fear

Curves

~ ~M ~ 49 Comments

Curves… what can I say?
I think mine have all come to stay.

Some of them are nice, others appalling,
but the ones who love me still consider me darling.

I think my best curves are the ones on display,
but even those seem to frighten some away.

Are people jealous or just in fear?
I’m just glad my curves will probably never disappear.

I think the best part of being curvy,
is using those curves when the guys get pervy.

Flaunting can be so much fun
especially when the taunting makes them come undone.

I think everyone should consider the benefits of curves,
even if they do sometimes get on your nerves.

A squishy body is something to be adored,
and if you marry a curvy woman, you’ll never be bored.

© 2025 Michelle Cook

Photo generated with AI

The worrywart

~ ~M ~ 38 Comments

Worried about the future
Worried about the past
The worrywart’s worries
Make him such an outcast

He dwells incessantly
On things that bring demise
Every potential threat becomes
Something to analyze

The rest of the world just goes on
Rolling their logical eyes
As the worrywart frets
Becoming panicky and paralyzed

It’s a sight the regulars can’t handle
A disgrace to the sensible ones
But the worrywart still worries
Pleading for help from anyone

And then the worries start to spread
Like a disease that infects the mind
Although the worrier means no harm
The repercussions are still unkind

Then more worrywarts abound
Born of dread and social fear
And life becomes a disastrous mess
As the worries fill every ear

From coast to coast and sea to sea
The endless cycle spreads
And now we’re all just worriers
Wishing we were dead

© 2023 Michelle Cook

*The drawing is my own attempt at creating a worried warthog.  I wanted to do something silly for this one and make it as unrealistic and absurd as possible.  So if you haven’t laughed yet, I guess I’ve failed miserably.  But if you’re at least smiling and shaking your head in disbelief, then I guess I’m doing alright.  😉 ~M 

Life’s doorways

~ ~M ~ 17 Comments

There’s a doorway to destruction;
it seems to find me every day;
I take different paths to avoid it
and look for the merrier way.

There’s also a doorway to delight;
it finds me less than other doors;
oh, but when it does find me,
I’m sent up a hundred floors!

There’s a doorway to regret
and another that opens to grief;
thankfully, neither stays open long,
so that’s quite a relief.

There’s also a doorway to peace
and another that leads to fun;
both are best enjoyed
walking through with a bit of sun.

My favorite door of all
is the one that leads to love,
but I have to be open to finding it,
sometimes needing a little shove.

There’s a doorway to adventure,
one that I look for every day,
and when I eventually find it,
It’s like being on holiday.

Some doors are pretty,
and others I’m afraid to touch,
but those that are welcoming
always mean so much.

I’m excited yet cautious
to see where most of them go;
I know if I’m too afraid to open one,
I’ll never really know.

The right door for me
might be the wrong door for you;
I guess none of us will ever know
until we’ve opened quite a few.

I’m grateful for so many choices
and the opportunities to succeed;
I hope you find your door today,
the one you really need.

© 2022 Michelle Cook

Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/doorway-beach-opening-entrance-981803/

Downtrodden doozies and winded waxers

~ ~M ~ 2 Comments

Slaves to oppression
Can anyone understand?
Pompous groups prevail

© 2021 Michelle Cook

Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/hand-woman-female-nude-fear-1832921/

Writing prompt: Downtrodden doozies and winded waxers

Nasty nonsense

~ ~M ~ 4 Comments

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Do you ever just wish
You could take back what you said
And every moment after
Is something that you dread

All those regretful words
Left hanging in the air
Fills you with affliction
Cause you really do care

But something made you do it
Spew your words of hate
A bunch of nasty nonsense
If only you could relegate

Time is the only cure
Likely to save your from your demise
Your only hope left
Is that the memory fades and dies

© 2019 Michelle Cook