Safety in Numbers

She imagined he had broad shoulders, a muscular chest, and strong arms. He didn’t have them, but she imagined them anyway.

She imagined he had pale skin, freckles on his cheeks, and plump, pink lips. He didn’t have them, but she imagined them anyway.

She imagined he had large, blue eyes, the kind of eyes that she might have become lost within if they had stared at her with powerful, romantic determination. The kind of eyes that were like oceans, that she could have drowned in. He didn’t have them, but she imagined them anyway.

She imagined he was well groomed, well dressed, and thoroughly handsome. He wasn’t, but she imagined he was anyway.

He had a hunched back, a large, round stomach from years of failing to look after himself, and an overall tired look about him. His skin was covered in dirt and oil, marked with age lines, and covered in scars. He had a pair of beady, dark eyes that stared at her in raw, unabashed hunger, leaving her uncomfortable at his lack of shame or respect. His dirty, scruffy clothes were only matched by the lack of attention he had given to the rest of himself, and he was like an ogre looming over her.

When he leaned towards her, getting far too close and slurring his words until they became a tangled mess, she imagined that he was someone else. When he asked her if she wanted to join him for a drink, she pretended that he did not frighten her, that his large form did not intimidate her. She imagined someone else, someone who did not make her feel sick, just so she could hold herself together as he persisted.

‘No, thank you,’ she repeated, over and over again, until she began to get agitated and dropped the pleasantries. The word no continued to fall out of her mouth like a mantra, and eventually he back off, stumbling away and muttering that she was a prude.

Even in her most powerful moment of their conversation, when he had given up hitting on her and left, he had done what he could to make her feel small and pitiful.

She imagined he had not said anything to her at all, then hurried back to the comfort of her friends.

‘Don’t leave me to go off to the bathroom in here on my own,’ she said to them, as she rejoined the group and imagined that she was fine.

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Beneficial Friends

Brilliant poetry. A lot of us have been in a one-sided friendship (or relationship) at some point in our lives, and this demonstrates that situation perfectly. Well written.

Kira's Hymn

identifying the snake in the grass
the cancer before it spreads
have the courage to cut it out
before it lies with you in bed
my body is sacred, a spirit lives inside
I am more than a text message
more than this one night
don’t trick me into feeling that I owe something to you
yes we’re both at fault, but why am I the only one left duped
I think before I regretted not exploring more
not experiencing that side of life “popular” people adore
but I’ve come to realize very clear and simply
a person who doesn’t share my values
can’t be the one for me
someone warned me to guard my heart
to flee from this kind of thing
so why am I so drawn to fall
as if a force pulls me backwards by a string
every time we meet like this, I start burning…

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Sacred Heart

A great poem, powerful imagery, and very very naughty 😉

NAUGHTYNOTTIES

He calls me angel
Kisses me like a goddess
But doesn’t believe
When I say I think he is God because
I have saved all my faith for him and
I will worship him until i’m nothing but dust because

He is my prayer
The prayer i’m always whispering
He is my cathedral
The cathedral i’m always kneeling in
He is my religion
The religion I’d never walk away from

If ever something was worthy of worship
It’s him and it feels like sin
Because the first commandment I broke
The moment I laid eyes on him
The last commandment I broke too
When I surrendered my body and soul to him

© Nothando

NB: For my muse, Wil. Thank you for the inspiration

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MY LION

Lovely, sexy poetry! I like the idea of a lust filled roar.

Sweet Dreams & Rude Awakenings

I feel your heated breath down my neck
Gentle kisses turn nibbles a bit;the best!
Drawing in a breath, you increase depth; I get wet

Cupping my chest; caressing each breast
Pierced nipples dangling jewelry; a set
Soft lips express your love for me; confessed

I, to guide your hand under my chiffon skirt
Feeling my sweetened naked skin
Dressed in a garter & everythings thin

Rising above my thigh; your hand travels high
Shivers down my spine knowing you’re all mine
Grabbing my ass; I let out a little gasp

My hands wander lose & free
I undress your pride before me
Your lust and passion pour forth to be

I can not handle much more
I implore to your manhood & lust filled roar
Bring me to climax & love some more

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A Hero’s Welcome by Peter Indianna

Extremely well written and dark horror.

The cobalt dress was taut around Carter Graham’s hips, the nylon thigh-hose stretched smooth and the blonde wig that he made out of Janet’s scalp fit radiantly snug over his short, salt-and-pepper hair. The pumps were far too small so he had to slit the sides of the black leather to make his feet slip into the shoes. Sitting at the dressing table, Carter fumbled about in Janet’s jewelry box, primping and fussing, trying on different pieces to achieve that distinctive look. The make-up strategy was harsh and gaudy, the scarlet lipstick a bit too thick and became smeared from his unskilled attempts to apply it. An synthetic pearl necklace was selected and Carter clasped it around his neck, followed by a pair of pearl studs which he punctured through the lobes of each ear. He stood before the full-length mirror and turned, spun and swayed, mugging at his reflection…

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I Do Not Hook Up

This is a powerful poem based on something that all women face at some point, in one way or another. A very strong message. Well done.

brookeandcompany

I said,
“I got a Tinder, I’m trying to keep an open mind”
He said,
“You mean open legs”

I don’t like when boys at parties insist on walking me home
I don’t like when I’m drunk walking home alone and I see
a guy on the opposite side of the street and I start to get
worried that he’ll notice that I’m drunk or that he’s drunk
and that he’ll cross over the pavement and
Rape Me
I realize this is probably irrational

My mother said,
“Your father cheated on me. We’re getting a divorce”
Two weeks later I thought,
“You hadn’t slept in his bedroom for years, what did you expect?”

I don’t like when boys at parties touch my waist and ask if I want a drink
I make my own damn drinks
I drink myself to unconsciousness, sometimes, and
I don’t like when I wake up and…

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When We are Together

It hit me hard
Exploding colours in my mind
And for a moment
The rest of the world did not exist.
There were only two
Encased in one another’s arms;
Our warm bodies
Pressed together, breathing as one.
It hurts to come down
And return to this reality once more:
That’s how your love feels.
I float away at your touch, on angelic wings.

Poetry 101: Right

If you, like me, miss Writing 201, then you might want to go to Mara Eastern’s blog and check out the Poetry 101 Rehab challenge. It’s weekly rather than daily, which will be useful for many people.

I’ll be posting my responses on Thursdays. This week’s prompt is ‘Right’. Here’s my contribution:


 Her Rights

What
Did she do
To you?

When
Did she ever say
That you are allowed
To tell her
What to do
With her body?

Have you forgotten
That women are
Your mothers
Your sisters
Your wives
And your daughters?

Why do you believe
You can shame her
For having sex
Or wearing
Whatever she wants?

She’s insulted
When you tell her
She’d be prettier if
She smiled
More often.

She’s offended
When you tell her
She does not deserve
To earn
As much as you.

She’s disgusted
When you tell her
She shouldn’t have worn
Those clothes
On that night.

Maybe
It’s time
You remembered
That these are her rights
And you need to shut up.