Nematoda Posted May 24, 2009 there she is sitting at the back of the room. no lipstick, make up ,no pretty dress. her foorhead so smooth, she has never known stress. her eyes so deep, they grab your chest. you feel their squeeze, you wish for relieve. eyes turn a way in panic haste. you think to yourself what a waste. you wish she would flaunt them like the rest. how you'd love to see her naked chest. to feel her curves, to hold her waist. her inner pride has no trace. still it shines trhough her face. she is more rare than any golden vase. her warmth and beauty can't be replaced. she doesnt need a tightening jean. she will never lower herself to fit in. you can dip her in dirt, and she will still be clean. she's the brain behind the somali, machine. that's why I bow to my somalian queen. Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
