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it all started with sally haley eight years ago i was different, i had never been loved, i had never witnessed my grey tabby moan and contract as her kittens breathed their first ounce of oxygen, and i thought that art was simply something you colored in a 20-cent coloring book. my father would've said that i was exclusively extroverted, and even a touch of arrogance would appear on the most unlikely of days.
it intensified in myself to paint. i had seen sally haley's paintings when my best friend's neighbor had been in his teenage art phase, (he had side bangs and blonde streaks that embellished his hair) and i loved the curve of her strokes, i could taste the individual fur of the brush as it paved the canvas, and i wanted to indulge and satiate in the hues.
in school, algebra and geometry nauseated me, and the triangles and squares that i scribbled howled and bellowed at me, taunting me and declaring under their breath, "you're stupid and unintelligent, why are you so afraid of numbers? you're weak, dif
withdrawlthe crystal sand
was methamphetamine in my
luring yet nonchalant
daydreams of you
like an alacritous kaleidoscope in
primitive aegisshe was laying primitively,
head in her drenched palms,
face blotched crimson and speckled
her crisp jeans were
tainted from my
i shouldn't have bathed
in the tattered midnight light
( cleanse me. )
i kneeled in front
(i am lower than her
in this moment-
she outstretched her
fingers like an agrestic
duck's webbed foot,
my fingers scavenged for her cheekbones
and she told me she
you are forgiven,
as my child,
as your mother.
blood flickered from
the tips of her ginger
and she uttered slick and
spilling like saliva from
her painted lips,
she was my tabby catlurking recollections
of tossled moonbeams
were the patterns that radiated
her crescent skin.
she arched her back,
(like a yawning cat on a milky
and felt the rhythmic
spine as it
whiskey and wiresmy ribbed throat
you were its
your rustling tongue
was amber whiskey,
red and blue,
rebirthher eyes were pale
in her pupils,
i told her
when i reached
desperationi spluttered her name,
frothed from my whimpering lips,
i couldn't remind her
that the speckled bruises like
spine were healing and fading,
like the meek summer rain
but the trace of her curved fingernails
my silent lips
on the wrinkled couch
modern lolitahe had these charcoal eyes that left a trail of ash behind them, and i wanted to re-ignite them to watch them transform into light fire and burn into my pale flesh.
his accent was loose and boyish and from new zealand, and he reminded me of the carefree dancing palm trees i used to drive by in my silver toyota.
i was fifteen when he asked me if he could speak to me, and i spoke as a hushed whisper, only if your intentions are well. and he was older and had this long consistent stream of black hair down to his shoulders, and i thought about how sensual hair was, how it was limp and chaotic and got caught in between our lips when we flashed our teeth.
when the sun rose on monday he told me he thought i was beautiful, and i snorted and slapped him with my vivid sailor tongue, telling him that i was young and he was beyond my years.
his eyes were gruff and wounded, why didn't you tell me you were fifteen? i shook my head and choked for air, but i was underwater now and th
shut your eyes tighti.
are swerving and
shrieking in their
and afraid of your
the foaming ocean
spitting and sloshing,
its whole body rotating
it rises on its heavy
in their sunset
Maybe... Perhaps...Maybe ... because our encounters are given as numbered...
Perhaps ... there could be no poets in the world, but there will always be a poem for you...
Maybe... I want to eat you and fill me of you because I don’t know when I will have you again…
Perhaps... where my heart burns and rests, I will find you, my beauty...
Maybe... because there is no map to the place where we go...
Perhaps... because all of your kisses are stolen…
Maybe... Darkness and light are the work of one mind, features of the same face, blossom of a single tree...
Perhaps... Something special for you, whispering to the foolish hearts like mine...
Maybe ... because you decided to not stay with me...
Perhaps ... I have to resign myself to run away with you...
Maybe... As long as there are eyes that reflect the passions of the eyes who look at you...
Perhaps... The eyes can’t fit on the face of the world, and the eyes do not fit into the earth to admire your beauty...
Maybe ... Suddenly I found
love poem for a pianistyou make me think about
how heavy negative space can be.
the space between your fingers,
the space between notes,
the space between us
in this small, soundproof room;
every empty millimetre
in my chest
She + She"I like how our feminine gazes cross, from dawn till twilight
This honeyed voice of her, every time
She says she's deeply fond of me. Mellifluous sounds.
The way we roll up in the green watered grass, innocently
Our burning hands melt under our youth's sun beams.
After years of wandering, I'm conviced
I finally found how I should live.
Her arm around my pleased waist."
said Laura, with an indelible grin on her chubby face.
"I especially liked our fortunate meeting
I remember everything, every purple clouds among morning mist
Sprites sowed seeds of love on my path.
When I saw her, one word bolted in my stunned mind,
This stunning aura of her, just left me speechless
Spring butterflies in my stomach,
Each new sapphire moon with this girl is a gift."
said Charlotte, tightly holding her darling's hand.
"A dyke? Meeeh it shouldn't exist, th
RosesRoses are read and violets are blue
I gave my entire heart over to you
You took it from me and dumped it in the trash
I should've known; beauty never lasts
Roses are brittle and violets will wilt
All I did was try and ask you for help
You took me under your wing and crept into my heart
Then you made sure to take your time in ripping me apart
Roses are dead, the violets are too
How did I ever convince myself to trust you
Still, it was nice to think I had a friend
To bad I was just a toy to you in the end
when you came into my life,
your brightened it so much.
your first kiss eased my pain
and began to set my soul right.
your touch soothes my worn nerves,
bringing my anxeity down with love.
your soft words bring me inner peace,
giving me the strength to continue on.
your embrace smothers me with love,
letting me know that you really care.
never leave me, always love me true.
Just as much, honey, as I love you.
FIOLEE,CAP 21 NO ME MIENTASFIOLEE,CAP 21 NO ME MIENTAS
¡Ahora lo que casi nadie espera que sucederá!
Una lagrima broto de sus ojos, trato de detener con persistencia las que le seguían…-no…¡Esto no ha acabado!-
Entre de nuevo en la casa del árbol, definitivamente esa tal Fionna me esta haciendo enfadar de nuevo, no entiendo como es que hace para que esa mirada y esa voz llena de compasión puedan penetrar en lo profundo de mi ser, me hace sentir extraño es como si quisiera estar a su lado y protegerla, ¿pero porque la protegería?, tiene una fuerza bruta inmensamente mortal, claro que eso no lo admitiré nunca por supuesto, pero cuando lucho sola contra mi y me venció baje de las nubes, nunca pensé que un humano pudiese vencerme, ella lo hizo posible.
No se que es lo que le ve al dulce chicle afeminado, digo, por favor, el no puede defenderse por si solo, además de que es un completo cobarde, ¿como i
GoodbyeRight now I don't want to remember,
And I hope I won't regret this,
But I know I won't want to forget this
Those final hours, and that lingering last kiss
Was the type of moment dreams dwell on,
No I won't forget this:
If that was the last time I held you,
And thought we'd have time,
The last time I tasted you,
And felt your skin slip against mine,
It's the type of goodbye
Writers write about,
Singers sing about,
And dreamers dream about.
Well, I'll scribble about missing you,
And about wilting flowers;
I’m always looking for a story, darling,
And 'goodbye' may be the best of ours.
Love calls, homeLove,
I hear you calling me home.
my heart is bleeding, alone.
Should I pick up the phone?
My love is calling me home.
And, he's calling me home.
Loud SilenceMy tongue cannot convey as much emotion as my hands can.
My hands can dance a dance of love & ecstasy, as I caress your beautiful skin.
My hands, they can express how much you mean to me with a gentle stroke of my thumb over your knuckle.
They can scream in anguish and displeasure as I pull my hand from yours, my futile attempt to
shield our awkward affection for one another from your eccentric, pushy family.
They can experience a euphoric sensation as they, ever so slowly, part your silky hair, silent pleasure emanating from my fingertips.
And they can aid in my eternal struggle, -to express my love for you and all you stand for, with a simple squeeze of your smaller hand.
drowned by the tidehe had pastel cheeks and thin bones the
color of serotonin,
his hands had white callouses that bled
while he slept,
and sometimes when he awoke his lips
whispered of the hushed fluorescent
when he spoke his voice was as distilled
as a calm ocean tide,
and i wanted to be one of those swimmers to
drown myself in his tremendous
Twenty-three years before the crippling of Crown Prince James III
He was fourteen and she was probably aged about the same, give or take a few years. It had been an hour since he'd met her.
He hated her already.
She scowled behind him and likely shared the sentiment as they scampered up the hillside in a desperate attempt to escape the roaring mob that seemed to be growing perpetually larger and coming ever-closer. Gabriel would have liked to say that it was all her fault he was in this situation, though it was his careless nicking ofwhat was it? A chicken that started the first old woman running, but how was he supposed to know that she'd stumble and fall and everyone else would think he'd assaulted her?
He hadn't. He'd taken the chicken, snapped its neck and run, because he hadn't eaten meat in weeks and he was starting to feel the affects on his already weak limbs.
This is what happens, he thought. This is what happens when you live like th
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More