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Red lipstick is sheer. on my parted full lips. Iace trimmed silk panties. tie at my curvy hips. Black the colour of the bra. that cups my breasts. A little more than a handful. is what they suggest.
I'm curious as to why poets are poets Are we all as fucked up as everyone thinks we are. Perpetual rage against the machine..
I go in dry And come out wet Water dripping down Dripping like sweat Sun hitting my curves Beaming down my skin Enjoying all the attention Is this really a sin.
I shook my own hand And travelled deep within me My skin absorbed the wind and the drought My heart seduced the veins around it And crawled within me The sands took stand To dry the love within...
As a quite "special" being I've been called everything up to insane. The main reason for that would probably, or shall I say, certainly be my specific point of view over life.
by Me, Emily. -I.D.- I am me. Me is I. Can that change. If me wants to be her. If her is who I want to be... Then does me change. Does me wanting to be her change who I am. Or does me stay the same.