Long Protruding Poems
Long Protruding Poems. Below are the most popular long Protruding by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Protruding poems by poem length and keyword.
I take in her beauty thats so unlike anyone else, a flower in a field of weeds even though she would never see herself that way.
To her she’s not a flower, and when she’s in a good mood, when she actually loves herself on rare occasions, she believes she’s a seed that has yet to bloom.
But to her everyone else is too beautiful to be considered a mere weed-even in a metaphor.
When she’s standing in front of me, in her most natural form, it’s when she starts staring at her protruding hip bones and the gap between her thighs that’s just a little bit too prominent, the one I love because I love every ounce of her.
It’s when everything else she once deemed okay about herself becomes tainted with rage and disdain.
It’s when her whole life for that moment, becomes only her and the blade she hides out of shame, the one she knows all too well.
And when she loses the war with herself, I notice her pull out the blade, I scream, I cry. Just why, can’t she see herself like I see her? Why isn’t she the most beautiful girl she knows? I just don’t understand why.
Why was this ethereal being cursed with eyes so powerful and emotional and intense, yet so hating and angry on the inside? I continue to scream, but I’m paralyzed in a state of helplessness as she draws the blade close to her, and slits both of her perfect wrists clean open.
There’s nothing I can do as I watch her slump down to the ground, as I watch her once glowing and radiant body bleed out from two brand new cuts, two brand new scars that don’t take away her everlasting beauty, even in death.
I’m forced to watch, as her golden hair spreads out, into a sea of crimson blood that was just as enchanting as her.
Hold your tongue, tie it up tight,
for a loose tongue that strays in devious ways,
can slip and cut deep, too quick, right to bone.
It wags the dog, flaying in many ways failing.
Telltale tongues come in many forms:
A tongue forked splits and deceives.
A sweet tongue tempts the sweet tooth.
A slick tongue twists and charms the crowd,
Tongue in cheek, is a jovial jester in play.
A tongue twister, taunts and defies is suppleness.
A hidden tongue is what the stray cat got,
while waiting to pounce on tidbit poke.
A red tongue protruding betwixt clenched lips
can mean many things, in a ventriloquist vent.
A lighthearted tease, a flirty wink.
A way to focus, concentrate or consider.
A sign of doubt or embarrassment.
A quest to taste what's yet to come.
A glib tongue, so smooth and fleet,
can twist and intrude and entwine
in ears, mouths and other orifices.
A fiery tongue is much mightier than the sword,
reshapes the world with every word,
that wields truth, lies and deceit,
from the lashes the tongue whips into shape.
Ah! the tongue, out or in
tells such tattle tales,
in words it shapes, in tastes it quakes,
into crevices it silently sneaks right in.
So keep it wet, slimy, lithe and subtle
to come out and play, or be kept at bay
as needs arise for every occasion and situation.
In the frame of full moon hungry silhouette wolfs bark,
a grey castle on the mystique hill top looms in the dark.
Through the rusty steel gate a tall figure in black cloak
comes out as the creepy grips of the opaque night choke.
Arms stretched wide, he strides on air like a black bird,
as the Count did in Transylvania, so the people heard.
When the moon reaches the top of starless steely sky,
he stands at my door, while to stow the fear I vainly try.
Cold blue haze of the eerie night smears the ashen face,
before I try to run away I find myself in his chilling brace.
With wolf's red eyes glaring, fangs protruding bloody lip
to touch my jugular vein, he says, “your blood I will sip.
You will turn into vampire, in Dracula’s castle I will keep”.
Scared of imminent death I got up terrified from sleep,
frozen to the core in the middle of the Halloween night.
The alarming nightmare scene still haunts me with fright.
_______________
October 14, 2022
Rhyme checked at RhymeZone.com
Contest : 12-16 Lines Of A Scary Halloween Rhyme
Sponsored by : Tania Kitchin
Tumbling Into Leechdom
The Omo River Ethiopia has no roads or bridges there
It is my home of hope
There is no other way to live
Leeches were once everywhere within the Omo
Tributaries, brooks and streams attended them
Morning’s sun would glaze my eyes when I was young
Running with the muddied currents there
The rock along the centered way protruding on the surface
Destroyed my boat and fled as splintered pieces down the stream
Swirling their good-byes
Discarding me right there abandoned
From the shallows, fighting currents to find dry land
When I emerged, muddied, like some darkened creature
Firm terrain found me dripping wet with leeches clinging head to toe
This would be my new life story
My river found friends and I set out to see the cunning man
The village shaman medicine man
Who offered his daughter in exchange for them
I took trinkets and bottled goat milk instead
Finding the young girl too heavy for the road
These leeches are perfect for all the healings
Respiratory infections to demonic possession
Leech gathering is what I do
Along and in the Omo of Ethiopia
We have a tendency to focus on our flaws, despite it being what makes us human; what we despise is what one desires, and what we desire is what someone despises.
I felt this way for years; I still do- the perpetuous feeling that I’m horrendous.
When I look in my mirror, I don’t see my full lips, my long lashes, or my hourglass; I see my short legs, protruding stomach, and my eyebags.
Yet people with those flaws are beautiful- so why am I not?
The answer is that I am; I am beautiful, I am worthy, and I’m not horrendous- I simply haven’t been able to process my worth yet.
It seems that each passing year, I reflect on myself, making those negative remarks, rendering myself as unattractive.
Though, next year, I’ll look back on myself and realize how gorgeous I truly was; though it’s not that simple to prevent those negative feelings from pursuing.
Does beauty even exist, though?
It’s repeatedly changed over time, and it’s quite subjective, which has caused me to believe that true beauty doesn’t exist; it’s simply a perception.
I shouldn’t waste my time trying to ease the perceptions of others; I should follow my own, because short legs, protruding stomachs, and eyebags are beautiful; they’re only viewed in a negative way because society itself is ugly.
If I abide by every standard of others, I’ll only feel regret, for my happiness shall pulverize.
If I create myself to be someone who is healthy and who I love, my happiness shall thrive.
Though these insecurities will persist, even with the most attractive individuals- they’ll always haunt you, whether or not you believe in yourself.
So I dissected myself.
…
Carving every inch of me until my insides are out; but when I do so, my organs look the same as everyone else’s.
Bathing in perplexion until I realized; we’re all the same on the inside- and as I try to stuff my organs back inside of me, I remember what people say-
See, I’ve been told before, just like anyone else, that I’m ugly.
People take advantage of others' sensitivity in order to ease their insecurities; but they’re morons who don’t know what they’re talking about.
They try ridding of their “flaws” by projecting it on others, though those rigid thoughts will always remain inside.
But truth be told, we all have the same interior- and..
You’ll truly be happy if you stop caring about the perceptions of others.
It poured for a fortnight
The clouds floating like angels in the sky
Streams of rivulets on a downward turn
’Twas our turn to solve a mystery,me at nine
Of catching raindrops from an open sky.
With raincoat and gumboots on Sherlock Holmes
more than ready, as now I,with his mate Watson
a man’s best friend by his side.
Faces turned upwards towards the clouds
Eye shut and mouth wide open
Tongues hanging out not doing any talking.
Cool silver drops, falling into our traps
The laughter and barking now splashing our thoughts
Standing for hours on the curb
To solve the mystery of catching raindrops.
Watson now wagging his tail as mimicking me,stops.
The thrill of raindrops patting us
Sherlock and Watson doing a steller job
With stomachs now protruding
Our thirst now fulfilled
The mystery of catching raindrops, now stilled.
09.09.2020
Protruding pole in the middle
The top look like a keel that light
During the night in the midst of the bay
Your like a swan in the day time heralding
Its huge but gentle to look at its rarity
Seldom ordinary people has own you White
Now I see you move in smooth sailing
With girls and gents wearing sunglasses
The point of your richness and affluency
All eyes looking as you passed by with hope
That one day each has dock you in their dream
You swarm the sea with pride and with brevity
Careful pilot not to trouble the waves with rage
Because you're precious, rare but with worth
It's like a love that only longing for comfort
A pleasure, an adventure to the sea of life.
Thinking of girls in my life back then
Searching for beauty was no use
I'm sure one was from a horror movie
She possessed the appeal of a moose!
Promised I wouldn't mention names
But her first initial was Thelma
Had a huge wart on the tip of her nose
Gorgeous? What can I tell ya!
Let me explain 'bout that lovely schnoz
It was as long as from here to Tuesday
Protruding teeth, was missing a few
Just a little off white... good news eh!
Her eyes were kinda distracting too
Each looked in a different directions
Hair was stringy and different lengths
Blue lipstick... a very bad selection!
So all in all, I guess you might say
Not one of your ravishing beauties
Body odour like that of a koala
But as far as I could tell, no cooties!
Had some redeeming features though
She possessed a heart of pure gold
Would donate the shirt right off her back
Problem was it was smelly and old!
Sure could pick 'em way back when
Her daddy was worth a few million
So to me, Thelma was a raving beauty
Now my wife and I'm worth gazillions!
© Jack Ellison 2013
A Vixen's Lair
Her front room was a simple setting with
no arts of distractions but a purposed
barren white wall in a circular room.
Two simple chairs that sat opposite of
each other with a centered round table
and tea set-up with a plate of baked goods.
Three doors, the main front, the kitchen, and the
restroom, an arched curtained draped hallway that
passes a study hall and massage room.
A round Chinese designed doubled-door led
into her very own private bedroom,
and upon entry is her vanity.
There laid her jewel box of convictions,
From her silver and white Pearls of poisons,
To her diamonds of destructive deceit.
Her letter opener was a unique
Ruby handle and silvery snake-like
Razor double-edged, felt-covered carved case.
Her specially made shampoo and lotion
Echoes through the night and concocted in
The morning sun with chosen rare fresh herbs.
A fur-covered round bed draped with silk sheets
Surrounded by tall Chinese vases stuffed
with protruding pink feathered plumages.
Tall lamps, porcelain, compressed together
With gas controls having two settings of
High and very high, configured torches.
--a knock at the door...
--...tour of adults that are camera-ready having left their kids
with tour guide at the ice cream stand out in front.
2019 September 02
*3rd Place*
Write the Poem You Have Always Wanted to Write
~~Caren Krutsinger
Life?
If they told you, first day, when you were born
The first thing to understand is, you will die.
You’ll face a life of insecurities, disappointment
And lies. You’re going to struggle and have to fight
To receive the recognition of your abilities and
Probably, you’ll never reach your full potential
Or ever fulfill your dreams. Your heart will be
Broken and by that time it’s all too late
You’ll be full of regret and resentment for
The opportunities missed.
The knives protruding From your back
and your disappointing final net worth.
I for one, if able to decide, might have thought
At the age of three or four, having already suffered
Several of the above; to end it all.
But, a hand gripped on my shoulder and with
A hiss in my ear, someone said, ‘You are
Going to meet the woman who you can spend
Every waking moment with, and look forward
To every day. Share your hopes and dreams with
And know she is by your side, good, bad or ugly.
In other words, my future love.
I would remove the noose. Raise the blade from
My wrist and spit out the cyanide pill.
Which proves:
The slightest glimmer of hope, outweighs all
Of life’s potential misery, so celebrate the good news
Because they are nuggets of gold in the dust of life.
David Cox 02/05/2022