support those on the
front lines—the freedom
fighters . . . Artists.
I dare to LIVE . . . within a
bohemian style freedom—to
embrace sexuality . . .
Repression is what gets us
into trouble—
If we can respect each
other—and respect
ourselves—
There are no rules—
All my shenanigans are
my own—
I’m actually an instigator—
What is my purpose?—
I think I found it—
it’s to enjoy my life—
and make here and now a
better place—
empower women to be all that
they are—
And not let desensitization
ruin the fun . . .
Being creative within
healthy boundaries—
That’s where Art is born—
I am sharing some of my most
intimate and ridiculous
moments—through poetry,
journals, and Emma’s fly-
on-the-wall, ninja-style
photography—(in knee
pads) This is me RAW—This
is a peek into my slightly
naughty world—
I can’t help but feel—
A constant inner giggle . . .
Love,
PAMELA X
Lilac wine
A Gas blue dres
A revolution’s dream
Lays on your strong chest
A sailor’s . . . been told . . .
Sings the well’s . . . bell . . .
Soft melting skin’s nickel to
gold . . .
So hot, tempting an unbearable
hell
Concealed, perched low
the huntress lays . . .
Tischen’s bow . . .
An English maze.
Men are equal . . . you rise . .
. I fall . . .
The flesh is mightier.
Firm, tight, and small . . .
A glamorous mind . . . forging
a sweet and liquid tongue . . .
A truth, a funny wisdom . . .
found . . .
Unpredictable . . . scatered .
. . free yet bound . . .
Wild and wrong.
Soft . . . and fast.
A perfect song . . .
It can last . . .
And last . . . and last . . .
And that’s . . . a dangerous
wicked past . . . hot and
cold
Rewards are slow . . .
A beaten path . . . a perfect
show
Anew with limbs and irrevoca
-
ble harm
A golden ear . . .
. . . a broken arm
Sail on . . . my sweet soldier .
. .
And I’ll breathe
The deep green sea . . .
. . . in front of me . . .
Rincon
Love, p
the dream . . .
arousing my tenderness,
A sweet rawness—
feeling bruised and scratched
up—
Hypnotic—
Life is sensual—not a “fix it
in post”—
ME—I miss PLAYBOY—
