Laura Cummings

Laura Cummings Poems

I love loving my Daddy,
I love it when he gives me love,
It started when i was 5-6 years old,
It used to hurt when my Daddy loved me,


Feather light wings that float softly through the air tickled by specks of dust.
Bright white light inflamed with pink and laced with gold.
Raising flowers, changing seasons,
singing in high pitched voices that only children can hear.

Taking life and feeding death
a broken path, a fork in the road.
Screaming, beating, defeating,
not making any sense but still vital to life and death.

We had the chance
But it never happened
And now im left with the ghosts of memories
Saying whisper something nice and ill make you scream twice.

I was snooping around my mates lap,
And his name was Jack,
What was found there,
Can only be described,

What is a poem?
Is it a child running free without a care in the world,
With no idea of the tough times ahead.
What is a poem?

I race to your side and press my hands against your warm smooth skin,
Our eyes lock I take a deep breath and the connection begins,
I see into your soul and wonder if you can see mine,
I feel our souls entwine as I get a rush of images,

dont bite me,
dont scar me,
dont take my life with your hands,
dont rip me,

I haven’t much of time,
So I’ll say this as honestly as I can in the 2 minuets I have,
I will always be around for you,
Whenever you need me,

As she lay dying with the radio playing softly in the background,
The notes of a song so sweet tickled and triggered her memory,
Number one in the charts the week she was born,
Playing at her eighteenth birthday party as she floated and swayed in a glorious dance,

Touch me, Tickle me... Spank me.
Take me,
I'm you're love puppet,
Stick you're pins in me,

Who am I?
Please don’t just say my name with a silly grin,
I haven’t got the toughest of skin,
And my life is beginning to feel like a sin.

Camminando lentamente io guardo a voi,
Prendendo respiri profondi come me,
I miei ultimi momenti, come me,
Prima di sigillare come 'noi',

The restless soul of a well worn youth,
Storms of rage at those who waste,
The waves of love that come crashing down on unsuspecting people,
It all lies behind tired eyes.

hugs, kisses, taken everywhere,
old and worn, left on a shelf to gather dust,
my old china doll.
glass eyes taht follow every move unblinkingly,

When the darkness creeps in,
And I can feel the cool wind breathing on the back of my neck,
I think of you to keep sane,
My life

whispering in my ear,
secret thoughts for none but one to hear,
brushing against my skin with cold yet gentle finger tips,
a loving caress,

Running away from adulthood,
Being chased by points of authority,
Not understanding,
Still seeing and hearing to much for innocent eyes,


All that’s needed in this life of sin,
Is number one,
Look after number one and don’t let the necessary occur,
Look after number one and


Jackie boi
Missing a wee wee
All the while playing GB
Theo and Steph argue

Laura Cummings Biography

I've always enjoyed writting poetry and only seek to improve.)

The Best Poem Of Laura Cummings

I Love My Daddy (Age16)

I love loving my Daddy,
I love it when he gives me love,
It started when i was 5-6 years old,
It used to hurt when my Daddy loved me,
But recently it started feeling good,
I love it when he creeps into my room late at night,
And reminds me as always that its our little secret,
And that everyone does it they just dont like to talk about it,
No wonder everyone does it when it feels so good,
I love it when he touches my neck,
To my lower soft spot,
He touches so gently yet firmly,
Slow then fast,
then he lifts my arms above my head while kissing me passionately,
Then he puts my arms around his neck and instructs me to wrap my legs around his waist,
Then hands on my bottom he enters me,
Pushing, harder and faster, he starts groaning,
I groan wioth him, my Daddy feels so damn good,
Then finaly we release, and my Daddy leaves me,
Always whispering,
Its our little secret.

Laura Cummings Comments

Michael Shepherd 28 December 2008

Laura - I hope you won't stop writing poetry - though sometimes a break brings it back with more power.. Michael

2 1 Reply
Gary Scott Gebert 18 March 2005

I enjoyed the poem very much. What you stated is surely true. Gary Scott Gebert

1 1 Reply

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