02-11-2014, 02:30 PM
Free-Ranging Allowed, Creative Responses Encouraged
I realize this is a mockery of a poem and more like me transcribing spoken word, but feel free to respond in whatever fashion you'd like.
He's talking about doing
chores on his vacation while growing up.
Once every year he'd find himself in Victoria,
trimming bushes and fixing his mother's
house. I say I'd have loved that house over my
vacations, worse than chores because
planning them took weeks, arguments exploded
in long car rides down to Virginia in 95 degree
weather, no air conditioner working because
the Mercedes overheated. The motels were
always shitty and I'd spend more time in the
chlorinated pools than the beach,
because the pools were clean and lacked seaweed,
or jellyfish. I told him he's privileged to have had
it and he turns away, "no, no, no, no,
don't say that." He goes on about
why his life was tough and I try to sympathize
but all I can think about are his drawstring curls
formed by incessant heat from the dryer.
All I can think is how I like to sit in the dip
his stomach makes when he's lying on his back
and how I can feel his bones digging into
my ass after a while. I think about how he's
young and complains a lot,
and how now he gloats about the dick
I convinced him was big. Except he says it
in front of friends; makes me quiet.
Makes me think I should laud over
how tight my pussy is.
He's talking about doing
chores on his vacation while growing up.
Once every year he'd find himself in Victoria,
trimming bushes and fixing his mother's
house. I say I'd have loved that house over my
vacations, worse than chores because
planning took weeks, arguments exploded
in long car rides down to Virginia in 95 degree
weather, no air conditioner working because
the Mercedes overheated. The motels were
always shitty and I'd spend more time in
chlorinated pools than the ocean,
because pools were clean and lacked seaweed,
or jellyfish. I told him he's privileged to have had
it and he turns away, "no, no, no, no,
don't say that." He goes on about
why his life was tough and I try to sympathize
but all I can think about are his drawstring curls
formed by incessant heat from the dryer.
All I can think is how I like to sit in the dip
his stomach makes when he's lying on his back
and how I can feel his bones digging into
my ass after a while. I think about how he's
young and complains a lot,
and how now he gloats about the dick
I convinced him was big. Except he says it
in front of friends; makes me quiet.
Makes me think I should brag
how tight my pussy is.
I realize this is a mockery of a poem and more like me transcribing spoken word, but feel free to respond in whatever fashion you'd like.
He's talking about doing
chores on his vacation while growing up.
Once every year he'd find himself in Victoria,
trimming bushes and fixing his mother's
house. I say I'd have loved that house over my
vacations, worse than chores because
planning them took weeks, arguments exploded
in long car rides down to Virginia in 95 degree
weather, no air conditioner working because
the Mercedes overheated. The motels were
always shitty and I'd spend more time in the
chlorinated pools than the beach,
because the pools were clean and lacked seaweed,
or jellyfish. I told him he's privileged to have had
it and he turns away, "no, no, no, no,
don't say that." He goes on about
why his life was tough and I try to sympathize
but all I can think about are his drawstring curls
formed by incessant heat from the dryer.
All I can think is how I like to sit in the dip
his stomach makes when he's lying on his back
and how I can feel his bones digging into
my ass after a while. I think about how he's
young and complains a lot,
and how now he gloats about the dick
I convinced him was big. Except he says it
in front of friends; makes me quiet.
Makes me think I should laud over
how tight my pussy is.
He's talking about doing
chores on his vacation while growing up.
Once every year he'd find himself in Victoria,
trimming bushes and fixing his mother's
house. I say I'd have loved that house over my
vacations, worse than chores because
planning took weeks, arguments exploded
in long car rides down to Virginia in 95 degree
weather, no air conditioner working because
the Mercedes overheated. The motels were
always shitty and I'd spend more time in
chlorinated pools than the ocean,
because pools were clean and lacked seaweed,
or jellyfish. I told him he's privileged to have had
it and he turns away, "no, no, no, no,
don't say that." He goes on about
why his life was tough and I try to sympathize
but all I can think about are his drawstring curls
formed by incessant heat from the dryer.
All I can think is how I like to sit in the dip
his stomach makes when he's lying on his back
and how I can feel his bones digging into
my ass after a while. I think about how he's
young and complains a lot,
and how now he gloats about the dick
I convinced him was big. Except he says it
in front of friends; makes me quiet.
Makes me think I should brag
how tight my pussy is.
I'll be there in a minute.