My feet are so cold to lay on yours
Your hands busy chasing my curves
Paddled in cuddles, pebbles carved
Doodles dwindles all over my body

Tinkering hands as they reach a ******
Ripples twisting blossoming bosoms
Rage the sleeping animated power
Break your wings as the rod erects

Alas! The touch disappears in thin air
Feet warmed in the damning chamber
The perpendicular collapses in angle
Sailed to dally in uncensored snores

Let's ban poetry because it
Heals wounds without prescription,
Break borders without permission,
Adds beauty without makeup,
With words all so made up!

that's how you convinced me to jump in the sack with you.



those three words.


"it's not just *******"

it's pure uncensored emotion


what emotion?


which one?


because it certainly wasn't love
- you never loved me, ever.


it definitely wasn't happiness
-you never made me happy


for sure wasn't excitement
-you never got excited about anything important




so what was it?


anger?
******* me to get revenge
who?

Your mother?

Your ex?




yourself?





maybe it was
heartbreak

******* me
to feel numb
so it doesn't hurt as bad








                                                                  maybe it was boredom.



                                  Yep,





                                                                i think that was it

My balance is often complicated by the complex complications of construed situations.
The uncensored limitations, the spiteful aggravation; they think these are indications that I should melt with temptation through my frustration.
But if you felt my vibration, it would send you to the sky, where I am stationed.
I could never be what you want me to be in your dreams,
it seems that the seams to my soul are more than what you see them to be.
You don't see me. I became transparent,
hold me to the light for my transparency
to be clear to read.
Clarity will arrive here when your conscience calls and you appear.
My heart blends in the healing water that has a hallow father.
He is the fire that breeds these things that allow me to bleed and be these words that you see.
My balance is often complicated
but I have never once waited to be rejuvenated.
The light of the moon
illuminated my sight through my doom.
I dance with the stars and i hope we all meet soon,
so that we can bloom
as these words fill up the space
in this 4 cornered room.

-L.G

Hello, indignantly ignorant and in-dubious ****.
Have you ever thought that maybe some people prefer black
partners because they tend to be blessed down under, if
you know what I'm saying?
Have you ever thought that maybe all this hate leaking from
your shipwrecked **** mind is product of some... innate jealousy?
Have you ever thought that maybe some women aren't particularly
attracted to you, whether it be because of your shade or because
of your prejudices against other colors, or poly-chromatic
flags?
You claim 'black' is the stuff of nightmare, but there are many
who appreciate the deep intensity of a night sky, or the depth
and soul at the center of another's eyes as much as I do
Black is not 'ugly', black is not 'stupid', it is not
a name, it is a shade, it is a COLOR
it is a badge of honor in the presence of pretentious *** holes
such as your self, it is a PRIVILEGE to strut in pride,
in confidence of their sentient humanity among
tool shed minds, to be of convenient use to anyone but themselves,
unless of course you're a '****** lover'
have you ever thought, that maybe a '****** lover' is only
just more capable of seeing the artist, not the canvas,
the priest or priestess of his or her temple,
this skin should not be a wall to ward off friends, but elastic,
to keep us all together
have you ever thought perhaps they're more evolved and
are most likely independent thinkers who choose not to live
up to pre-set standards encouraged by family and societal
stereotypes that thunder like stereo but make not music, but noise
and becoming a reincarnate of but another generation of hate
you aren't a drop of water in the ocean, you are a tall
glass of poison to me
you shrivel my mercy and make me want to drown you in yourself
through me
you make me want to be as bigoted and disgusting as you are,
to ride by your neighbor hood in a mask and shoot you,
only I wouldn't wear a mask, or shoot you, because I'd like to
look you in the eyes as you see what seems to be a reflection
of yourself, a talking mirror, cutting into you with my teeth
my sharp words, my uncensored lips, my steely resemblance
and also because well, wearing masks is ***** ****.
have you ever thought maybe those '****** lovers' are happy
with who they're loving, who they're *******, and are not
concerned about your 'opinion' until your 'opinion' becomes
tearing a soul away from his or her loved one and body,
you are a ****** reaper,
you defile the sacred, and take a life because they're nothing
more but a slab of meat to you, you objectify them and decide
they aren't palatable to your sight
humans are not chapters, they aren't mathematical theories,
they are not animate criminal records,
they CAN NOT be color coded, they are not yours to color code
how dare you even CALL yourself human when you can't even tell
a person from your own property
or someone's happiness from your ******* business
I'm sure you've never thought, but have merely recycled
the polluted beliefs of your 'patriotic' culture and
inherited your families porcelain skin, they probably taught you
it was a weapon, a plastic bag to suffocate others in
skin is NOT a sin, it isn't natural selection,
when will you see if your own inherent mental failure proves
the fault in our evolution?
And I mean, how can you shame a race that's believed to have
pre-dated us all, to have been us all?
I'm sure this thought has probably never crossed your mind, but
know this.... tomorrow I'm going to **** the life out of my
black boyfriend. Hard. Like yin and yang we are going to
roll around with inevitable and fulfilling love,
and boy, is he black.

The Bird is never still
Flying from one topic to the other
Her chatter loud and uncensored
Her friends twittering at her to be quieter
The Bird has many friends
But Birds always sleep alone
And cold
With their hollow bones

The Fox is the Bird's friend
The Fox is tricky
Weaving in and out of conversations
Gorgeous
And sleek
The Fox makes rabbits fall in love with her so she'll have plenty to eat
The Bird and the Fox are unconventional friends
Friends no one would think would click
But the Bird will chatter and chatter and the Fox will quietly sit
Listening to everything
Retaining information

The Chameleon is the Fox's and the Bird's mutual friend
When with the Fox they match their red
When with the Bird they match their blue
And so on
So no one really knows the Chameleon's true colors
Whoever you are
They'll match you
Blending in
A social camaflouge
That they think keeps them safe

And when together they are quite
A sight
Wandering loudly
Through the night
They are a strange group
And when together they're tight
Exchanging advice
Or judging each other

But never outright


You'll never catch the bird
But be careful if you do
If not gentle with your touch
Her bones will crack right in front of you

The Fox puts on a face
Bearing teeth and changing mates
But under all that glossy fur
She's scared that you won't want her

If you catch the Chameleon off guard
You might be surprised
What you see is never what you get
But if you look real hard
The chameleon will freeze and fall down to their knees
please, please, just like me

......

Death is a *****
Crime is an Itch
Demons are well Demons.
What is there to say about a demon?
how bout the fact that they lie to you about repercussions of power,
That when they allow you to use those
enraging abilities
that are death to you internally to externally,
They don't tell you that you
get unexplained bruises and cut on your external body.
They don't tell you that you (every now and then)

**** yourself when you use their abilities slowly and painfully.
They don't tell you that you start messing up in life and putting yourself out of the family loop because you crave their power and MORE...Then you get hooked on that single phrase "MORE" as if you can't get enough of what those Demons,
Offer you until it diminishes you
Life slowly  but surely YOU DIE.

These Demons put a whole  new meaning to "You are Your worst Enemy".
Darkness and Death is a familiar face to everyone  at different Levels
but as you continue to grow and the more you use those abilities they offer you; the more

You **** yourself and the people around you  without meaning or warning....That is why there is angels to help you fight those demons,
Their truly powerless abilities that they offer you.
So as a warning for people that crave POWER. DON'T.

But if you happen to crave the power that I once Craved watch-out for what power you ask for and be careful on who and what source you ask from cause if you aren't careful you could end up,
Hurting the ones that truly LOVE you,
Regretting Life and You yourself will be LOST!!
And Remember this one Phrase before you ask for those demons .....
                                "Death is a *****"
Christopher Nathaniel Cartwright
Copyright © 1983-2010

Sleek as they drip off me
Making you eager to droop and scoop
Every drop like a leech would human blood
But wait, a gorge won’t save your hungered
Soul as my every bit leaves you wanting for more

Dismount your obsessive horse
Of carting away my very essence
Plea me your sins, I forgive like a reverend
Also bring penance as a godsend
For I have what you want and won’t pretend

A soul to spill the lie you want to hear
To cuddle the truth and make her fall asleep
In the imaginary arms of a lullaby princess
Yea! ‘tis what I deal you and very well
Tempting your every fiber to a fault

Girdling my tongue leaves you a goner
For with its wobbling there is succor
Contagious enough to infect Mr. Nobody
Reach the saddened with hope to laugh
Again, saving a tooth from obscurity.

Uncensored thoughts
Bleed from my pen
as your name marks the paper
yet again.

curled and cuddled carefully in a cubbyhole

was a rolled reminder reveling in it's reality

why do reminders seem to pop up just as you regain your sanity?
when your profanity was steadily decreasing and you forgot what you've been missing?

nope! i choose to stay in the past, before this wretched ring reminded me of things
(it's gone now)
if i deny, and defy the event, the feeling won't last, it won't sting.

                                                                                Uh well i guess it didn't happen then
but it did
(UGH IT STINGS)
but it means nothing right? if i fight it, lose sight of it, i might just forget.
                                    
                                       -i- -CAN'T- -be- around- -anyone- -right- -now-
they'll peer in! they'll see my sin, my feeling!

                                                                          Feelings aren't cool!
******* excuse
check
deny the truth
check
focus on bogus pain, force yourself into the rain, make sure you don't try too hard
......

now i'm alone
why is there so much sound in here, i think i'm going to go deaf
                                                              i can only hear me, and i'm only thinking of one thing

break
come on break
let everything out, everything is at stake here, my brain is foggy
but tears are clear
aren't they?
they're so transparent, i stare and observe but the second i taste them
they're so salty, but who's fault is that?

THEIRS

HOW COULD THEY DO.........stop
                                                                                             what am i doing?

i'm wondering why no one loves me while ignoring a flooding sea of text messages and facebook updates, my hate covered my friends birthday, i put my family on wait, to sit and grovel a mistake i mistook.

umbrellas keep out the rain, but the pain remains the same, it just means you only let your tears stain
and that faint tap on the shoulder
now feels like bruises when you see
how many people you shooed away

storms are only faint reminders that someone is willing to cry with you. to scream with you
to strike down a fiery bolt of lightning with you.

                                                                          to remind you

I crave
A touch
Not soft or gentle

I crave
A lust
So instrumental

I beg
For you
To grab me roughly

I beg
For you
To touch me toughly

I thirst
In need
For someone pressed against me

I thirst
In need
For Someone to hold me

I desire
To moan
Loudly with pleasure

I desire
To moan
Loudly - uncensored

I crave, I beg, I thirst, I desire a touch, a lust-loan.
You see, I am in dire need to moan.

pain,
pain is a rush
pain lets me
feel things
I normally don't.
I'm a sucker for it
bruise me
beat me
take advantage of me.
pain flows through my nerves
into my brain and lets me
forget all of
the things
weighing down my day.
pain gets me off
pain makes me lose myself
in euphoria and feeling
and being
human in a raw
uncensored
regal sense
now if only
I could find somebody
willing to give me
what I want.

to me spirituality is the best interest,
to me freedom is *******
to me freedom of expression is the hole in a dream
for wot u live for
eternity ,
is the essence of our contraption
that is not to overanalyze, or obstruct the notion but,
to me its to enjoy the buzz,
the chaos and all the ****** in the world today,
kids with holes in their bodies, like for what,
for me i jus sit back, like for what,
relax and dose ya mind into these aether waves,
my friends are cool,
they think im cool too,
i guess i am cool,
but to me my friends are fools,
and i am a fool cuz i listen to music like tool,
to me reality includes me,
i am connected to this density, 3D
dimensional awareness, master of frequency
my rhymes make stars vibrate from the skies,
my rythm moves through,
solid matter,  drink bleach
reconstruct a new eye view,
i always lie to myself for what i, for what i,
dont mentally grasp why,
never asked for a mind,
to comprehend gods and time and desire,
morality and math and planting the seeds of our demise,
no lies,
from me,
u only get uncensored reality.

Thugs with Pens & Aerosol Cans

Thugs with Pens
Hell-bent; not on cultism
Just airing the other sentiments
That don’t make it to primetime

Thugs with pens
Not poking out eyes
Just venting spleen
Sick of the lies

Thugs with pens
Deserve to be heard
They don’t poison your brain
With stacks of *****

Thugs with pens
And aerosol cans
Can change your mind
In ******* time

Thugs with pens
Can make a dent
They don’t need to insert
Un-readable, un-interesting
Covert small print....

Thugs with pens
Don’t need no script writers
Or advisors nor signatories
Witnesses, nor dodgy men
With gold plated fountain pen nibs
To make amends
Or throw in no hidden clauses
That secretly **** your life blood

Thugs with pens
Don’t aim to pierce your skin
But make their mark
Deeper within

Thugs with pens
And aerosol cans
Completely uncensored
champions of free speech
The establishment want suppressed,
silenced, deleted; terminated.

Thugs with pens
And aerosol cans don’t
Schedule meetings
To fix the minutes
And schedule another meeting
And keep ‘minutes’
As square angled
And unproductive
As formal conversation

Thugs with pens
Aim venomous ink
At headless politicians
That squawks like chickens
Bending over
For the *******
Bank-beefing corporations,
Controlling the masses
With ***** little catchphrases
And mounds of munitions
And illegally enforced restrictions
On your movement and free expression


Honest men
Have nothing to fear
From Thugs with Pens & Aerosol Cans
These “thugs” seek asylum
From countries
Where the law’s
Not bought and bent
Thugs with pens & aerosol cans
Are made to wear monikers and masks

Thugs with pens
Don’t turn on its own
Neighbours and citizens
To perpetuate myths:
A ****** ******* lie…
A thing that never happened!
(That’s for all of you dumb wits
out there
Who believe most of the ****
That’s drip fed
Your sensation addicted minds
Most of the time,)
Time you started reading between the lines

In fact get a pen
Or an aerosol can
Write your own lines
Start broadcasting
Reclaim your space
Before you’re completely neoned
Into the shade
And corralled under the spell
Of a TV screen
Or an anger raising headline
That conducts the flow
Of the status quo

Load up your magazines
With ball point pens
And sharp edged writing nibs,
******* a belt of aerosol cans
Reclaim your right to free expression
In public spaces
Join the rag-tag army
Of intuitive
Self-knowing men

The End: is well begun,
George Orwell
Should never have written
That blueprint,
‘1984’

"Dreams" he said, "I want you to write about your dreams"
I watched his expression full face, talk with his usual infectious vibrancy...
candle flickering, between belly laughs, raw unscripted stories, uncensored truth and the feeling of complete freedom to be human, his pouring over the brim life experiences..dripped from his fingertips as he spoke with his hands.
I'm Lucky. I thought. As I sat there, sinking into his words and gentle loving soul.
Just to simply know him, to hear of his adventures, heartbreaks, falls and climb to the top of life's list of goals and successes.
So I meditated on this writing assignment...for weeks.
I've written of Love, Loss, Heartache and Regrets.
But Dreams...I've yet to fall into ink drenching grains of paper and be completely free of the ever ticking time...to do just that... Dream.

your words make me
ache as far as a torch
stretched between murky-
blank pages

do not wait to scrawl your
truths until heavy resignation
creeps over my head like
a dark shawl

do not wait -
                         - I miss
                         everything and nothing
                         and (god
                         **** it)

the philosopher was right in
assuming a search for completion
leads only to a sort of frustrated
compassionate silence,
                                           so
                                      tired of being tired of growing
                                      weary with assumptions,
                                      mad libs of the spirit, only
                                      fill in the line with whatever
                                      you dream might be,  


              no


let me know you, the real
uncensored and true
(I can love) you

I feel like a child being spelled at
to keep the F-I-L-I-B-U-S-T-E-R for
adult ears only but even though
I admit the fact
                           - I know next to nothing
my heart desperately
wishes to know
you, everything.

.there always comes a threshold of tedium, esp.around this time, when two sides are at each others' throats... you can't escape it, both sides are at each others' sides... you're either collateral, or the, "supposedly", dumb spectator... you're in it no matter what, but the point being: there's no winning or losing invoked, or involved... but after a while: the stale quality of the drama, the persistent repetitiveness of the content become - so ******* dry... you give off a whiff of a prune mentality worthy of an atypical English soap operatic manoeuvring... basic said to basic: i'm just tired of one side telling lies, but i'm also tired of the other side exposing the said lies... i'm tired of both.... it's pretty much me quintessentially, scratching my itching genital region whenever i hear one side and the other, attacking each other... scratching my itchy genitals is more entertaining than wartching these sides argue for the same ******-momentum: money! i'm starting to see: neither side having the high-ground... it's simply tiresome... and, as a message to content creators vs. legacy media outlets.. as a content ingesting mechanism of an individual worth: sorry... no... by now i can't tell the difference... what was once a dichotomy, has become a dualism... click-bait... i figured: i can't be expected to fathom a bias, either side... as far as i know... the alt.-media could be, just as well, covert mechanisms of the same paradigm of spewed opinion... who the **** is to say that these unique, supposedly "unique" youtubers are not subcontractors of the major media contracting apparatus? i realized there's a need to stop buying revenue, primarily based on the exfoliation of the exploitation of drama... i'm not smart, but i am drunk, and attentive... big ******* difference! and i know what a threshold of tedium implies... i know when original content becomes exhaustive... it implies: the content is no-longer original.

you'd think you'd be able
to escape the playground
drama sequence. of events,
given how people
make money n youtube...
apparently
that's not the case...
  i think i'll need another
whiskey to write this "critique"...
like a whiff of
bothersome flies...
    like: but unlike:
a whiff of bothersome flies...
fusiliers to the common
"rain" of canon fire...
        so much drama!
too much, to be exact...
        a vanity ****,
with anything but
the without attempts at claiming:
fair...
   to make videos
in order to simply make excuses...
what a waste of time...
    take up a career in drinking,
then you'll see what
sort of stupid **** sober people
get up to!
and, these, are,
sober, people? yes?!
  my god...
        if they're sober,
and i'm drunk...
           maybe i should stop drinking
and join the funfair of
soberness!
   then again...
god i abhor the drama
of some pumpkin mope glass
akin to a chimney-sweep
in the form of:
pittance for a Cinderella...
  the jokes goes along the lines
of:
back east there's a Cabaret...
back in the west there's the comedic
monologue of a stand-up comic...
back east there's no soap-opera...
back in the west:
   there's no tele novella -
which only old women
appreciate...
but there's soap opera:
which, even the english
class teachers advised not to watch,
encompassing girls as young
as 15...

with the said advice...
   how wonderful to be made
esteemed of...
     i could never blog using
video...
the whole medium is plighted
with an implosion...
           it imploded by the "sentiment"
to simmer solipsism...
   it's way beyond an echo
chamber...
   it's a claustrophobia...
i could never make video content...
because as far as i know:
only lazy people watch videos...
while the diligent people
read anything at all...

    i've grown tired...
simply... tired...
              of the video content...
i also remember the glory days
when i'd listen to music
on youtube...
  and later buy the merchant's
allure of goods...
pristine physical artifacts...
via the uncensored suggestions...

i hate drama...
the faking, the blood-sports,
you name it...
    for a while i tuned in...
now i'm thinking
about coupling
last.fm with youtube.com...

   i never paid, and i was also
never paid...
my concerns are not the concerns
of the creator throng...
    tired?
is tired the most simple word
to bind to an excuse?
no...
              i hate imploding
drama;
that gets me...
              
no wonder i write:
  it's overtly selective within the domain
of the regards to who actually
digests the content...
      video my lazy...
     video my lazy...
          writing has an imbedded
censorship,
that is a pseudo-censorship...
     thankfully more
women read, than the men that talk.

Freedom, unadulterated freedom.
Freedom to dig little toes in the sand and run as naked and
as wild as the wind.

A freedom so complete and vast and uncensored
that it weighs like chains,
and chokes like an iron grip.

And so little hands meld mismatched links of their own,
rules and laws, and should's and should-not's,
tying little feet back to earth,
away from the suffocating sky of infinite possibilities.

Little hearts yearn for shackles,
feeling utterly exposed without them,
for a free body is one that tempts oppressors
unless he dons crude metal adornments of his own.

And so with the imprint of unsung lullabies
floating in the night air, little cheeks
nuzzle their iron blankies and doze off
under the familiar weight of confines and conformity.

You're dedicated one fine day,
they sprinkleth your head.
Then growing up you're helped along
as by the church you're fed.
Then one day you are confirmed
to be a child of Christ.
You swear to serve your precious Lord
and give him your whole life.

Then you're grown, you've flown the coop.
You're off to seminary.
You find a gal, you settle down,
eventually you're married,
You raise some kids, you buy a house,
you build a pretty life.
But then one day it hits you hard
that you can't stand your wife.

And so you start to look around.
At first it's only staring.
And then one night you go too far
and bang your secretary.

So now your wife is mad at you,
and screaming for divorce,
and she don't give one little ****
about your great remorse.

And now it's done forever more.
She's put you through the ringer.
She got the kids, the car, the house,
that ring upon your finger.

You see you loved yourself too much
and didn't love the Lord
and now the price you'll have to pay
is more than you'll afford.

I've fallen in love with 90's cinema
Where movies looked real and not too HD
The nostalgia of being taken back to that time
Is more then divine
scenes were not CGI
and the make up was not over the top
the message uncensored  
whether offensive or not the movie won't stop
and you see the times how they've changed from uncompromising film making to watered down plots with only stunts to amaze
From reflecting after a movie to not thinking at all
I'm just reflecting that's all

Cast all aside burn it and ****,
Dancing in the running reds of massacre.
Waiting for any semblance of humanity,
Burn it all rip it out and let nothing taint.
bring destruction like a demonic saint.
Feel the flow of senseless promise,
casting naivity into uncensored solace.
Bleed your prayers onto every altar.
Watch it discolour every drop of water.
Set your eyes on every ounce of pain,
bring it in and nestle it tightley,
then unleash it in fury divine,
to burn and destroy all that was once mine.

I venture outward
Past those devoured
Through endless hours
This adventure tower
Holds uncensored power
In higher spires
And liars' desires
Ending when I perspire
In a fire retire

I must live
When lust gives
A chance at love
I glance above
A dusty cloud
Through a crusty crowd
To see love must be found
In transcendence
And dependence
So I must trust
And ignore rust
To import thrusts
Of night's passion
Despite fashion

Time vortex
More or less
As time runs out
I must decide what it's about
Others help with that decision
They help by making incisions
And letting time bleed
My emotions they read
For their corporal greed
I tried to plant a seed
But their environment is frigid
Despite my attempts to bridge it
I become detached
From my potential catch
By days and years
And waves of tears
That stave off peers
Until I'm an old man
Feet buried in cold sand
I'll say that I tried
Once I'm used to the lies

I went to close the window because it was getting windy and rainy. "can't leave this **** window open anyhow, without aluminum dust settling over the room"...Grrrr! ******* f-f-****** factory!"

Oh **** I said ******! To myself, out loud. I felt something coming up in my chest! Laughter! Why, that factory doesn't even have a ***** besides the one it uses to **** my environment. I guess that's gay. Not in a happy or homosexual way, but in a way I am against.
So, what does this make me? A gay basher? Someone who has hit it off with almost every gay man I ever met? I always felt like they get me, which makes me feel good. I did find out a couple really did want to get me in the pooper, which made me feel even better than "getting me".

Just because it's not my lifestyle or I don't believe in it, doesn't mean I hate gay people. Does it?  I mean I don't believe in *** with women either.

{Just leave this here so kids don't go to xhamster, which is uncensored.  I wrote this after seeing a blogger talking about how a guy said an amusement park was gay, and not as good as his favorite park. An amusement park should be gay! Anyhow, there are actually people fighting over this crap. I know words can hurt, but so does being burned 5 times on the face with a cigarette. Yet, I don't blame everyone with a cigarette, just the guy who burned me.  I bet if you dug up the men from the gay 90's they would feel a certain way about how gay is used now. I wish we could dig them up and send them after the bloggers who do nothing really, and **** sure have no gay fun. I believe that the use of bad words in poetry shows a weak vocabulary. Sometimes it's needed.)

Talent.
So so Far I've seen the talent-less and the talented
**** heads until their skulls cracked and we peered in
and saw a garden growing green leafy creativity
Gallantly trotting across the right brain like the  breezy morning wind
And as we looked away and declared the winner had won
but cracked his skull on the stubborn brick wall
the talent-less had spun
out of hard jealousy and mortar crafted from their own lack of self discipline
The sun even sighed
died for a second
then came back alive only to find the talentless
still forrunning their forte
up every frigid full soul he found on his way
So the days saddened into rainy Saturdays
19 in a row
with the downpour too vicious to even kiss on the cheek as a pity way of putting across that
"you should really go"
the rain rained down boulder sized bouts of concentrated creative energies
only able to be ****** up by sponges with cracked skulls
and thus made into uncracked skulls
mended skulls
Talented unabridged uncensored skulls
that may drown out the talentless
just like the rain and storms tried to muster a try at
And by that we only see the talented come out walking with rain pouring Into their brains
getting ****** up by extracorpus veins
Not because they were born with contraptions
but because they avoided distractions
and gained traction in this multiverse where everything happens with struggle
and pain.

Joyous in her mind
a pinnacle of  cherishment
meadow seeds in sweet  abandon
laced with uncensored willingness
gives life her mound to build upon.