I’m grateful that you will let me walk, But I’m sad that you won’t let me talk. I know what I do isn’t your thing. I’m just upset you won’t let me sing. My voice is imprisoned and cannot be heard, ‘Cause you won’t hear one clear word. Muffled moans, muffled moans. That’s all you ever wanna hear. Muffled moans, muffled moans. You don’t want my words to be clear. You won’t even let me whisper Something to your ear. Muffled moans, muffled moans. It makes me wanna shed a tear. Just let me shed some tears. You’re lucky that I’m that submissive. You’re lucky that I’m so permissive. I wanted just every now and then To clearly speak and sing. Just listen. It is just not fair to not clearly be heard. I’ll never have one clear word. Muffled moans, muffled moans. That’s all you ever wanna hear. Muffled moans, muffled moans. You don’t want my words to be clear. You won’t even let me whisper Something to your ear. Muffled moans, muffled moans. It makes me wanna shed a tear. Just let me shed
Norse Gods Cower at my Thunder Thighs. by kissysaltcoatedangel, literature
Literature
Norse Gods Cower at my Thunder Thighs.
I find it hilarious how we tag our body as if this life was just a temporary morgue,
(one between the never present now and the tomorrow that never comes.)
As if we could lump the flesh and fat and blood and rage that courses through us
with a simple demeaning idea; Thunder Thighs.
How dare "they" dissolve the potency of thunder into the
smacking sound that thighs sometimes make in summer heat.
Does the moistness that rubs between them make you uncomfortable?
Well, it is the muffled screaming of the clouds that shatter into lightning!
They're big and filled to the rim with cream like eclairs.
Norse gods cower at their mightiness.
So sta