Words are anything you want them to be Let your heart be light Let your mind be free No need to be sophisticated Or have meaning in depth Just simply pick up Wherever you've left
She's a vanilla kind of person. There's simplicity and lightness in the way her lips curve And her cheeks blush.
Sweetness can be felt with every touch of her fingertips. And whenever the wind blows through her hair, Sun rays peek as if passing through forest of juniper trees.
Every step she takes are like melodies From harp strings played by an angel.
Under extreme duress, Word-boarding extreme, She issues up reluctantly a true confess
Her secret ingredient In everything is Vanilla extract
Where do you source this In quantities so ample, Keep it well hid, For all I see After cupboard investigatory Solitary tiny brown bottle Shelved alone, forlornly?
With a vanilla smile, That persists for quite the while, She crinkly eyed laughs
*"I get fresh extract Near everyday, For when I awake to a Fresh poem from a poet Who loves me, I draw all the vanilla out, Then feed it back to him In the foods I supply, So his poetry is for ever Sustainable"
We're all so cute and sweet. "I would never hurt you. " "You're my friend, why would I do that? " You can't not hurt me, It's what people do. I don't want to be spared from The pain of caring for you. I tied myself down to you, And let you whip me with the words I fed you. So don't lie to me and say You would never hurt me Because I know you will. I do not, however, know that You will pick up the pieces Of my broken mind, and put Me back together, that I might Pretend I won't be hurt by you again.
vanilla.
Author: Lottie
0
Date: 02/02/2020
№ 1130288
Vanilla Ice Cream
It burned my little petal But the gun was cold on my face I was not afraid I was in another place My imagination escaped I ran through fields of flowers Catching butterflies and smelling daffodils I blew bubbles slowly into the air Chased the dog across the yard I had a vanilla ice cream and it was just right The sun was warm against my skin I was not inside a cage
Perhaps the reason I cannot be still is because Light so often shifts, falls Scattered through blinds Refracted in mirrors, slipping And bursting, drifting across Wood like a great yawn Tipped and toppled over Crevasses, sliding under doors You've seen the way it reaches In blithe slices,
Perhaps I have been snuffed Out, i have probably trimmed my Own wick, or thrown duvets across Myself, spilled into black coffee to mix With devils, see how good I really am But found that you only flare up before Smoldering,
I've spent more time drunk in the past Month than any of the time before my 21st Woken up to trace the rafters in his room And count the letters of an O'Neal jersey hung On his closet, memorized the stitches on twelve Longsleeve shirts and changed the calendar from March to April on a drunk, half-alive hour.
This isn't me, I'm whispering into his shoulder blades. I'm so lost, matt. I say, but he no longer answers. He no longer has things to say, he no longer has The right to comfort me, that's been stolen away. I have stolen that away, I am a light but I am a thief Too forward and impatient, hearty and loyal but incredibly Disconnected,
And don't be a pussy about it he remarks, getting into his truck. I wanted to tell him, hold me like you used to. Maybe I deserve these things he says, I hardly know
