Hi everyone! I am Gee from Davao City, Philippines. I am a newborn in the Steemit community and I took the gratitude of posting my first entry: a poem.
Do not be afraid of my breasts nor the way it stood out on my chest because, my love, they need you.
If you’re a man or even a woman who wants to experience my breasts, then do so. You’ll crave for more because these breasts smell like freshly-baked bread, and they need you to seal that savory filling of saliva into its robust position.
They are huge, packed and effervescent.
So don’t be afraid, for these are considered my armors to stern looks and fancy stares of hungry men and crazy women.
They do not bite nor growl and scare you for these are my mighty evolution to womanhood.
My breasts need your hands to be molded just like the hands of an artist: moving, exploring, tempting.
Wait, is it just me?
Or is it also you, my love, who favored into our passions together, with the hope of opening my own gate and searching the paths across my mountains?
But please, don’t be afraid of my breasts.
They are innocent to the worldly possessions that even a sword cannot scratch nor stab nor tear because the sword would gladly forget its identity just to conquer these breasts.
We are persistent, because we have confirmed that if one suck, lick or beat, we do not feel hurt nor wounded for hours and months.
We have revealed that we can endure the ravenous massage and circular motions of a man’s hands: the collision of his hands and my breasts is a perfect panorama of enjoyment, of satisfaction into that infinite space.
Thus, we moan into an unending symphony; my breasts dancing to the rhythm of the most subtle hands and they hold them like a harmonica, widening and stretching into a moment of desire.
It’s the only gesture that only men can accomplish during a shameless invite.
My breasts are powerful and dominant.
They become the symbol of a cup bearing the greatest pleasure for men.
They become the fountain that holds the life of a newborn’s continued existence for months…
The white tears dripping from its brown earrings pierced into its center, filling the mouth of an infant to nutrition.
They are decorated with the purest color and its endless need to seduce completed what might have been an ordinary organ in my body.
That as old ages go by, despite the wrinkled breasts I attain and the sagging of its skin, my breasts have fulfilled the most significant symbol of a woman: the authority it carries.
For without these breasts, one can miss the beautiful experience of being a true man.
For without these breasts, one cannot stir pleasure and generation fails to survive.
For without these breasts, you have not lived long until today.
So my love, don’t be afraid of my breasts,
because they love you as much as I do.
(This was originally a spoken word piece and was written in celebration of strong and independent women in the world.)