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The Goddess Within

The envy of many

By Colleen Millsteed Published 6 months ago 1 min read
8
Image courtesy of Pixabay

As the wind whistles a dixie tune in her ear,

A smile graces her pretty pink lips,

Her eyes twinkle in the ecstasy of delight,

As she saunters the hallway swinging those luscious hips.

**

Her head is held high in pride,

Knowing she’s a glorious and graceful sight,

Her long legs stretch for miles,

And the stiletto heels impart promises of the night.

**

Her luscious golden locks swing behind her,

Fluttering tauntingly in the breeze,

One glance in her direction has men stumbling,

Enough to cause a brain or two to freeze.

**

She dances the hallway to a song only she can hear,

Leaving a click clacking staccato in her wake,

She is made up of sin and wet dreams,

And the ability to seriously shake and break.

**

She leaves sunshine following in her glory,

And torrid rain on those who squander,

The definition of a scowl is written upon her name,

Discarding her prejudices within her wander.

**

She’s grown into her worth slowly,

But that doesn’t make her the unencumbered fool,

Seldom staying long enough to squash her spirit,

Dragging behind those in their stupor and drool.

**

Her skin glows in health and silkiness,

Begging fingers to slide and caress,

There’s a method in her madness,

As she gets many to unknowingly confess.

**

Tomorrow beckons her forward in a silent order,

Insisting the trash is left in the past,

Excitement fills her heart with anticipation,

Knowing she’s a winner — she’ll never end this race last!

Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.

If you enjoy this piece, you may enjoy this one too.

Please visit my website if you'd like more information on my newly published book, Battle Angel : The Ultimate She Warrior.

Originally published on Medium

inspirational
8

About the Creator

Colleen Millsteed

My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.

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Comments (4)

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  • Mariann Carroll6 months ago

    Beautiful like a blooming flower

  • Diane Mary Markey6 months ago

    WOW, many men she tempts, yes. Well written once again, Diane.

  • Oooo, she seems like an elegant badass! Loved your poem so much my friend!

  • What a marvelous self-portrait, Colleen! Could words more true e'er be spoken?

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