P
Pervy_Sage
Guest
awe! You’re gonna make me blush. I’m out of practice and know it, but thank you both.
Any theatre in your background? Your voice strikes me as one who’s done some.
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awe! You’re gonna make me blush. I’m out of practice and know it, but thank you both.
awe! You’re gonna make me blush. I’m out of practice and know it, but thank you both.
Any theatre in your background? Your voice strikes me as one who’s done some.
Well shit... If that's you out of practice, I'd hate to know what you would call my situation lol I could make crows fly hahaha
Yes. Back in my youth, I was in many musicals and classic plays. Funny you hear it. I’m certainly not a classic soprano, but more lead alto - when the push comes, I can get to the Mariah Carey notes, though.
I’m sure you’re better than you think. I haven’t sang in front of people (except at work) in so long... *sigh*
Yeah, I hear it. I’m a classically trained tenor and have done theatre too. Your voice has that quality. And I also heard the potential in your voice to get up there.
I’ve heard your speaking voice, but not you singing... I think you have some work to do. *wink*
I’ve got you covered. Just you waiiiiiit. Just you waaaaaaaiiitttt.
I am hoping that is a Hamilton lyric reference. I would love to hear you sing.
I almost did. Lol. I came sooo close!
This is me.
No bells and whistles,
Or extras,
Just a lover
In pieces
Held together with knowledge.
This is me.
No fake and airbrushed lines,
Or tight abs,
Just a mother
Trying not to cry
In front of her child.
This is me.
No hiding the imperfections,
Or obvious flaws,
Just a little girl
Inside herself
Begging to be held.
This is me.
No running from reality,
Or quickening this,
Just someone who needs
More than anything
To be heard.
This is me.
Not begging for answers,
Or covering the pain,
Just a soul
Who wants to weep
For our loss.
This is me.
Not asking for,
Or pining for anything
From anyone,
Just a person
Needing to feel the weight
Before I can think about moving on.
I love the imagery. Nice ropework as always, you are an artist in multiple media. Thank you for sharing that.
Don’t keep to shadows,
Cross every finger
And dot each freckle,
Always liked your rope work. Pleased you’ve kept it up.
Her hands dig in,
Running circles of thumbs,
Elbows into whining muscles
Of hips, thighs, back, shoulders, neck,
That cause labored breath.
“You feel more stressed than normal.”
A soft pop sensation,
As a tight knot
Allows a audible addition
To the staccato back-and-forth
That can’t be more.
“I am.”
And this is why I admire your grasp of describing moments in few words.
Can you tell it took me the last hour to write that because I changed the word tense twice?
Moochie, you sound, ready to think about the future? Good.This was some of the most difficult ties I’ve done. Not because of the physical level or intricacies, but instead, because of the unexpected emotions that poured out of me.
I need new rope.
Send me pretty tutorials or pictures. I like to recreate and adapt things.
This was a tutorial for the cleopatra weave harness. It has a collar weave too, but I didn’t have enough rope and I also... well...
Hope never dies.
This was a first... since... and I couldn’t stay in it long, but I imagine it will slowly get easier and help me feel more myself. Time.
It drips as I move the dishes through
Soft splashes
Of soapy water,
The scratch of the sponge
Against the ceramic,
And there’s a drip of a faucet that is broken.
I try not to think,
Allow my mind to wander
To thoughts of if you were mine again,
Or if the world was different
As I remove a glass from suds,
And there’s a drip of the faucet that is broken.
There’s always this feeling
That everything is wrong,
Or my insides might implode with flames
That would engulf me as I stand
An inferno blazing in front of this sink,
And there’s a drip of the faucet that is broken.
On the outside
There’s nothing new
To anyone who doesn’t know,
So I convince myself
It is normal to cry into dishwater -
And there’s a drip of the faucet that is broken.
It drips as I move the dishes through
Soft splashes
Of soapy water,
The scratch of the sponge
Against the ceramic,
And there’s a drip of a faucet that is broken.
I try not to think,
Allow my mind to wander
To thoughts of if you were mine again,
Or if the world was different
As I remove a glass from suds,
And there’s a drip of the faucet that is broken.
There’s always this feeling
That everything is wrong,
Or my insides might implode with flames
That would engulf me as I stand
An inferno blazing in front of this sink,
And there’s a drip of the faucet that is broken.
On the outside
There’s nothing new
To anyone who doesn’t know,
So I convince myself
It is normal to cry into dishwater -
And there’s a drip of the faucet that is broken.
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