YennyToamson

。・゚♡゚・。 ¡Hello I'm Yenny! Welcome to my world.。・゚♡゚・。

Travel is one of my deepest passions. Each trip is an opportunity to explore, discover and learn, which feeds my curiosity and enriches me in ways few other experiences can match.. Here I share why I love traveling. For me, the pleasure of discovery is one of the most powerful reasons to travel.. Each new destination is like a box of surprises waiting to be opened. From the cobbled streets of an ancient city to the most imposing natural landscapes, the world is full of wonders that arouse my curiosity. Exploring the unknown takes me to places where I can learn about new cultures, languages, customs and ways of life. Every trip is an opportunity to expand my horizons and better understand the world around me.

Conversations with locals and fellow travelers offer me fresh and different perspectives, helping me see the world from multiple angles. This human connection is a constant reminder of the diversity and richness of human experience, strengthening my empathy and understanding for others.. Personal Growth Travel is also an inexhaustible source of personal growth. By facing unknown and sometimes challenging situations, I develop skills such as adaptability, problem solving and patience. Each trip teaches me something new about myself and my abilities.

I like art because it is a form of communication and universal expression that transcends the barriers of language, culture and time. Art has the unique ability to touch our deepest emotions, to provoke reflection and to inspire change. Through art, I can connect with people from different times and places, understand their perspectives and experiences, and find a sense of community and shared humanity.. One of the most powerful reasons I like art is its ability to express the inexpressible.

There are emotions and experiences in life that are hard to put into words, but art can capture them and communicate them in ways that go beyond the limitations of language.. Whether through a painting, a sculpture, a piece of music or a film, art has the power to convey complex feelings and emotional nuances in an immediate and visceral way.. Art is also an inexhaustible source of inspiration and creativity. When I am faced with a work of art, I often find myself amazed by the artist’s imagination and skill. It inspires me to think in new ways, explore ideas and experiment with my own ways of expression.

Human connection is one of the deepest and most essential experiences we can have as human beings. In an increasingly digital and accelerating world, maintaining and nurturing these connections has become more crucial than ever. Talking about human connection is actually talking about what it means to be alive, what it means to be fully human.. I want to talk to you from my experience, because at the end of the day, even if we are surrounded by technology, it is genuine interaction with others that really defines us and enriches our lives.. *The Innate Need for Connection* Since we are born, we are social beings. As babies, we need physical and emotional contact with our caregivers to survive and thrive. I remember when I was a child, the feeling of security that my mother’s embrace gave me, the way I felt completely protected in her arms. Those early experiences are not only enjoyable, but vital to our development.

It is not only food that nourishes us, but the love and attention of others. As we grow up, that need for connection doesn’t disappear. It transforms.. In adolescence, we begin to look for connections outside of the family, in friends and peers. These relationships help us define who we are, explore our identity. I think of the long conversations with my friends during that time, sharing dreams, fears, and laughter.. It was moments when I really felt that someone understood me, that I was accompanied on my way to adulthood.. *The Connection in Adulthood* Already in adulthood, human connection takes on new nuances. Life becomes more complicated, with responsibilities, work, and the search for purpose.

Living in Colombia at 21 is a vibrant experience, full of contrasts and emotions. If there is one thing that characterizes my country, it is the richness of its diversity: from its landscapes to its people, everything in Colombia is a mixture of colors, flavors, sounds and sensations that leave no one indifferent. As a young woman, finding my place in this environment can be both a challenge and a constant adventure. Every day here is an invitation to explore and discover. Bogota, the capital, is my base, a place full of movement, where life never stops. I love getting lost in its streets full of graffiti that tell stories of resistance, love and hope. The cafes in Chapinero, the neighborhood where I spend a lot of time, are my favorite refuges. I like to sit down with a good coffee, maybe a latte with almond milk, and work on my projects or just watch people pass by..

¡My ass! It is like the sun at its peak, radiating warmth and desire in every curve of my skin. It is a monument to pleasure, a work of art that makes everyone stop. My buttocks are like two rough diamonds, waiting to be discovered and appreciated by those brave ones who dare to challenge the norm. So go ahead, let yourself be tempted and dive into the delicious chaos that only my ass can offer!

I am the seduction personified in every angle captured by the camera, the delicacy of my movements transformed into visual art. In every pose, in every gesture, I hint at the charm of the forbidden and the beauty of the mysterious, enveloping with an aura of enigma that invites you to discover more..

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Let me fall asleep on your chest, feel your warm body. Let me hear the melodious sound of your heart, that throb that synchronizes with mine and makes us accomplices, lovers and friends, being there I feel full and calm, your arms of man offer me protection and embrace my sensitivity, I can almost feel how both melodies dance intertwined With each other and pleasure blossoms

There in your chest, that part of your body, that for me a part of the world, of my world, a part that belongs to me and where I can disappear and escape for a few seconds, seconds of intense pleasure, feel yours and feel mine, feel the imminent connection of our souls, of our being, of our The bodies. It's magnificent.

Yesterday I went to the library, I need to return some books I borrowed, I decided to find out if there was any new book that caught my attention and I felt a look put on me, looking through the shelves I saw deep black eyes, they were staring at me, he was the handsomest man my eyes had ever seen I was a little intimidated, and I accidentally took a lock of my hair to play with it. I smiled nervously at him, and he smiled back captivatingly.

She was shaving it, some pretty one, all rolled up to her belly button, legs wide open, and sitting in a wide, spacious chair. Looking at him she was very joyful, after she had been shaved very well, and being mocking, careless, she stuck her finger in the thing. And as he wagged his hips, the used bait responding, a certain taste gave him afterwards. But when he knew it was not true, he said, "Oh, dear! What am I doing?! That this is not the firewood».

I dreamed of a maiden who slept with a gentleman whom she loved tenderly, and in whom everything was diligent and careless none had. But she was in pain. She kept herself in wait, saying, 'What will people say about me? , in fact fulfilled his accident, giving both auction to his porfia. The gallant kissed her and embraced her warmer than a burning wood; the sweetness to pour did not begin, when he awoke, and said to the dream: To last a little longer, what cost you, for for me it was no small pleasure?”

Your thighs, like the evening, go from light to shadow. Hidden acacias darken your magnolias. Here I am, Yenny. I come to consume your mouth and drag you by the hair in the early morning of shells. Because I want and because I can. Red silk shade.

Woman's body, white hills, white thighs, you look like the world in your surrender attitude. My wild peasant body undermines you and makes the son jump from the bottom of the earth. I was alone like a tunnel. From me the birds fled and into me the night entered its powerful invasion. To survive I forged you like a weapon, like an arrow in my bow, like a stone in my sling. But the time for revenge has come, and I love you. Of a fat content, by weight, exceeding 13%. Oh, the breast glasses! Ah the eyes of absence! Oh, the pubes! Ah, your slow, sad voice! Body of my woman, I will persist in your grace. My thirst, my boundless yearning, my indecisive path! Dark channels where eternal thirst follows, and fatigue follows, and infinite pain.

I think about your sex. Simplified the heart, I think of your sex, before the mature son of the day. I feel the button of happiness, it's in season. And an old feeling dies degenerated into brain. I think of your sex, groove more prolific and harmonious than the womb of the shadow, even though death conceives and aborts God himself. Oh Consciousness, I think, yes, in the free brute who enjoys where he wants, where he can. Oh honey scandal of the twilights. Oh mute rumble. Odumodneurtse!

And you tell me that your breasts are worn out from waiting for me, that your eyes hurt from having them empty of my body, that you've lost even the touch of your hands from feeling this absence through the air, that you forget the warm size of my mouth. And you tell me that you know I bleed in the words of repeating your name, of beating my lips with thirst to have you, of giving to my memory, recording it blindly, a new way to rescue you in kisses from the absence in which you scream to me that you are waiting for me. And you tell me that you are so made for this uninhabited leisure of my flesh that hardly your shadow is revealed, that hardly you are certain in this darkness that the distance puts between your body and mine.

Because it is not the impatience of the orgasm seeker who pulls me from the body to other bodies to be possibly young: I also pursue the sweet love, the tender love to sleep next to and that brightens my bed when awakening, close as a bird. ¡If I can never undress, if I have never been able to enter into an arms without feeling - even if it is nothing more than a moment equal dazzling than at twenty years! To know of love, to learn it, to have been alone is necessary. And it is necessary in four hundred nights - with four hundred different bodies - to have made love. That its mysteries, as the poet said, are of the soul, but a body is the book in which they are read. And so I'm glad I rolled over the thick sand, both half-dressed, while I was looking for that shoulder tendon. I am moved by the memory of so many occasions.

Writing a poem is like an orgasm: it stains the ink as much as the semen, it also stains more sometimes. There are evenings, however, when I touch the words, bite their breasts and their agile legs, lift their skirts with my fingers, look at them from below, do the usual thing to them, and, despite everything, see: nothing happens! Cesar Vallejo put it very well: “I say it and I don’t run.” But he concealed

You know the calm self, the harmless flirtatious, daytime, musical self. Who knows when the malicious, viperine, vengeful one will emerge. But I know you both are into sex. And they smell like fingers.

Inhabit me, penetrate me. Let your blood be one with my blood. Your mouth between my mouth. Your heart enlarges mine until it bursts. Tear me off. You fall whole into my bowels. Let your hands be in my hands. Your feet walk on my feet, your feet. It's burning me, it's burning me. Give me your sweetness. Bath me your saliva the palate. Be in me as the wood is in the stick. That I can't do it anymore, with this thirst burning me. With this thirst burning me. The loneliness, its crows, its dogs, its pieces.

I want to apologize to all the women I've called pretty before I've called smart or brave. I'm sorry if I made it sound like something as simple as what you're born with is what you should be most proud of, when it's your spirit that's crushed mountains. From now on, I'm gonna say things like you're tough or you're extraordinary, not because I think you're not pretty, but because you're so much more than that..

In chasing me, World, what interest you? What do I offend you by, when I only try to put beauty in my understanding and not my understanding in beauty? I do not value treasures or riches; and so, I am always more pleased to put riches in my thought than not my thought in riches. And I do not value beauty which, when overcome, is the civil spoil of the ages, nor do I delight in fementied wealth, having it better, in my truths, to consume the vanities of life than to consume life in vanities.

I remember your face that was fixed in my days, woman of blue skirt and toasted forehead, that in my childhood and on my land of ambrosia I saw open the black groove in a burning April. He lifted up in the tavern, deep the impure cup that attached you a son to the breast of azul, and under that memory, that was burning you, the seed of your hand fell, serene. I saw you reap in January the wheat of your son, and without understanding I had on you the eyes fixed, enlarged to the pair of wonder and tears. And the mud of your feet will still kiss, because among a hundred mundanes I have not found your face and I still follow you in the furrows the shadow with my song!

made me woman, with long hair, eyes, nose and mouth of a woman. With curves and folds and smooth dimples and dug me inside, made me a workshop of human beings. She delicately weaved my nerves and carefully balanced my hormone counts.. He made my blood and injected it into me to irrigate my whole body.. All that he gently created to hammer blows and drills of love, the thousand and one things that make me a woman every day that I wake up proud of every morning and bless my sex.

You boiled the milk and followed the aromatic customs of coffee. You walked the house with a waste-free measure. Every minute a sacrament, like an offering to the weight of the night. All your hours are justified when you move from the dining room to the living room, where are the portraits that like your comments. You set the law of every day and the Sunday bird opens with the colors of the fire and the foams of the pot. When a glass breaks, it's your laughter that rings. The center of the house flies like the dot on the line. In your nightmares it rains endlessly on the collection of dwarf bushes and the underground flamingos. If you stumbled, the firmament broken into marble spears, would fall upon us.

Mujer: you the virtuous, and you the cynical, and you the indifferent or the wicked; Let's look at each other without fear and in the eye: We know each other well. Let's do the math. Under armor we walk: if we have the soul to spare, we cut it off; if it does not fill, By diminishing, the armor, then, we fill it: With the armor we always walk on our backs. Fierce armor! But keep it. If one day you tried to destroy it, From the mere effort of throwing it away You would remain like me, well dead

Seeing you naked is remembering the Earth. The Earth smooth, clean of horses. The Earth without a reed, pure form closed to the future: silver boundary. Seeing you naked is to understand the thirst of the rain that seeks weak waist or the fever of the sea of immense face without finding the light of your cheek. Blood will sound through the bedrooms and come with a lightning sword, but you won't know where the toad's heart or the violet are hidden. Your belly is a struggle of roots, your lips are a dawn without contour, under the warm roses of the bed the dead moan waiting for their turn.

Cute women wonder where my secret lies. I'm not pretty or born to wear model sizes, but when I start telling you, you think I'm lying to you. Y digo: The secret is in the length of my arms, in the width of my hips, in the cadence of my walk, in the curve of my lips. I'm a woman, phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, that's me. I approach any place as calm as possible, the same as a man. Men stand up or fall on their knees. Then they flutter around me, like a hive of honey bees. Y digo: It is the fire of my eyes, and the shine of my teeth, the waving of my hips, and the joy in my feet. I'm a woman, phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, that's me. Even men wonder what they see in me. They strive, but they can't touch my inner mystery. When I try to show you, they say they can't see it. Y digo: It's in the arch of my back, the sun of my smile, the rhythm of my breasts, the grace of my style. I'm a woman phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, that's me. Now you understand why my head won't bend. I don't scream or jump or have to talk too loud. When you see me walk you should be proud. Y digo: It's in the click of my heels, the waves of my hair, the palm of my hand, the need for my love, because I'm a woman phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, that's me.

All the plots of my life have something of yours And that's really nothing extraordinary. You know it as objectively as I do. However, there's something I'd like to clarify for you, when I say all the plots, I'm not just referring to this now, to wait for you and hallelujah find you, and damn losing you, and find you again, and hopefully nothing more. I don't mean that you suddenly say, I'm going to cry. And I with a discreet lump in my throat, well cry. And may a nice invisible downpour protect us and maybe that's why the sun comes out right away. I don't mean just that day after day, increase the stock of our small and decisive complicities, or that I can or believe that I can turn my setbacks into victories, or give me the tender gift of your most recent despair..

The thing is much more serious. When I say all the plots I want to say that in addition to that sweet cataclysm, You are also rewriting my childhood, that age when one says adult and solemn things and the solemn adults celebrate them, and you, on the other hand, know that that doesn't work. I mean you're putting my adolescence back together, that time when I was an old man full of misgivings, and you know how to extract from that wasteland, my germ of joy and water it by looking at it. I mean you're shaking my youth, that jug that no one ever took in their hands, that shadow that no one brought close to its shadow, and you, on the other hand, know how to shake it until the dry leaves begin to fall, and the framework of my truth remains without exploits.. I mean you're embracing my maturity this mixture of stupor and experience, this strange confine of anguish and snow, this candle that illuminates death, this precipice of poor life. As you see it is more serious, much more serious, because with these and other words, I mean that you are not so alone, the dear girl that you are, but also the splendid or cautious women what I wanted or want.

Because thanks to you I have discovered, (you will say it was time and rightly so), that love is a beautiful and generous bay, that lights up and darkens, As life comes, a bay where ships come and go, They arrive with birds and omens, and leave with sirens and storm clouds. A beautiful and generous bay, where the ships arrive and leave. But you, please, don't go

I love you for your eyebrows, for your hair, I debate you in corridors very white where the fountains play of the light, I argue with each name, I tear you off gently of scar, I'm putting lightning ashes in your hair and tapes that slept in the rain. I don't want you to have a shape, to be precisely what comes behind your hand, because the water, consider the water, and the lions when they dissolve in the sugar of the fable, and the gestures, that architecture of nothing, lighting their lamps in the middle of the match. Every morning is the blackboard where I invent you and drawing, ready to erase you, that's not who you are, nor with that straight hair, that smile. I look for your sum, the edge of the glass where the wine It's also the moon and the mirror, I look for that line that makes a man tremble a museum gallery. Besides, I love you, and it's weather and cold.

I sing what you loved, my life, In case you come closer and listen, my life, In case you remember the world you lived, At dusk I sing, my shadow. I don't want to be silent, my life. How would you find me without my faithful cry? What sign, what declares me, my life? I am the same one that was yours, my life. Neither slow nor disturbed nor lost. Come at nightfall, my life; come remembering a song, my life, If you recognize the song as learned and if you still remember my name. I wait for you without deadline or time. Do not fear night, fog or downpour. Come with a trail or without a trail. Call me where you are, my soul, and march straight towards me, mate.

My tactic is look at you learn how you are love you as you are my tactic is talk to you and listen to you build with words an indestructible bridge my tactic is stay in your memory I don't know how nor do I know under what pretext but stay in you my tactic is be frank and know that you are frank and that we don't sell ourselves drills so that between the two there is no curtain nor abysses my strategy is instead deeper and more simple my strategy is that any day I don't know how nor do I know under what pretext you finally need me.

Inhabit me, penetrate me. Let your blood be one with my blood. Your mouth between my mouth. Your heart enlarges mine until it bursts.. Tear me apart. You fall whole into my bowels. Let your hands walk in my hands. Your feet walk on my feet, your feet. Burn me, burn me.. Fill me with your sweetness. Let your saliva bathe my palate. You are in me as the wood is in the stick. I can't do it like this anymore, with this thirst burning me With this thirst burning me. Solitude, its crows, its dogs, its pieces. 💋 🌹

you know the calm me, to the harmless coquette, daytime and musical. Who knows when it will emerge the malicious, viperine and vengeful. but I know that they both poke each other's sex. And they smell their fingers. 💘

Writing a poem is like an orgasm: It is also more difficult to get a good quality of sperm, as it is more difficult to get a good quality of sperm. There are afternoons, however, in which I manipulate the words, I bite her breasts and her agile legs, I lift their skirts with my fingers, I look at them from below, I do what I always do to them and, despite everything, I see: no problem! The rapper said, "I'm not saying it, I'm saying it. ” But he hid 🎈

Because it is not the impatience of the orgasm seeker that pulls me from my body to other bodies to possibly be young: I also pursue sweet love, the tender love to sleep next to and how happy my bed is when you wake up, close like a bird.. If I can never undress, if I have never been able to enter into arms without feeling - even if it is just a moment same dazzle as at twenty years old! To know about love, to learn about it, having been alone is necessary. And it is necessary in four hundred nights -with four hundred different bodies- having made love. May its mysteries, As the poet said, they are from the soul, but a body is the book in which they are read. And that's why I'm glad I wallowed on the thick sand, both of them half dressed, while I was looking for that shoulder tendon. I am moved by the memory of so many occasions. 🥵