Bare Rebellion

Weird Poetry

*** Revised ***


No foundation or blush;

No mascara or liner or eye shadow;

No fake lashes or coloured contact lenses;

No synthetic lips… just these;

No injections;

No surgery;

No permanent anything because it’s all finite anyway;

Fading brows… but they’re still all mine for now;

I’m hiding behind an almost anonymizing filter

And undyed natural hair,

But this is me —

Kinda bare

Or as bare as I can be.

*** Sometimes I think about lash lifts and eyebrow pencils, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I love mascara and red lipstick, and that’s all. ***


Erotic Poetry

I don’t like to show the whole;

So I show the fragments instead.

I control the angle,

The body part(s) on display,

The composition,

The filter… if I use one at all–

And I might,

If my insecurity is showing.

I have days,

Too many to count,

When I hate myself wholeheartedly…

Every hair…

Every blemish…

Every roll…

Every stretchmark…

Every fucking centimetre…

And I feel that it would be better

If I actually were only the fragments I choose to show,

Rather than the disappointing whole.

It’s just as well–

I can never quite capture the all of me anyway

She is elusive and blurry,

And doesn’t stand still

Long enough to be caught.

Self-love is a constant struggle of Sisyphus… pushing that motherfucking dung ball up a hill, then, after my hands and feet lose purchase, watching it roll the fuck back down… again….

Will I ever feel good enough for me?


I will.

And it will continue to be a battle.

If it weren’t, there would be

No lessons

And no growth.

So I bear the shards of the pain and pleasure of self-actualization

In equal measure.

With grinding teeth

And gasping breaths

And tears that brand my cheeks

In bloody streaks,

I bear the fragments

And the whole of me.


Maestro, Muse, Masterpiece

Erotic Poetry, Weird Poetry

Each day is a waiting canvas

Upon which I enact the roles

Of Maestro, Muse and Masterpiece,

All three

At once.

The Maestro in his masculine power,

All dynamism and fire,

All palette, paintbrush and brush stroke,

Becomes catalyzed by the divine whisperings and Aeolian caresses

Gifted by the Muse,

Who bleeds feminine enigma and goddess nectar

Down his ear canal,

Into his blood stream,

To the core of his galactic soul,

All over their altar of shared creation.

Together they meld and melt into the other and the aether

And bring forth a masterpiece

Of divine eternal union




And infinite

In its sublime grandeur.

All of this

Inside of Me.


More Striped Shorts


I don’t wear the same shorts every day, I promise. I just took a tonne of photos one morning… and I actually like most of them, hence why you are (hopefully) enjoying a third post with the same striped shorts.

I don’t mean to sound full of myself, but I really like seeing the oblique muscles on my abs (or flab before the ab). In all honesty, the only reason I have any muscle tone on my abs is due to masturbation. I kid you not. Sometimes it’s a full body work out with a focus on core strength.

Titty flash. Big surprise there.

Happy Tuesday!



Erotic Poetry

I scribbled this masturbatory poem almost 2 years ago and nearly forgot about it. I doctored it a bit as time away from one’s own written word demands revision. I am sure I could have been figurative in my approach… but I am not feeling particularly subtle or figurative today.

Without further ado….

The bed below my ass gives every time I roll my hips down into it.

My glistening nodule, buried beneath fluttering folds of juicy wet flesh, tingles with every thrust upward.

My fingers quiver with want as they claw my inner thighs, leaving wanton red scrapes, almost breaking the skin.

My index and middle fingers form an inverted ‘V’ over my vulva, pinching and releasing my outer lips until my clitoris swells and hardens.

Fingers circling that sweet pearl of ecstacy like bees around the honey pot.

It will only take minutes at this point until I wholly unravel, burst into flames and leave this confining dimension for a few fleeting moments of breathless eternity.


In the Shadows


It is now time to look at what has always been obscured, what has always been blurred, ignored, brushed aside, overlooked, and shamed into oblivion. See what you have been leaving out of the picture.

Don’t just explore the obvious; look beyond to what is not immediately apparent, and in that space, you will find your healing.

❤xoxoxo The Empress xoxoxo❤

Boobs in the Snow… on New Year’s Day


I woke up this morning with one thought in my head: today I am putting my boobs in the snow. So I strapped on my snowshoes and took to the trail.**Of course, I had coffee first. Then sex. Then a shower. A long hot one.I needed the right canvas: an inclined surface with a fresh coat of snow. Without an incline, I could fall arse over teakettle trying (failing) to keep my balance… hovering with my tits out over the snow.Why not play a bit beforehand… though. Hehe.Then I found my canvas on the side of the trail. Yes.So I present the imprint of my tits in the snow on New Year’s day. You’re welcome.Happy New Year! All the best in 2019!

My Lips

Erotic Poetry

Certain family members always comment on my lips.

“You have your cousin Carol’s lips”, they would say.

“They are thin.”

So I always thought my lips were thin, because that is what I was told….

Two barely pink lines… that apparently belong to someone else.

But I think they are wrong about MY lips.

Not only do they belong to me, but they are kinda juicy and delicious. Maybe they aren’t very plump or pouty, but they are sumptuous and they are MINE.