Your scent is still on me after I shower. I can still taste your pleasure on my lips. I smile every time my tongue passes over them. I catch your scent In the air, your soft moans still echoing through my ears. I close my eyes and I see your body squirming in pleasure as my mouth sends you to…
1. If she can’t sleep, a bedtime story is needed. If she CAN sleep..well a bedtime story is still always appreciated 2. When it’s time to tuck her in, make sure there are no monsters under the bed, or in the closet 3. If she hurts herself, kiss it better quick! 4. If…
Okay but if you don’t think Willemijn Verkaik is talented I need to have sit-down heart to heart with you.
This woman has performed Wicked in three different languages and in four different countries. This recording right here? It’s live.She’s effortlessly shifting from German, Dutch, and English and back again. First by verses, and then with every phrase. I may not be a professional, but I’m pretty damn sure that the language you’re singing in changes the way you need to sing.
As a foreign language student I’m in awe of that. Totally in awe.
And then we need to talk about that perfect voice. Never in my life have I heard someone sing so beautifully. This woman’s voice is indescribable. Her voice soars. I don’t know enough about singing to give her the credit she deserves, but she deserves it all.
Linguistically and vocally (don’t even get me started on her acting or how wonderfully she treats her fans) this woman is perfection.
“have you considered that maybe i am not pleasant?
maybe i wear lipstick so that
you will see my pretty pink mouth
wrapping around a coffee cup lid
and be distracted enough not to notice
that i am intelligent and powerful;
maybe i draw my brows into high arches
so you will look at my unimpressed skepticism
and overlook my spiteful glare
as a trick of my silly, girlish routine.
maybe i wear my heels so high and thin
so that i grasp your attention with the sway of my hips
as i listen to the click-clack-click against the floor
and know that if you should try to overpower me
i walk on sharpened knives.
maybe when i laugh at your worthless jokes
i am really baring my fangs
waiting patiently for the day
that i sink them into your neck.
i am not made of porcelain pleasantries;
you will find that these things are my armor
to keep you at a distance
so you do not step on me and shatter
my fragile control.
i am not a husk — i am not wilting.
i am turning my head
so that the fire blazing through my eyes
does not catch on the accelerant of your sweaty palms
and burn your bones to dust.
i am not your pretty girl;
i am a fury, a faerie, a phoenix —
a forest of werewolves and wendigos
that will carve out your chest
so that the next time i paint my pretty pink lips
i will taste the copper tang of your dying breaths.”—R.K., I Am The Wolf Only Barely Contained (via thenemeton)