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Hold Back to Hold OnTonight, I sit here
blinded by my own words,
as they crawl across the screen
giving life to my inner scream.
Now neatly stacked in a stanza,
trapped between lines
and hasty rhymes.
A begining to a poem
written for you, but not to you
the way a subtle hint is dropped
with no one to catch it
I love you.
I say that too often,
and a convincing lie most of the time.
Save the moments those words are for you,
like now, stop the clock.
Hour, minute, second.
I count, each one away from you
the way this stanza falls away from
Wish I could go back,
but the third stanza.. act
is already underway and who am I
to halt the play.. stage.. pain.. rage.
I rage against myself,
Always the same answer resounding.
I can't tell you how much you really mean
to me, because if I lose you
I have nothing. Not even this poem.
Parential Karma My daughter was a charming girl with long brown hair and rosy cheeks which pink matched her thin lips. She was always dressed in the most beautiful puffy dresses and hair done in the most complicated elegant hair styles that I could perform on her delicate head.
I was envied for having a perfect child, for raising her to be so obedient and smart. Everywhere I went I brought her with me to show the world the gift from above that I gave birth to.
But what made me love my daughter the most was not the look of composure and bright eyes on her small framed face. It was her cries.
We’ve all make a child cry for fun at least once in our life. Like when you jump out from behind something to make them yell in a high pitched voice. Or maybe you’ve told a kid a little scary story that made them come crying to their mother at the depth of night rambling about a monster that will get them.
I always spoke to my daughter
IronmanHear me read it
My friends used to call William "Ironman" because the first time we kissed he got a nosebleed and the taste of his blood haunted me for a long time after it. We'd only been twelve years old and apparently the anxiety spiked his blood pressure to the point of combustion... I remember that when we were forced to take sex ed a few years later we were divided into separate classes for boys and girls, in case a diagram of an ovary was too risqué and we became animalistic and started clawing at each other in our seats, but nonetheless when our teacher Ms Jacobs had explained to us what an erection was in my mind all I could picture was the blood rushing to his nose and then the slash of cranberry across my blouse.
With the idea planted in his mind it didn't take long for William's hands to start wandering, but the image persisted. Every time I thought about just letting it happen I wondered what would happen if he got too excite
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More