their tongues, keeping them occupied with
this world instead of the next.
So here I'll stay, always waiting.
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 1:02 AM UTC
Naturist, skinny dipper
But never ****** waver;
Some of us are exhibitionists
A point I hope you savor.
I am into keeping clothing
Something more than minimal
But, I should not ever be
Thought of as a criminal.
After all, the same people
Who piously point to their Bible
Ignore that we are born ****
And every other word is libel.
It simply makes no sense
To impose laws on a poor sod
And then paint yourself with
Trappings of some ancient god.
I don’t take my clothes off
To discomfit you even a little
But your frothings-at-the-mouth
I regard as simply spittle.
I have never agreed with your
Mesopotamian mythology,
And I disagree with it all,
With no remorse or apology.
But bear this in mind, please
I resent you pushing on to me
A way of living that I feel
Is very uncomfortable to be.
I don’t ask you to be naked
If that is not right for you
But to tell me I must not
Is an offensive thing to do.
The idea that a tiniest bit
Of what is so honestly me
Is such a horrendous and
Disgusting thing for you to see
In a world of thongs and bikinis
And pushup padded wonder bras
Is a matter of gross hypocrisy
And to me, an ignoble cause.
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 10:07 PM UTC
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TO SMILE BECAUSE EVERYONE ELSE DOES :) IS:
- An act of anarchy, especially if you don't have any teeth :D
- Because all beings are blessed Bees
- Certain sign of cretenism or genuine Charm
- Denominative sense of digestion is Disturbing
- Ethically wrong Endeavor
- Fascinating and freeking fabulous if you intend to F. . .
- Gorgeous as Geometry
- Hot on Hotties
- Imature and implies lack of Integrity
- Jibberish
- Keen rediscovering so many Keens or Kens
- Lovely on Lovely ones (once)
- Magnificent Mimicry
- Negating the jokers(or your own) inteligence / numb is Numb
- Onthological urge to survive among jungle beasts - fangs are
quintessential urban asset. .or. . Smile-The-Power-Wilder-Open
- Pertinent in Parliament
- Quiet resistance behind a cold minded rebellions league - quitting in few minutes kicking some mthf harassing ****** pervert - to hard Quiver
- Real lovely strenght to feel and see each other happy
- Stupid on jokes = Joke Stupid
- Tactics to climb up the social ledder or/end further down the Thongs
- U can't admit you didn't get it; u2
- Violation of virtues as (in vino) Veritas
- Wonderful! To see people happy is healthy, positive and Wise!
- X times better than being in low energy
- You love your beloved and you are loved by your beloved love
- Zooming at the ' zoo' of human behaviour -
Amusing as Zorro-Art-Is-MusssssssssseumZ
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 5:11 PM UTC
a decapitated dog put on too many sticks to reach out and bite a child who only wanted to play with a soft touch and gapped holed grin.
the lights go out when you can´t know when, say yes to hold lights for when ´when´ happens ¨you can trip and fall¨.
glasses melted with fire to become bigger for a bigger head are still to dark to wear in shadow.
tilted camera you stare with a corked head curious to what goes on behind me, won´t you look my way instead.
dragonfly warrior poorly protecting his flourescent queen from the onslaught of molecules in a world filled with air, with air, with air, air, air.
the volume of speakers are controlled by tiny gods moving their tiny fingers, just a littly bit louder my dear.
can you remember when landline telephones were used, I remember circle dials and zero always took the longest, when did phone get rid of tele?
white flowers and white hanging sheets with yellow sun bolts raining on a clear sky shout with thunder from a noisless wind, I wear earphones tonight.
trees dance better then me, plants taste better then me, pianos sound better then me, me is better then me, we´re equals.
fat cat dreams of being skinny, he wears eye liner on weekdays and thongs on the weekends.
sometimes yoga makes me feel like a woman who feels **** then yoga makes me think what that thought means?
rocks are hot when heated.
Jan 31, 2011
Jan 31, 2011 at 6:41 AM UTC
You tried misguiding me,
With your various distractions,
You had alcohol - offered *** to me,
But I'm me - And I'm a soldier of morals,
I'll practice Brahmcharya till I'm 25 - sorry,
You tried seducing me to your bedroom,
With your laces' & thongs' actions,
You made me look at yours,
But guiltless - I remained.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 2:57 AM UTC
**fem·i·nist [fem-uh-nist]
adjective
1. advocating social, political, legal, and economic rights for women equal to those of men.**
I used to be afraid I'd be stuck in a training bra forever.
For awhile I didn't wear one.
My grandmother would yell at me.
I told her I was a feminist.
I didn't know what it meant.
A part of me wishes I could go back
to that time of AA's instead of DD's.
One less thing to define me.
Maybe then I could be free of the restraints.
Eyeliner seemed ridiculous.
Poking yourself in the eye with an 8 dollar glamor crayon.
Crayola sells them for 15 cents.
Always was cheap - Not the makeup - Not the crayon.
I don't leave the house without it.
I used to be afraid of tampons.
They grossed me out.
They confused me.
I didn't understand how you could stick something "up there"
and walk straight.
I'd be surprised how much it can handle.
Strength. Numbers. Endurance.
But, I still can't walk straight.
I used to be afraid of the boogeyman.
The darkness in the closet.
The monster under my bed.
I was a smart kid.
I knew they were there all along
under the comforter
beneath the sheets
next to my fragile body
stealing my sliced heart
and ******* the rest.
The monsters wear a disguise.
Rubber.
If you're lucky.
Without the water balloon and crossed fingers your stomach fills nine months times its size.
So they say.
I still like to believe it's an old wive's tale.
And I refuse to be an old wife.
I never considered thongs underwear.
I considered them floss.
Why wear one when you could just go bare *** and achieve the same result?
Now I floss regularly.
Hygiene is important.
Clean my mouth.
Well, might as well brush my teeth while I'm at it.
I used to be afraid I'd grow up and couldn't eat Popsicles anymore.
As if chasing after the icecream truck was something prescribed to a little girl in spaghetti straps
******* only her thumb.
Innocence lost.
I don't like Popsicles anymore.
Unless they're cherry flavor.
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 8:05 PM UTC
I'VE COME TO MY KIDS CHRISTMAS PLAY
JUST LIKE I DID LAST YEAR
THIS YEAR THOUGH, I'VE COME PREPARED
I'VE BROUGHT ALONG SOME BEER
I FIGURE THAT I'LL NEED IT
TO HELP ME THROUGH THE NIGHT
'CAUSE WHEN THOSE **** KIDS
TAKE THE STAGE...IT REALLY IS A SIGHT
INSTEAD OF USING THE SAME DOLL
THEY'VE GOT ONE THAT IS NEW
THE ONLY THING THAT'S WRONG WITH IT
IS THIS **** DOLL IS BLUE
THIS YEAR THEY'VE ADDED DONKEYS
IN COSTUMES MADE FROM NERF
THEY HELP TO KEEP YOUR MIND OFF,
THEIR JESUS IS A SMURF
THIS YEAR THE WISE MEN GOT IT RIGHT
AND THEY'RE ALL WEARING THONGS
YOU CANNOT HEAR THE CHOIR
THEY'RE FLIP-FLOPPING THROUGH THE SONGS
THEIR ROBES TOO, ARE MUCH BETTER
THEY DON'T WEAR DRESSING GOWNS
THEY DON'T LOOK LIKE A GROUP OF ROCKS
NOW, THEYRE DRESSED UP RIGHT IN BROWN
LAST YEAR MY SON, HE PLAYED A ROCK
HE WAS A BIG SUCCESS
THIS YEAR HE'S MARY'S STAND-IN
AND HE HAS TO WEAR A DRESS
I HOPE THAT HE DOES NOT GO ON
CAUSE, GOD FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH
I'M NOT QUITE SURE THE F/X CREW
CAN MAKE A BOY GIVE BIRTH
THIS PLAY WAS BETTER THAN THE LAST
WE DIDN'T LAUGH AS MUCH
POOR JOSEPH USED A POGO STICK
TO REPRESENT A CRUTCH
IT WAS ARTISTIC LICENSE
TO HAVE THE CRUTCH OUT THERE
HE TRIPPPED UPON THE MAGII
AND WENT FIVE FEET IN THE AIR
I'VE COME TO MY KID'S CHRISTMAS PLAY
FOR THREE YEARS IN A ROW
IT ONLY COSTS TWO FIFTY
AND THEY PUT ON QUITE A SHOW
I SAID THE SAME THING LAST YEAR
AND I'LL SAY IT AGAIN
I'LL BE BACK NEXT CHRISTMAS TIME
ONE NIGHT FROM EIGHT TILL TEN.
Jun 6, 2012
Jun 6, 2012 at 11:57 AM UTC
doopth..doopth..doopth..
the intonation of a gavel
upon a felted block
order, orrrder,
i now call to order this
washday gathering
of the
metaphysical
analytical
socks
drawer # 1793
all rise and come to toetip
for the grand entry of
the great thrice darned heel
kazoos squeak the intro
to the ode to joy
an old grey golf sock is
ushered in to sit slouched
on the top of the washer/dryer.
he observes the following proceedings.
now to business
the agenda for the day
1. groove and the toe socks
table their report on the
systematic eradication of toejam.
2.the tradditionalists continue
the open discussion on,
wool versus synthetic,
for winterwear.
3.we have a vote scheduled
on the referedum matter:
do we allow sandals and thongs
guest status in this drawer.
4.the metaphysicists update
us on the age old conundrum;
"where do the odd socks go?"
at present they are devling
into the posibilities of
superposition of states,
as presented by
the schrodinger's cat theory.
5. the analytical group are meanwhile, surveying the remaining
evenless socks;
to obtain data on the pairless state of being
6. and finally, we welcome a deposition from the natralists;
with regard to use of bamboo
and hemp to allow for the wicking
of footwater, for a longer lasting
freshness of the base arch construction.
please feel free to attend one or
more of these discussions, contributions and /or questions
will be taken after the presentations.
i am also asked to inform you, that
the metatarsals group has a table of goods for sale, at the leftside of the wash basket.
items include:
new elastics and darning equipment.
books on special this meet are;
the ever popular
"how not to become a sock puppet"
and the tragic
"my life as a duster"
then there is the new offering of
"sox and jox:
the art of underwear
diplomacy."
and one last item of note:
a reminder that membership fees,
(of one clean toe clipping) are due
before next months gathering
go now,
enjoy the gathering.
and may the foot be with you
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 3:39 AM UTC
Fresh from his fastnesses
Wholesome and spacious,
The North Wind, the mad huntsman,
Halloas on his white hounds
Over the grey, roaring
Reaches and ridges,
The forest of ocean,
The chace of the world.
Hark to the peal
Of the pack in full cry,
As he thongs them before him,
Swarming voluminous,
Weltering, wide-wallowing,
Till in a ruining
Chaos of energy,
Hurled on their quarry,
They crash into foam!
Old Indefatigable,
Time's right-hand man, the sea
Laughs as in joy
From his millions of wrinkles:
Laughs that his destiny,
Great with the greatness
Of triumphing order,
Shows as a dwarf
By the strength of his heart
And the might of his hands.
Master of masters,
O maker of heroes,
Thunder the brave,
Irresistible message:--
'Life is worth Living
Through every grain of it,
From the foundations
To the last edge
Of the cornerstone, death.'
1.3k
#No me diga – la nena ‘ta pregnant again?
(I thought she decided no more after Tito…)
she’s almost 16 – and she dropped out of school.
(It might be the spice in abuela’s sofrito…)
There’s one in the oven and two in the stroller
Oh nubile Boricua, what gives – ¿Qué sería?
if life is the masa and birth is the bakery
yours is a virtual panadería…
Some pulse in your short-shorts, those flexible hips
under tropical rhythm of lewd reggaeton
seems to summon the ***** from your lover’s abundance
whenever you find yourselves home and alone.
Where’s your man? Who’s the daddy? Why didn’t he stay?
your gaze is unsettling, harshly pathetic.
You sad Betty-Boop: are you waiting in vain
for your man – or your period? How unpoetic…
This life lived on welfare, entitled, enslaved
with your babies at grandma’s and you with your phone
is a taxpayer’s nightmare and teenage recurrence
(but you’re busy texting some drama unknown…)
Mamita herself looks more like your hermana
She started this game even earlier, too
When you stand, side by side, in your thongs and pijama
it’s hard to be sure who is who.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
1. I hate your stupid haircut
You look like a girl
2. I hate your perfect body
And how it makes my stomach twirl
3. I hate your immature friends
And all the gross things that they say
4. I hate that you are way too smart
In the least cocky of ways
5. I hate the way you pinched my waist
That would always make me scream
6. I hate your childish, genuine laugh
And how innocent it makes you seem
7. I hate the way you always knew
The perfect things to say
8. I hate that you're all I think about
Every. Single. Day.
9. I hate that when I see you 'round
I forget how to breathe
10. I hate the way our bodies
Fit together so perfectly
11. I hate that you were always warm
Even when it was so cold
12. I hate that you always do
Exactly what you're told
13. I hate that you're so skinny
But you also seemed so strong
14. I hate that your biggest turn-on's
Were my tan lines and my thongs
15. I hate the way you treated me
So perfectly from the start
16. I hate that you got under my skin
And all the way into my heart
17. I hate the way I love you
So much more than I should
18. I hate the way I ****** us up
Just like I knew I would
19. I hate how much I love you, still
And how you swept me off my feet
20. But what I hate more than anything
Is that you aren't right here, with me
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 1:48 AM UTC
Being blonde is overrated,
but I dye my hair anyways.
Dark eyeliner transforms girls into racoons,
but I pencil it on everyday.
A big chest is a man's dream,
but my ***** makes up for it.
Scarves should only be worn during winter,
but I sport them year round.
Nail polish is a girl's best friend,
but we have a love/hate relationship.
Thongs are the sexiest undergarments,
but boy shorts are so much more comfortable.
It is a fashion sin to wear black and blue together,
but those colors shouldn't only signify bruises.
Wearing heels all the time means you're a *****
Guess I'm the biggest ***** of all then.
Who cares what is in or out?
Break the norms
And just be you
Because I am me, and that's all I ever want to be.
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 11:24 PM UTC
my grandmother sent me
seven thongs
a lacy, midnight blue bra
in the mail,
and i wrote this poem in
shaking, shivering hands
over my psychology homework.
i told this jokingly to the
pure faces of the girls in my dorm;
reflecting off glass like warm,
steamed milk before bed.
"what's a thog?"
they asked.
"it's 'thong'.. you dont know what that is?"
no, it shook their heads like seizures.
"its a type of undie. they make your *****
look nice,"
i told them.
i got a laugh and a face full of mixed expressions.
whatever.
please peel off my layers like a summer orange,
eat the zest.
put on your favorite dainty pair,
black lace or white satiny
polka dots?
they all look good in bed.
pull them up my legs
and warm me up because these
walls are concrete
and all i've been is cold, cold
my toes are freezing.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 1:24 AM UTC
I have to hold back my tears. No one can see me like this, vulnerable and not in control.
They think that i can fend for myself, what do they know? Truth is im in need for their help, for their opnion and inspiring words.
For a long time it was me in the middle of the sandwhich. My older sister covering me, and i protecting my ypunger twin.
Its funny how the sandwhich turns into how my life is today. My older sister takes up all the spotlight, claimig it allfor herself. Absorbin all the attention until there is none left. I shake at the words she wont utter, like a simple please or thank you. How she would never help my mother how she leaves my mother fighting so hard, as she sits on the couch and jist watches. When my mother asks for her help she will make it more like a burden then helping out of respect. I will do any of those thigs in a heart eat just to take the stress off of my moms shoulders. But again thats how we differ...
As for my twin the one that i had felt the need to protect since we had been in the wound together 16 years ago. How can i put in words all the feelings she leaves on me? She is so irritable yet i yearn to watch her succeed. She is as slow as a turtle, yet sometimes shes as sharp as a knife . Some nights ill catch her talking to herself, it pains me to see her over think things. After so much effort of tryin to help her all i can do now is make beleive im sleeping, pull the covers over my head and let the tears roll down my cheek, burning it under their touch. She has this problem and the tendency to ovetthink thongs from the stipidest things to the most important. She lays them all on the same scale not considekg the dfferences betwene them . As muh as she overthinks , when she has an idea she lets it cloud her judgement.l
I remember thst one time in our cribs its blurr but i still feel it in my blood. Diane had my moms attentiom absorbed for she was alsay a cryer even when her head hutt a lottle bit. Michelle was sick with strep having my moms also and my dads granparents. Then my head throat and whole body was killing .. All i remmeber was keeping my mouth shut. And waitig for someone to come ask me how i was feeling. Which no one did.And still as i cry typing this no one will ask me how im feeling, for i have middle child syndrome
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 6:29 PM UTC
Glowing pools of cande light
Arranged carefully around the studio.
A steel cage stood, big and strong
So unlike the man outside.
An experiment
For kicks,
For love,
For leather.
Manicured nails, gelled hair and
Sheathed in Armani.
Standing, observing and evaluating
The other and the scene.
The city bustled, street lights shone
And people walked by
On the street below.
Laughter penetrated the window.
Hypnotized, the clock stopped ticking,
The violins got louder and
The laughter faded
As though the window thickened.
Picked up the sharp thongs
Coiled by the gloves.
Violins again and again
Kept repeating the beginning
Of the same song but
I loved it every time.
He stepped inside, shut the door
And looked up.
Wiry and thin.
So unlike the steel cage,
Big and strong.
So uncertain and full of fear.
The bustle forgotten,
The city hummed quietly
As long slender fingers
Clenched the leather.
Violins again and again
Getting louder and louder
Like the drum in our ears
Beating ever faster.
Smooth skin and sharp leather
Met.
Whimpers and gasps
And titilation.
An experiment
For kicks.
For art.
For leather.
Two bodies:
Both wet and sweating.
One standing, observing and evaluating
The other and the scene.
Laughter penetrated the window
Again.
The violins stopped,
And he stepped out for bandages.
It was an experiment.
Just for kicks,
For lust,
For leather.
An experiment.
For kicks,
For pain,
For pleasure.
May 13, 2011
May 13, 2011 at 1:03 PM UTC
I asked my Momma
How do big girls kiss?
She said she didn't know
I asked my Momma
Why do big girls wear thongs?
She said she didn't know
I told my Momma
I'm going to be the first women astronaut president
She said of course you will baby
I asked my Momma
Why do big girls fight with their Mommas?
She said because they don't know better
Do I know better I asked my Momma
Of course you do baby she said
Now I know how big girls kiss
Now I know why we wear thongs
Now I know I won't be the first women president astronaut
Now I don't ask my mother questions
I am the big girl
I am that girl who fights with her momma
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 2:30 PM UTC