BlueWolf007

Like the smokey breath that falls from your lips, I find myself shifting, swirling at your word a spoken. As I may drift about without any sight to guide; I feel bent, a bit twisted but quite far from broken. I wish for more and beg for the end, caught in a dismay- trouble a brew within my guilt ridden mind. I find my hands reaching for your succulent looking flesh, only to meet ice. Always seems a gamble with your kind. Your eyes stare beyond me- to a cold, dark world. I find myself looking as if I too could possibly find your Hell. As I speak your name, my lips lost in its beauty and urgency, I slowly forget who I am- who I was; as if

Why is it okay for a man to go topless in public, but not a woman? A non-pregnant womans breasts do not lactate and are not reproductive organs, therefore are no different than any mans chest. Sexism. Why is it handicap people are more likely to keep their careers, jobs or educations (when they need obvious accommodations) than a healthy pregnant woman? Sexism. Why is it when a man or child is raped they are NEVER asked if they were "drinking" "doing drugs" "wearing provocative clothes" "flirting" or if they "climaxed" during said rape, but women almost always are? Sexism. Why is it when a guy bangs multiple girls he is deemed a "stud" an

What more can I say other than what I have posted beneath my deviant ID? Maybe someone actually cares to read what sad little words I have to push off onto this poor, unsuspecting site. Well, shall we begin? Since the very moment I could pick up a crayon or pencil I have been scribbling away at paper vigorously hoping that what I pictured, in my over imaginative mind, will appear on the dull, white paper I so desperately sketch upon. Despite my futile attempts, I nearly never even come close to what I had hoped for. With tears welling in my eyes and hate boiling in my heart, I crumpled countless pieces of paper and tossed them away hoping