Screens Soft Glow

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In pixels bold, I cast my frame,
A curve of hip, a shadowed breast,
The screen’s soft glow ignites a flame,
A spark of me, both bare and dressed.
Not Safe For Work, they call this art,
A daring dance, a whispered tease,
It stirs the blood, it wakes the heart,
And bids my spirit find its ease.

The crude come quick, their words like darts,
A jab, a leer, a hollow shout,
But past their noise, I hear the hearts,
The ones who see what I’m about.
A man might write, “Your strength is grace,”
A woman, “Beauty in your skin,”
Their thoughts lift high above the base,
And in their echo, I begin.

I feel the lens, its tender gaze,
Not cold, but warm, a mirror’s truth,
Each line I share, each sultry phrase,
Unravels shame from tender youth.
My body—round, or lean, or mine—
Becomes a song, a verse to sing,
No longer cloaked in doubt’s design,
But crowned with sensual offering.

The replies roll in, a mixed refrain,
Some brash, some crude, a fleeting sting,
Yet others pause, their words sustain,
A lift, a balm, a gentle thing.
“Your confidence is pure delight,”
“Your form’s a poem, bold and free,”
These voices weave through digital night,
And coax the sensual out of me.

It’s not for sex, this baring act,
Not casual lust, nor fleeting chase,
But something deeper, truer, fact—
A claiming of my own embrace.
The stretch of skin, the softened scar,
The weight of breasts, the dip of waist,
Each part I show, both near and far,
Becomes a joy I dare to taste.

A woman writes, “I see me too,”
Her words a bridge, a sister’s call,
A man reflects, “Your soul shines through,”
And suddenly, I’m ten feet tall.
The crude may leer, their noise may flare,
But these replies, so kind, so keen,
They wrap me in a tender care,
And make my sensuality serene.

I scroll the feed, my posts alive,
A gallery of me, unbound,
Each image helps my spirit thrive,
Each like a note, a sacred sound.
No longer do I shrink or hide,
The flesh I wear, I now adore,
This platform, crude yet sanctified,
Uplifts me to my very core.

The screen becomes a canvas vast,
Where I paint bold, where I am free,
The ghosts of doubt dissolve at last,
Replaced by eyes that truly see.
“Your power’s in your honest glow,”
They say, and I begin to trust,
This sensuality I know,
A bloom unfurled from ash and dust.

It’s not the act, the fleeting thrill,
Of flesh for flesh, a passing game,
But how I rise, how I instill,
A love for self, a reclaimed name.
The crude may bark, their words may fall,
But others lift with gentle might,
And in their chorus, I stand tall,
A woman sensual, fierce, and bright.

Ten verses now, my tale complete,
Of X’s wild, uncharted sea,
Where NSFW can shift the beat,
From shame to sensuality.
The few may jeer, the many muse,
Their words a gift, a soft caress,
Through this, I’ve learned I can’t refuse,
My body’s song, my soul’s excess.

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