- In my bitter old age (haha), I find myself groaning at other people’s happiness. Even if I am happy for them and whatever it is that has made them happy, there is still a reflexive “ugh” that escapes my mouth.
- My motivation comes in very short supply.
- If you have not fallen hopelessly in love with Hozier’s music, then I suggest you chickity-check yourself.
- My contacts keep ripping in half on my eyeball. …That can’t be very good.
- Anytime anyone says they find me attractive, I immediately want to ask, “What is wrong with you?”
- The wonderful sun cooked my legs while I was on vacation. Wanna see?….
I crave you.
A want so overwhelming, so agonizing
that it stirs these complacent synapses to action.
It drips from my fingertips and I let it drench my skin…
this warm and salty, bitter taste of you.
It is the motivation in my veins,
what is most hardened carnal in my heart,
you keep this adrenaline coursing.
So often I toss unrested and unsatisfied,
my body in fits for a fix of just the smell of your skin,
the sound of a deep command from your lungs,
your hands tangled in my hair desperately urging more…
a low-lidded stare intent enough to
send lightning through trembling muscles.
Your natural disaster is all I need to sate me.
Tempted fingernails trace the curvature of breasts and hips
and what your eyes cannot see will drive you wild.
Mad like me. Ache like me.
There is more than one place for you.
My mirror shows someone I do not recognize.
Stolen years, whitecaps under bridges,
cynicism and pain glare out of cloudy irises.
You were once magnificent. Beautiful.
My how the mighty have fallen.
You’re not even a glimmer, a speck
of what you should have been. Could have been.
A slave to the past, trapped in vices,
searching for that which is long gone,
and can never, will never come back.
I long for the days of security, confidence
and youth that doesn’t feel so tired, so old.
A tear crawls down the curve of a swollen eye
and I feel as if most of me has died.
No one wants to live as a stranger in their own body.
Since I started my St. Patrick’s day by oversleeping, thus making me late for work, I could totally use all of this….
- Steve Carell really just gets better with age.
- Some books on the Barnes and Noble website: actual book, $9.99…nook book, $21. Uh….
- Nothing makes me sad like an unfinished poem.
- Am I the only one who really doesn’t see anything special about Valentine’s Day?
- I have two big bags and countless little bags of Crispy M&M’s and I am, officially, the happiest girl on the planet.
A wolf on the hunt. Prowler. Curious and hungry.
I walk as easy prey. Oblivious. Enchanting.
Cobalt eyes beat kindled amber
and I feel the weight of your cross hairs on my body.
It’s a tingle and a torture,
and you don’t know I can hunt just as well.
Each step raises awareness, heightens breathing.
Entranced by pink glossy lips, church bell hips,
dodging thoughts of what I have on beneath my skirt.
Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s lacy little.
Maybe you need to find out.
Before God and among this crowd of people,
slide terrified and inquisitive fingers up soft,
curved thighs and feel for yourself.
Pupils dilate at the mere thought,
and you don’t try to hide your excitement.
So feel the breeze, pick up my scent,
stalk these bells to worship.
It’s time for the wolf to feast.
- Why does Carmex taste like death?
- Imagine how good Sam Smith would be if he didn’t sing through his nose.
- How to know if your doctor is awesome: He suggests you play dead every time your father smokes in the house. “I’m just letting you get used to seeing me like this because you keeping that thing in here is gonna kill me.”
- All I want to do today is listen to Katy Perry and eat french fries.
- I’m the 28 year old who colored a princess picture and hung it on my fridge.
I breathe in your sunshine, the unknown scent of your skin.
It invades thirsty lungs and I imagine it warm,
rich, natural and strong. Intoxicating and comforting.
It is a dizzying thought and a pressing passion,
but my desires are not meant to be met, and still remain unfulfilled.
I can see you on my horizon…a perfect mirage.
Outstretched fingertips electrify the distance between us…
if I try farther, I could touch you, but we always fall short.
Almost is the defining word that separates us.
Yet, I wonder…would desires remain if daydreams became reality?
Would you still adore me, crave me, possibly love me
if you saw me for everything I am and everything I’m not.
I could hold you, entrance you, explore you
so the answer stays yes. Every day, yes. Forever, yes.
Just don’t deny me the opportunity, don’t keep me teased,
exhilarated and exhausted from anticipation and defeat.
I could be all yours…and not just in words and intention.
Build our bridges and cross our oceans. Please. Come.
I watch the sky fall outside my window.
Winter white flakes of crystalline glass
driving the city to frozen silence.
Deafened by the sound of my blood flowing, heart beating,
my thoughts racing between purity and corruption.
If I whisper loud enough,
will you protect me from this seasonal madness?
Build a fortress in blankets and read me fairy tales,
sonnets, poetry of romance, magic and lust.
Place my head on your chest and your heart in my hands
as we act out each immortalized line…
or simply write a few of our own.
Two eager bodies are the greatest storytellers.
I will keep you satiated with the simplest touches,
so the fire in your eyes remains strong enough to melt the snow.
But, darling, do not steal your glances away.
We both need an excuse to stay inside.