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Some critics say I compose good poems, Others regard my work as nonsense My poems can interest or bore you It depends on how you view the words I write about the past and the present
Meus olhos, meu coração e minha alma Cadê a mulher bonita, minha esposa O que eu amo, aquele que eu amo tanto Mais do que o vento da primavera
I grew up calling my vagina a 'chhee-chhee' ('Chee' being a Hindi interjection for 'disgust') Honestly,my vagina wasn't that bad a stuff, But,my mum taught me that, So,it got to be correct
At five, when I fell off my bicycle for the first time and bled, my mum leapt in to pick me up and ,"Honey!”, she said, “You know why Superman has a cape that is red?"
Here we are, Sitting here, fingers intertwined, purple ribbon around your neck, dull knife at my throat. Can we keep up this deadly game? Playing around, with our emotions,
GLACIERS Blue veins run up her fingersjust like those blue coalsthat run up her cigarettes and like the glaciers that yearn to breakfree from one anotheralong the coast of some frozen country
His hand runs down my thigh. My prayers have been answered. I bow before Him, longing to taste ambrosia and sin. I beg before Him, longing to be let in. He smiles that godly smile,
I remember when she was annoying. It seemed she found every little thing to do, just to get on my nerves.