H2o

 H2o

Pleasure without privilege.

A mattress, small and damp.

Double jointed legs rise in hopeless matrimony

Strange migrations…

Her lips burrow into mine.

“Beautiful!”
“Merciless!”
“Tongue!”

:She is in tears and she bites.
:My face jerks and wiggles.
:Her breasts dazzle my eyes.



…Twenty minutes.


Rob Goldstein (c) 2015 All Rights Reserved

Scrabble

Scrabble

It is the second coming of the third week of a torrid affair.

I languish in the sitting room flipping through the pages of Easy

Rider Magazine and listening for the scent of her hair…

There are murmurs of fertilizer and field hands.

I look down to see a giggling girl toss a naked

young man at a giant chain-smoking cigarette.

Such is my dilemma.


Rob Goldstein (c) 2015 All Rights Reserved

November’s Influential Woman Writer

J.D. Thompson

“I love to see a young girl go out and grab the world by the lapels. Life’s a bitch. You’ve got to go out and kick ass.

A few weeks ago, I made the decision to regularly post pieces highlighting influential women authors in history. I feel very strongly about sharing these stories with you because in the end, we as women are the key to our own advancement. We have the ability to reshape the status quo. It’s my belief that by letting ourselves be inspired by the people who built the foundation that raised us out of the trenches as a gender we will continue to strive for equality. These aren’t meant to be biographical posts; if you wish to read the person’s short life description you can refer to Wikipedia. My goal is simply to share these writers with you and hope that it peaks your interest enough…

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Tears of blood

arwenaragornstar

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I heard their screams
I saw them bleed
life ripped out of them
brutally and without mercy
their peace shattered
without heed or warning
all in the name of hatred
and crazy ideology
My people
My country
I saw the face of Liberty
like me,
she was weeping
tears of blood
as her children
were being murdered
———————————
Le glas sonna
mon cœur se brisa
Je vis le visage de la Liberté
qui, comme moi,
pleurait des larmes de sang
alors qu’on assassinait ses enfants

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