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projecting.So much projecting, Or that's what I call it. Projecting my feelings I lack, or I need to expel om surrogates through relationships, bonds mending and breaking. So with love, once given to a foolish boy in the tall school grass, I rapped my tongue around his Spanish name as if it were a golden ring. I have felt it in so many forms, rough like gems in condensed rocks sold at flea markets, smooth pearls rolling on my wrist, soft cotton clouds. I have felt love made to fend off everyday pains, forged together with someone as a shield in the darkness, leaving us in our own condensed world. I have felt substitutes, kisses to feel loved, or the sensation of loving, and only truly feeling it once.. but it was like fireworks, beautiful, then gone with the wind, the situation replied romantically of course, and in the sexual nature. Let us not forget the truly platonic; love stored for the mother, the father, the surrogate. I find myself happy with my step father, laughing, smiling,
Enjoy the SilenceI sat there across from him in the freezing cold on his porch. He lit his cigarette and looked out onto the water; I admired him in silence, watching the smoke disperse in the chilly night air. Nothing was said between us. "Maybe I'll head in and get a beer" I thought to myself. I was too young to drink, but on the other hand I was too young to be sleeping with him either. He glanced at me for a moment, and I in return covered my nakedness, wrapping myself tighter in my blanket. "Yeah, a beer sounds great right now." I think. I get up hesitantly, and walk over to him, seating myself on his lap, my blanket dragging behind, so much for the beer. Oh well, we was warm. He put out his cigarette and looked at me, neither of us opening our mouths, neither of us saying a word, just sitting there in silence. With no way to break it, I kissed him softly and laid my head on his shoulder. Still nothing. I kissed his neck, once, twice, nibbled on his ear. Nothing. Kissed him on the cheek, and conti
the huntsmanAlways running, in this vast Labyrinth.
Back to the beginning. Running, clawing my way out of this deep dark pit,
to be dragged back down.
It's inevitable, this hellish life.
What sins could have provoked this?
I have found places of solitude and tranquility,
but all have been ripped to shreds.
Leaving only refuse in the form of memories.
The Huntsman always finds me,
His hands taking my hair, bashing my head against windows.
These doe eyes are a sign of the hunted,
and laying lifelessly in his teeth.
It has become a game, my running.
almost calm and composed in the beginning.
I may have finally won...
A sharp pain on my back, he's drawn back his Bow.
I can always run, but he will always find me.
The house of cardsThis is the point. I've mapped out years before. This is the point that I know my head will be slammed against a wall. This creature corners it's prey. I've tried to tame it. But never, even a child raised by wolves can't control these things. Fifteen years I've spent in this cave. Yes, years of meticulous calculations. The radius in which testing the water, or spitting fire, was going to kill me, and the distance, or closeness, that made it inevitable. I have ran, but he always finds me. Holding me between sharp caged teeth, always drawing blood. I know the roll of his haunches, the look in his eye, the low throaty roar. He is lacking in therms of sight, almost blind, frantically ripping at what he can. Deep and dark the creature is grand, this savage beast only accepting music for so long. In my years in this dark wet place, my song bird like voice has soothed him. Lashes, scars... I realized I was strong the day I began fighting back, I was small. Not even twice his size. His shadow
Glaring, glaring, sharp bright.
But the night is dark and dead.
There's no sense of place.
I'm pulled out of my writing.
Winning people over with propaganda.
All I want to do is write.
No one knows how you treat me.
All the posters in the house, all of those in Germany.
All the dark in the camps.
Bright lights. Glare.
No sense of place.
This house. These camps.
Let me write.
I sat there with Tayah, sipping my drink. The Fat Cat clearly didn't deserve the name "Cafe", but I sat there with all of my art supplies out.
"You know what I want to hear a gay parent say? 'You were an accident' try pulling that off." I only found it slightly humorous but the woman beside me laughed
"Why thank you, thank you!" I said slightly bowing my head. This tall dark woman smiled and peered down at Tayah and my sketchbook.
"May I see?" she said, reaching out an arm, her warm face smiling.
"Honestly, I dedicated this sketchbook to fallacy, I've been really sexually frustrated lately..." I said shyly, but nothing spurred her. I handed it over, avoiding eye contact.
On the first page was a black and white drawing of a girl, mouth open, mid fellatio, her lower lips slightly dragging away from the man's steely member, cum dripping down her chin, I feared the woman would judge me, but she looked in awe. "This is beautiful!" she said, now sparking a conversation.
We laughed and laughe
The man with no face
If you ever hear me reference "the man with no face",
Don't feel as if you are left in the dark.
He is tall, slender, with strength, with an illuminating spark,
In his eyes I see passion, sparking like stars, but not features within a man, that would leave him named or marked.
He is older, to some extent,
He is cunning, in some ways.
Loves music, life, and lust,
A sly expression on his face,
He never waits for dusk to strike; ever changing he may be,
His intentions stay the same,
Be it in my fantasies and lucid dreams,
An ever-present flame,
The man with no face is many men,
But still always the same,
At the back of my mind, behind closed doors,
Never knowing from where he came.
Oh? Like a show?
Running my hands over my quivering body, chest rising and falling heavily?
To hear each sweet moan before they escaped my window? Left feeling at peace?
If you were to ever run your hands over me, you would feel the beating in my veins.
To lay your hands on my chest and find my throbbing heart, only when setting lightly your fingertips.
I'm known for my literary tricks, or in this case, my talented tongue.
What can I say?
Word play is literary foreplay.
Oh, continue? Make myself blush a rosy pink? Try to describe just the way I feel, warm and tender?
Oh no, I'm too innocent.
Too fragile, even for a man with such gentle fingers, no... Even in resilience I can't help but explore myself with sweet sensitivity...
Oh how sweet, only sharing soft sweet kisses to please.
I'm as I said, fragile as a flower,
and love to savor slow.
Only to turn away,
and pretend that I'd wish not to go further.. I'd be lying by the way.
Only upholding this lie to preserve my innoce
"Cummon', you said you'd walk me to class." I looked at him frankly. "ALL the way. And I'm late, so don't disrupt it?" He looked at me with a look what clearly said "Zoe, why are you doing this to me?" He put his arm around me and walked me in.
As we got to the door I stopped and looked at him, my eyes begging for the expected kiss, but instead he walked into the classroom himself. "This isn't even your school! You're going to get in trouble! Are you going to embarrass me?" he said nothing and strode in taking my hand.
Class had already started, Mr.Junge had already sat down. I was late more than late. Fuck, I was beyond late.
"Who the fuck is he?" The voice was clearly Bakari, trying to make things a million times harder on me.
"Who am I? I'm her fiancé! That's who I am!" I looked across the room; apparently no one took him seriously. Almost no one popped up their heads, and those that did looked back down within a second.
"Mr.Junge, can I make an announcement?" He looked d
I, Adam Dawson Do not Believe in FateA total stranger
impacted by one lie
the lie she wasn't good enough.
The dark shadows that masked her eyes,
and the way my approach
had startled her so suddenly.
They say some souls are meant to reach,
whether through force,
or just fate.
I personally don't believe in fate.
Yes, I Adam Dawson
do not believe in fate.
nailsSpeak in Tongues
against my teeth and
write your story on these broken molars.
Bridge the gap with
fluids best left unsaid
(you disgust me)
and maybe we can cum to an understanding.
I'll carve my lies into your skin
while you burn the truth from my eyes
Maybe we're broken but
I like it that way.
Anointed in as your sins.I am the embodiment of your sins.
I am your greed, gold in color and always asking for more.
I am your lust, swirling in amber with a slip of my tongue upon your flesh.
I am your wrath, rolling in a fit of redden anger.
I am your sloth, lounged in white, sleeping in between your sheets.
I am your gluttony, always craving more, more, more...
I am your pride, held purple in my state of royalty.
I am your envy, green with what never, can fully be mine.
I am your sins. Full bodied. Anointed.
Body HeatThe heat from your body drives me
Wild & I cannot control myself;
I need to feel your lips on me,
Because I am thirsty for your love.
You know how to start the fire
The flames of passion are
Not easy to extinguish;
Once the sparks fly,
You keep fanning it.
Your body is like that of a Goddess'
So well taken care of without any flaws.
Your skin so soft like that of silk
& eyes as dark as the night;
Your lips so full & sweet to kiss,
I am unable to pull away.
You tease my heart when you look at me
With those seductive eyes;
I am drawn to you like a moth is to a flame,
When you touch me with those gentle hands,
I swear I feel electric volts.
I want you so badly that I even
Find myself calling out your name;
But tonight, I will only fantasize
Feeling your body heat,
It is the only way I can go to feel
Close to you.
Diez anotaciones del encuentro.I
Temblaban las manos, sudorosas a la temperatura,
se quebraban las piernas del suspense
mientras te veía caminar hacia mí.
Me detengo con el tiempo sin asegurar mi aliento
y me ahogo en el desasosiego de la espera,
los pasos cada vez más lentos,
siento las gotas de mis manos caer,
mis músculos titilar impacientes a tu llegada.
El verde hacia énfasis ese día,
lubricando mi pupila agitada.
El jardín de concreto nos presentó
de forma súbita,
y ahí, en ese lugar, te vi;
destruyendo cada partícula de temor
y volviéndome el alma y el color.
Las curvas que tomamos fueron insignificantes
comparadas a tu silueta esplendorosa.
Era inconsciente de todo lo que me rodeaba
pero tu presencia - aunque no tangible-
ya la reconocía y me sentía en curiosa paz.
Eramos niñas exaltadas en el momento,
turbadas por las miradas, los roces inocentes,
las risas nerviosas y los besos en el cuello.
Your Seductive Bedroom EyesYour seductive bedroom eyes
Always gets my attention;
I often find it hard to resist
Your sensuous feminine charms,
But then again, what man
Would be foolish enough to?
When you press your sweet
Silky body onto me,
You ignite a flame that no other could;
I feel the palms of my hands
Start to sweat & my body
Quiver all over.
The way you kiss my lips
& caress my body with your
They spark up new feelings
Long since then locked away,
Till I met you.
But it's those seductive
That get me so hypnotized,
Unable to walk away,
Unable to resist you.
You tease me with your
"Come hither" glances
The way you sexually curl your lips
Into a mischievous smile,
Filled with lust.
You are my bedroom angel
Never afraid to go the distance,
When love becomes hot.
As the flames grows hotter
So does your passion;
Refusing to let go,
Making love in any fashion.
Whatever the occasion
Of the evening hours;
Your bedroom eyes,
Display a sensual passion
That's forever ours.
Pull me back
from this white
cloud, a viscid realm
that thirsts my senses
paint my sky
with the most violent scarlet
your imagination can incarnate
through your hands
when the skin throbs
in the venter, in the mouth,
when we become abstract
becoming a ramification of veins,
desires, elusive emotions
din acest alb
nor, lume vascoasa
ce-mi exaverbeaza setea
cu violenta rosului
pe care doar imaginatia ta
il poate reincarna prin mainile tale,
cand pielea paseste sacadat
in vintre, in gura, cand ne abstractizam
si devenim doar o ramificatie de vene,
pulsiuni, emotii evazive
La hermana de Mangel (Rubius y tu)Holaa, soy la hermana de Mangel, ______ tengo 20 años, viví toda mi vida en L.A, y decidí mudarme a Madrid con Mangel, luego lo conocí a él y todo cambio...
CAPÍTULO 1: La llegada
Estaba todo listo para que me vaya, no había dejado casi ropa en casa de mis padres, no me preocupe por mi habitación porque Mangel tenía un cuarto solo para mí, era casi una imitación del original.
Mama: Lista hija?-.
______: Claro ya salgo mama-.
Salí de mi habitación con valijas y un bolso, ese día me puse una remera blanca por encima del ombligo que decía 'Kiss me' en letras negras, un short color rosa, los colores iban en degradación de rosa a blanco y unas botitas vans negras, mi cabello lo cambio cada época o cada mes mejor dicho, ahora estaba rosa y morado, me puse una diadema de flores rosas y blancas.
Mis padres me llevaron hasta el aeropuerto y esperaron que el avión despegara, estaba nerviosa, el avión d
Oh with what a talented tongue I have, leaving men betwixt,
To let them smolder, left in splendor, words light as whipped cream.
The body of a woman, the power to bewitch,
Oh what a show, I display with my lips,
Catch them at "hello", a glance, or flick of my wrists.
To leave a man breathless, without even a kiss.
And I tease with my eyes and wonder if they've ever felt such bliss.
From the pads of my fingertips to the tip of my tongue,
I am all talk you see.
I am nothing but an innocent child,
inexperienced, tight, unexplored.
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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