viva la mixed girl’s Neighborhood

he's in it for the chase
of the matter
--not because i matter
he's in it for the smile
i cause to creep upon his face
onto his light pink lips
i've always had this urge to kiss, kiss
and he's in it for the glow
in knowing i can't get enough of him
through the blush i still attempt to hide in
(because i have the hardest time hiding it)
but deep down inside,
we both know--he'll never give in
or succumb to what i could give him
because his eyes, they don't rely
on just how lovely this prize is
but on what a thrill it is
of somehow, someway,
getting his way
through my door
... and nothing else,
nothing more.

--

found this poem in another journal of mine -- i wrote it back in january, but reading it all over again brings those feelings back to mind, or should i say heart?

My idea didn't translate too well into illustration, but I tried.

Square One

2 comments

Maybe I'll attempt something different tomorrow.

Have you joined it? I normally don't join those social networks (anymore!) but this is fun

Sign in :D

A cupcake a day!

5 comments

Unfortunately, this would also make me a fatty. =P But it would be sure as hell hard to resist!

I said I do but I really don't Because it's you that I really want & we can do what you really want Girl we grown & if he ain't gon treat you right Then I ain't gon treat you wrong That's my word & she done heard so many lies She don't know what's true or not Shawty like a valet service I swear she been through a lot But I put her car in park
& never let her cry alone I listen to her heart beat Because it plays my favorite song.

Show us a childhood hero.
Subitted by Eric's Page.

when my fingers speak to the words of the small of your back, i find this to be my favorite type of discussion. punctuated with kisses on my collarbone. legs, bodies positioning into an ellipses of things better off unspoken. resulting in question marked eyes turning into exclamation marks of surprise and exhaustion at the same time, ending this hour long run-on sentence with the most comfortable period of a satisfied smile. afterwards, we whisper secretly of things that don't need to be ever said (but should be known anyway), letting them somehow slip in between the parenthesis of our mouths as they travel line by line from our doubled-over hearts into our burning ears. and though the writing in this room seems to be unclear, there is one thing that is clear: it is a moment so defining, it could not be defined.

and all i really know from this, and in terms of you and me, it's that -- i would never want there to ever be a last line.

<3

Hi guys! I've been busy lately, no time to update (I said I was going to try to get back into this...) School, work, my website, and my friends are hogging all my attention. Anyway I hope you all have a great weekend! God bless <3

I'll try to do more of a picture/real post soon.

We live in a modern society. Husbands and wives don't
grow on trees, like in the old days. So where
does one find love? When you're sixteen it's easy,
like being unleashed with a credit card
in a department store of kisses. There's the first kiss.
The sloppy kiss. The peck.
The sympathy kiss. The backseat smooch. The we
shouldn't be doing this kiss. The but your lips
taste so good kiss. The bury me in an avalanche of tingles kiss.
The I wish you'd quit smoking kiss.
The I accept your apology, but you make me really mad
sometimes kiss. The I know
your tongue like the back of my hand kiss. As you get
older, kisses become scarce. You'll be driving
home and see a damaged kiss on the side of the road,
with its purple thumb out. If you
were younger, you'd pull over, slide open the mouth's
red door just to see how it fits. Oh where
does one find love? If you rub two glances, you get a smile.
Rub two smiles, you get a warm feeling.
Rub two warm feelings and presto-you have a kiss.
Now what? Don't invite the kiss over
and answer the door in your underwear. It'll get suspicious
and stare at your toes. Don't water the kiss with whisky. It'll turn bright pink and explode into a thousand luscious splinters,
but in the morning it'll be ashamed and sneak out of
your body without saying good-bye,
and you'll remember that kiss forever by all the little cuts it left
on the inside of your mouth. You must
nurture the kiss. Turn out the lights. Notice how it
illuminates the room. Hold it to your chest
and wonder if the sand inside hourglasses comes from a
special beach. Place it on the tongue's pillow,
then look up the first recorded kiss in an encyclopedia: beneath
a Babylonian olive tree in 1200 B.C.
But one kiss levitates above all the others. The
intersection of function and desire. The I do kiss.
The I'll love you through a brick wall kiss.
Even when I'm dead, I'll swim through the Earth,
like a mermaid of the soil, just to be next to your bones.

 

-Jeffrey McDaniel

if we are anything at all,

we are drinks and more drinks

and sweet, sweet drunkeness

by means of your whiskey, jack and coke

and my fancy cocktails in fancy shiny glasses

touching the center of our mouths,

we are touching, touching

of the most discreet kind

underneath tables, bars and slip-on dresses

(making us what people might think

unbelievable dysfunctional messes)

we are shadowy figures of the night

in fifty dollar darkened cabs

underlying with full intentions

of engaging in backseat trysts

with what could only be our wandering lips

that keep accidentally meeting

with open mouth kisses

while your hand, somehow, keeps slipping

because i let it

only to leave me wanting more

and outside of all of that

we are a push and pull

and a further push push away

from what we might really want

to happen between us

and we are these misinterpreted words

and a lack of communication

and incredibly high walls

with no interest in climbing them at all

but yet we still can't help but

flirt with the idea

of you and me

or you in me

and you, buying me, my next drink.