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I'm Not a Stalker

I'm Not a Stalker

I'm not a stalker.

 
I'm not a stalker,
But boy, what I wouldn't give for a piece of that ass!
It's teasing me, and pleasing me
Knowing it won't be mine,
Sick thoughts enter my mind.
I dream of rubbing her soft skin,
My nostrils blessed by the heavenly scent
I get closer and closer every time
Then she turns the corner
And she's gone.

I'm not a stalker,
But each time she turns the corner
I am closer
One day I'll be next to her
One day I'll hear her breathing
One day I'll hear her pulling out mace
One day I'll be touching her face.

I'm not a stalker,
Because she hasn't noticed me
She walks right by my house all the time
And she doesn't notice me
When she doesn't go to school
I notice
When I don't go to school
I watch that sweet ass rock back and forth
In front of my house

So don't call me a stalker,
Call me Chris.
 
+ 38
Based on 20 votes
Latest Review
 
  • makes me feel wierd
    Posted Aug 16, 2009
    +2
    reading this, i'm really thrown back to high school because i used to objectify young women with frequently. so there, it throws me back, takes me otu of my seat and places me somewhere else. that much is good. i think the rhyming is also amusing, it reminds me of The Joker somewhat, although ... (read more)
Recent Comments
 
  • Oct 24, 2009
    sorry love, but thats pretty much a stalker lol. just kidding.
  • Sep 27, 2009
    Oh snap I forgot about this poem lol. Thanks for the criticism guys.
  • Aug 30, 2009
    I like it, love
  • Oct 9, 2008
    This poem sounds similar to the lyrics of Baby Got Back.
Contact  |  Website
  • Date Added
    • Oct 4, 2008 at 3:58 PM
  • Article Type
    • Opinion
  • Genres
    • Humor, Poetry
  • Topics
    • Romance
  • Overall Statistics
    • 727 Views
    • 20 Votes
    • Favorited by 2 Users
  • Site Rankings
    • #32 for Score
    • #18 for Popularity
    • #19 for Favorites
  • Honors Received
    • Featured Article (8/17/09)
 
Newest Addition
March 20, 2010
 
I rather thought she now stood further away from her end of the counter. In her mind I was no doubt shedding ugly on her desk, she had to get further away. Sneaking a peek at my zits (I'm sure she did), she hands me my mail. The word international flashes in the air: I get international mail and your job is to hand it over. Thankyou. Make-up from overseas.

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