Hello gorgeous

My definition of beauty was not me
Now everytime I look in the mirror, I like what I see

Wicked Soul

He carelessly leaves remnants of his cologne every where
Making me turn around expecting to see him when I know he won't be there.
He doesn't realise how wet my panties get everytime he looks at me with those fuck me eyes, those eat me lips.
It's irresponsible of him to have those wide hands and those veined forearms. Those veins that lay there, bulging over muscle; teasing me into wondering how well they'll hold me up when I climb on top.
This wicked soul has a grip on my imagination and he doesn't know; doesn't care. All he cares about is getting me to free him; to give him permission to ignite my daydreams. 
"Fuck you," he says to me. Frustrated, feeling trapped because I won't let him touch me where I crave for him to touch me.
But I can't give in. I can't fuck another's, so yeah, fuck me.

"It's not you, it's me"

Truer words have never been spoken

Battle Royale 2

Are we sure about him, Valentina?" Virginia asks, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Oh he's perfect! I put him through some rigorous testing and he came out with flying colours," Valentina beams.

Briana rolls her eyes. "By that she means she asked him if he prefers fufu or rice and he said  'fufu' ".

"Plus, he has an appetite for deep sea diving," Valentina winks.

"Aww, we're a match made in heaven," swoons Virginia.

Briana rolls her eyes for show but the others know she's secretly delighted too; he laughs at her mildly clever jokes afterall.

Ordinary love

I want to wake up late to your smile
Make love to you and cuddle for a while
Get up to do mundane things together
Like cook, and run errands and talk about the weather
I want to take a walk with you at dusk
Hold hands and smell the evening musk
Come to bed and see a movie,
Talk and laugh and end up smooching
Make sweet love and fall asleep
Then wake up and just repeat

Marooned

It’s the promise of mental forays into territories ignored;
that has me feeling excited that I took this call;
lets question the answers to the x+y’s of our tired lives;
let’s mock the quo like it doesn’t affect our strife
let’s pretend like we’re invictus and reality won’t evict us
from our high horses, while we sing along to bands that don’t even exist yet,
and make music of our own tapping our feet to the beat
and swearing that’s what music ought to be.
We’ll pant to that chant that’s made more rounds around the sun
than songs have been sung
and convince ourselves that we heard it in a way not understood by others
because ours is a land unchartered.
We’ll lie to ourselves that our ideas are grand,
scheming our next revolutionary thought on what’s fickle because it’s all fickle; what’s under the sun;
they flicker, bloom and die, we all die
so while we can, we’ll stay locked up in your room
where your maroon walls are all we see when we bother to come up for air,
we’ll leave the world out there
on your doorstep,
fighting to invade our space with the rudeness of reality’s wet blanket,
but it’ll take only our sunsets
to expressly relieve us from these four walls of our non-confinement.

Happy

I want to be happy
but happy doesn't want to be me.