In your best prose, describe her

In your best prose, describe her

non-white

Gay

It was as though her eyes were drowning in self-saturation. Her navel was sharp, but poured light ever so gently in shallow shape. And out of light--a face of a feminine rose; of colors I cannot say. Her head was rounded, carved by either her anchoring eyes or the light; I could not tell you, nor could she. And with few words, we swam together before we came to cemented shore, the paved path of good-bye

Cute, another virgin who thinks excessive alliteration and quasipoetic word inversion passes for good writing.

haha yeah user you tell him! Time to write more manly!

>She was a girl. She was hot. Pfft. I smoked my cigar. Didn't matter.

she's kinda chubby doncha think,
and stupid-looking in that pink

well, after all, a hole's a hole
and in her ass goes my hard pole

her piggish face, it makes me gag--
good thing I brought a paper bag

I pop my cock in, push it through
but she then screams, "I GOTTA POO!!!"

I give no shits, I keep on going
but shit she gives and it starts flowing

all down her feet and legs and ass
and then come out her fumes of gas

I huff one in and want to die
but still I'll give her that creampie

hours passed, and still no luck,
it doesn't matter how I fuck

and as a last kick in the booty
she said, "sorry, I'm feeling tooty"

a loud sound, BRRAAAAAAAP, filled up the room
and smelled just like my grandma's tomb

and from her asshole during that
she got on me some liquid shat

is it me or her that's more retarded?
-the one who fucks the girl that sharted

>Veeky Forums tries to write: the post

the point is stop paying attention to how she looks and show the reader glimpses of her personality based on those looks. what kind of girl is she? that answer should not be about her nose. focus on her expression. writer always suck at describing people's faces. it's the emotions that they sometimes get right.

so she looked at me with this fuck off expression, a sort of bemused "you think you are clever user?" smug. she was probably used to men fawning over her, not noticing that her glances were pitiful, not friendly. and the giant zipper on her sleeve annoyed me. i was used to women like here. they start off ice cold like this but gradually, with enough ice picking, you melt them.

There was this girl there. She seemed to swing between youth and maturation, like she was undergoing a secondary stage of puberty. Or that she'd smoke "with the reins pulled" if her father was around.
She was chubby, too. You wouldn't notice right away because she wore a rather spacey red jacket and seemed to lean to avoid a curved frame. She looked like someone you'd call Helena--once pretty and outlined to someone lacking and an outlier.
But what'd really stand out if you saw this broad was her lips. Her goddamn Mrs. Potato Head-Lips that crookedly hung, abut to fall at any one of her remarks. You didn't have to hear her to know she was a complainer. You just had to look at her posture and know she was the child of Vogue and Twitter. And those lips must have been painted a thousand times after the words eroded every out.
But she was there and I was here and I didn't care past that.

I actually kind of like this. I think the physical description is appopriate here unlike the others say. But I can tell you're more of a poet than of prose.

6/10 Reminds me of Catcher in the Rye
7-8/10 Not sure why but I enjoy it

As I gazed into her brilliant eyes, my soul welled up with such joy. For her eyes were clear as glass my brothers, and the beams of light reacher pupils at just the perfect angle, as if the lord himself was commanding me to bear witness to this beauty. To MY beauty. For in this haggard creatures eyes I saw the perfect being. It astounded me how such bovine eyes were able to reflect the full extent of my humanity. My perfectly chisled jaw, the gleam in my eye, my impeccable roman nose, even my sensual lips. Such humanity,such warmth, such grace, such utter perfection. I could not believe that such a being could even exist. From the corner of my eye I glimpsed a twisting of her lips, it dawned on me that the glory of my presence was only now fully reaching her. What a lucky woman.

Damn, your prose is awful. You didn't even describe her nose.

Not bad

>her lips were curled into the kind of grin that laughs at and with you when I first met her. Her hair was as black as her skin was white and the way little fires danced in her eyes I knew she enjoyed my presence. Now she leans her round face on her right hand and listens to me babble on about the business I have with her. The burning urge to take her grabs hold of me. It would not be proper, not now, although I feel she would not deny me. As I depart, I tell her we'll met again. "One can only hope." she whispers. I grin as I turn around and bold through the arches and trees.

bolt* feckin' autocorrect

Absolute shit, I'd rather rate stab wounds to the dick.

You sound like slightly angry John Green. Fag.

6/10

Kekked a bit.

8/10 decent

Impressive

What you first noticed was the contrasting effect of the hair upon the face. She looked like she wore a nun’s veil. The hair, black, drawn in curtains away from the face. The face, white, intensely so, bleach-clean white. She would often rest her face on her balled hand, and then her cheek would bunch up like soft fabric, and her eyes, dark too, seemed playful, teasing, evenly easygoing. If not for this quality as well as her painted lips, a centered leaf of color, you might have thought, passingly, in fact she was some young nun. She was not unpretty.

>repeating words

sweet and serene mediterranean goddess

Her flesh, rotting and decaying each and every day, was held together by magical binary codes of Photoshop.

Schwopdwopd tibeedibee.

So the girl in the photo wore a pink jacket. She also wore a pink lipstick, but her lips were as forgettable as the rest of her face. No. When you saw that photo, you saw the pink jacket and the giant zipper on the sleeve. That one hit you right from the golden ratio. You saw the pink jacket complemented by the pink lipstick and the black sweater complemented by her black hair. Definitely this way around. So yeah, you looked on the photo and saw that zipper and started wondering. "If I unzip it there's gonna be black. If I take it of... Is she wearing pink panties? I bet she is. How many more levels of this layer cake? How deep until the final mask even your knife couldn't cut away? Is she pink on the inside? Or a black heart?".

Sorry, not a native speaker ;^)

The pink fleece she wore made her look like a stay at home mum going to the gym. It was tacky and all I could think about was how uncomfortable the fucking zippers would be. She gave me that disinterested, dead fish gaze and feigned a smile. I noticed her makeup caked face crinkled as she rested her doughy face on her hand. At this point my disgust must have been palpable because she looked away. I couldn't tell what she wanted. It probably wasn't important. My eyes felt dry and as I rubbed them she looked blurrier and blurrier; until finally I had to turn away from this pink Mexican bitch, hunched over her iPhone 7 in a fluffy pink phone case. The ghostly screen illuminating her double chin in the gloom.

Why is it so boring?

Needs more yada

Why even write this down if you're so disgusted?
jaded 4channer/10

In the 1880s she would have been called healthy, but now her soft features were deemed excess. She obscured her figure with layered athletic clothing in gaudy colors, a vestige of her childhood preferences. The cushion of her cheek retained its youthful shape as she rest her face upon her equally plump knuckles. Her pose ostensibly thoughtful, but her eyes betrayed a diminutive mind.

female aka potential whore

How's it boring? Sincerely asking.

I feel it doesn't have much of a voice/strong opinion, and I don't know if that's what you're maybe getting at. That's partly because I feel so meh about the image itself though.

Ye, that's probably it. Your writing is as meh as your opinion. Could hardly finish as my mind wandered to anything else.
But then - why did you wrote it?
Maybe don't expect the object to give you exciting ideas, instead put your ideas into the object?

Romanian? A bit of Asiatic blood, I suppose. Her lips are shaped like a heart (how droll!) pressing up against themselves like a twins unable to part. What goes between them, I wonder? To separate those fat lips and see what lives in her mouth – what soft tongue she speaks with, that she runs along her teeth feeling the sharp inner molars, that lolls down her throat – I’ll pierce her little mouth soon enough. I see it in her eyes. A cheerful hello, what a cute dog, can I pet it, well sure you can. You can pet him here, you can pet him at my house. Where do you live? I’ll bring him over. You can bring your gaudy pink coat, I’ll undress you soon enough. Oh, I dream. She has no soul; and one can do a lot with no soul...

get your own adjectives, chump

I guess I almost didn't write it, precisely because the pic wasn't doing much for me. But then I said fuck it, I should be able to come up with something anyway.

My main goal was to exercise my descriptive ability and avoid cliche, e.g. face like a moon, white as snow/ice/milk/stars/etc. Wanted to express an old idea in as novel a way as I could.

The woman looked like the ones you see at five thirty on a thursday afternoon at your local Whole Foods. Fit. The type that didn't buy the cutest running shoes, she bought the ones that fit her feet type. You would want to bump into her. Like in the movies. Reaching for the last carton of 2%. Oh sorry. No, it's fine. No no really, I know it's the last one but I can just get whole milk. Actually I'm lactose intolerant, but every once in a while I try milk to see if my body has gotten over it. Hasn't worked yet. You don't believe me, huh? Well at least I made you laugh. So, you exhale, you live around here? Oh yeah, me too. Maybe we could get some coffee sometime? Breathe. Focus on the display of gluten free bread in front of you while she curls her nose inward. Now focus on that silly zipper on her jacket. Why the fuck is she taking so long? Don't stare. Oh shit, no stare. Eye contact. Don't fuck up. But she doesn't say anything. She just gives you this look like your 6th grade teacher used to do when you got the answer wrong. You didn't really think THAT was the right answer did you user? Oh user! She smiles and walks away with your carton of 2%.

BBC turnstile

His pathetic pleas for attention trickled forth like water from a frozen hose. He choked on his halting breath, exasperated as he tried in vain to resuscitate this stillborn conversation.

And user perked up from his troll post to grab a dorito behind his computer screen, lodged there 5 moons ago and half eaten by roaches, but still surprisingly crunchy and its taste only more sour than usual, detested as it were by the molds

3

If she were to confess her love to me I would welcome her with open arms. Those were my first thoughts. She looked like she could smile easily, as if even the pain of becoming an amputee or losing a family member to diabetes would never weaken it. She had a smile on her face, but because she had tied her arm—not behind her back—but under the other arm and used the latter as a stand for her face to rest on, it had become slightly contorted and thus harder for anyone to see the true beauty of her smile. That I was certain of. She wore a pink sweater that looked like it wasn't even close to costing an arm. And a leg—hers—had been planted on a platform high enough that she could rest her upper body on it and pose confidently. Our eyes met. Even though her's told me that she would oppose any situation in which I was within an arm's length, I was certain that such a scenario could be easily fixed.

familia, only siths deal in absolutes, doesn't change the fact reads like a high school dork's third rate impression of Nabokov