toothache - Hello Poetry

Imagine you are born and you are beautiful thing, and for the next few years you will learn why. Your parents, friends, the shows on tv send you little messages about what beauty is, and how it is good. Your mother will brush your hair, her sister beside her, they will gush in honeyed words over your beauty, inside and out. Then they roll up their pants in the mirror and pick at their flesh and their spots sourly. You are washing your hands in the school bathroom after playing on the monkey bars with your friend. You are both looking at yourselves in the mirror. You wonder, in passing, who possesses more beauty. It is an ugly thought. With no good answer. Do you: Rise to the challenge? Spend secret moments tucking hairs, adjusting posture and your face in your little class chair, so any look passed your way may be in the most appealing light? Go to 2. Do you: Reject the expectations, perceive them as a threat, get ugly, shout, pull gross faces for family pictures, come home covered in mud? Go to 1. 1. Congratulations, you are a rebel girl. Perhaps even a tomboy. You have rejected your birthright of beauty. You are brave, controversial. Some applaud you for this. Some are appalled. How could you do this? How dare you make a beautiful thing ugly. What a shame. 2. Congratulations, aren't you charming? You are pleasant, you are pretty. You carefully deliberate your choice of skirt, in hopes you will be rewarded with eyes and smiles. Seen as beautiful, you learn how to make other things beautiful too. Your handwriting, your hair, your laugh, and your tears. Now imagine. You are sat down in the English class with the rest of the girls in your grade. Ms. K tells you about the horror of tampons and the beauty of motherhood. She informs you that most women forget the 10 on the pain scale soon after. She tries to sell it. Ms T gives it to you straight. She tells you Be prepared for misery, emotional and physical, recurring monthly. Not much talk is done about pain management, or accommodations. The girl behind you whispers about original sin. Do you: Accept this challenge of womanhood? With grace and glowing skin? Make it your mark? Go to 2. Do you: Find it disturbing? Unfair? Utterly humiliating? Go to 1. 1. You hide from your body. You are alienated. You are unhappy about your pain and this makes people uncomfortable. If something about you is not beautiful, it should be hidden. 2. Among sisters you are strong, but this strength is only expected. Required. You stand up tall and tuck in your gut while your core organs experience the sensation of being shredded. You would be mortified to tears to know there is a stain on the back of your pants. At this stage, you are a house divided. You begin to realize why those praises of beauty were so coated in honey. One day you will be a mother. One day you will be a bride. Beauty is the test you pass to be something in the eyes of men. Physically yes, but its more than that. A desirable girl is more than just pretty. Desiring you is what they want you for. Desirability is your commodity. That you were born with the expectation of selling. The idea of not marrying or having children is not something to be mentioned in polite company. And while you grapple with the desirability you hold, and the world waits, watching to see what you do with it, you will start to realize desirability is a resource that is being extracted from you, weather you like it or not, all the time, by strange men outside, online, or even around the dinner table. You know vaguely, what the worst of men's intentions might be. Do you: Withhold your desirability from men? Go to 2. Do you: Embrace your desirability? Market it? Go to 1. 1. In studying how to market your value you learn you will never outmatch the women on TV. The ones all the boys say they have a crush on in truth or dare. You become convinced you must change yourself. You do. You put on your beautiful hair, soul, face, and body in the morning. This takes 30 minutes to 2 hours. You are judged on it frequently and judge yourself. You moisturize every 3 hours. You laugh at boys jokes to show off your smile. You never leave home without lip oil. You are greeted more frequently and with brighter faces than before. You have a greatly desired treasure, other girls are threatened by you, you climb higher and higher to outpace the girl in the chair one over. You receive favors, most don't want anything in return, except your beautiful smile of course. 2. You refuse the un-consensual enjoyment of your beauty, though many long to pry out your potential. You have chosen to define yourself on an alternative worth. You realize how difficult it is to get people to care about this worth. Your family look at you and think, you must be lost, to not embrace your ****** power. Men instead choose to interoperate this as an insecurity. You must be naive, about how to be desirable. You must have been hurt before, to have given up. How cute, they think. She's not so scary to talk to, they think. But you were taught an art, and against any instinct you build a shrine to yourself and decorate it with love. You imagine a hidden place where every part of you is beautiful. You make who you are a masterpiece. Dark and brooding or pink and positive. These constructs of ego are fragile, it is hard to believe you are enough. But your alter to yourself stands ornate with personality and interests. Most boys you let into your sanctum trample all over it. It means nothing to them. Most were never taught what goes into creating something beautiful. Some are even afraid of it, intimidated, and want to see it squashed. But you'll find a boy that noticed your pouted lip. A boy that you let watch you shower. A boy that will then call you another girls name and strip you of the power you thought you built, and then as you battle to express your pain, will still look at you through their lens, an object of their desire first and foremost, underneath their ignorant gaze. Do you: Believe you can make a thing of beauty with men? Try meet their standards? Give them the benefit of the doubt? Try find a man you can depend on? Go to 1. Do you: Resent them? Reject them? Mistrust them? Go to 2. 1. You are a martyr. You take beatings. You risk life and death to depend on men. Confrontation is ugly. You pay your dues with your beauty. You are torn apart and stitched back together one stitch tighter. You keep peace. You plant flowers and they are picked and you plant them again. You are only doing what is expected of you, as, first, and foremost, a beautiful thing. 2. Hopefully you are interested in women, romantically or platonically. Otherwise you are alone. You protect yourself from the ignorance of men, becoming invisible to them. The ones who notice you in passing you may try to teach. They are resistant. They do not want to talk about their lack of burden. They do not want to imagine themselves weak. They do not want to imagine you strong. They do not see you as someone to learn from. They would prefer you be first, and foremost, a beautiful thing.

0

Mar 22

Mar 22, 2026 at 10:20 AM UTC

toothache

Girlhood: A Choose your own adventure.

Imagine you are born and you are beautiful thing, and for the next few years you will learn why. Your parents, friends, the shows on tv send you little messages about what beauty is, and how it is good. Your mother will brush your hair, her sister beside her, they will gush in honeyed words over your beauty, inside and out. Then they roll up their pants in the mirror and pick at their flesh and their spots sourly. You are washing your hands in the school bathroom after playing on the monkey bars with your friend. You are both looking at yourselves in the mirror. You wonder, in passing, who possesses more beauty. It is an ugly thought. With no good answer. Do you: Rise to the challenge? Spend secret moments tucking hairs, adjusting posture and your face in your little class chair, so any look passed your way may be in the most appealing light? Go to 2. Do you: Reject the expectations, perceive them as a threat, get ugly, shout, pull gross faces for family pictures, come home covered in mud? Go to 1. 1. Congratulations, you are a rebel girl. Perhaps even a tomboy. You have rejected your birthright of beauty. You are brave, controversial. Some applaud you for this. Some are appalled. How could you do this? How dare you make a beautiful thing ugly. What a shame. 2. Congratulations, aren't you charming? You are pleasant, you are pretty. You carefully deliberate your choice of skirt, in hopes you will be rewarded with eyes and smiles. Seen as beautiful, you learn how to make other things beautiful too. Your handwriting, your hair, your laugh, and your tears. Now imagine. You are sat down in the English class with the rest of the girls in your grade. Ms. K tells you about the horror of tampons and the beauty of motherhood. She informs you that most women forget the 10 on the pain scale soon after. She tries to sell it. Ms T gives it to you straight. She tells you Be prepared for misery, emotional and physical, recurring monthly. Not much talk is done about pain management, or accommodations. The girl behind you whispers about original sin. Do you: Accept this challenge of womanhood? With grace and glowing skin? Make it your mark? Go to 2. Do you: Find it disturbing? Unfair? Utterly humiliating? Go to 1. 1. You hide from your body. You are alienated. You are unhappy about your pain and this makes people uncomfortable. If something about you is not beautiful, it should be hidden. 2. Among sisters you are strong, but this strength is only expected. Required. You stand up tall and tuck in your gut while your core organs experience the sensation of being shredded. You would be mortified to tears to know there is a stain on the back of your pants. At this stage, you are a house divided. You begin to realize why those praises of beauty were so coated in honey. One day you will be a mother. One day you will be a bride. Beauty is the test you pass to be something in the eyes of men. Physically yes, but its more than that. A desirable girl is more than just pretty. Desiring you is what they want you for. Desirability is your commodity. That you were born with the expectation of selling. The idea of not marrying or having children is not something to be mentioned in polite company. And while you grapple with the desirability you hold, and the world waits, watching to see what you do with it, you will start to realize desirability is a resource that is being extracted from you, weather you like it or not, all the time, by strange men outside, online, or even around the dinner table. You know vaguely, what the worst of men's intentions might be. Do you: Withhold your desirability from men? Go to 2. Do you: Embrace your desirability? Market it? Go to 1. 1. In studying how to market your value you learn you will never outmatch the women on TV. The ones all the boys say they have a crush on in truth or dare. You become convinced you must change yourself. You do. You put on your beautiful hair, soul, face, and body in the morning. This takes 30 minutes to 2 hours. You are judged on it frequently and judge yourself. You moisturize every 3 hours. You laugh at boys jokes to show off your smile. You never leave home without lip oil. You are greeted more frequently and with brighter faces than before. You have a greatly desired treasure, other girls are threatened by you, you climb higher and higher to outpace the girl in the chair one over. You receive favors, most don't want anything in return, except your beautiful smile of course. 2. You refuse the un-consensual enjoyment of your beauty, though many long to pry out your potential. You have chosen to define yourself on an alternative worth. You realize how difficult it is to get people to care about this worth. Your family look at you and think, you must be lost, to not embrace your ****** power. Men instead choose to interoperate this as an insecurity. You must be naive, about how to be desirable. You must have been hurt before, to have given up. How cute, they think. She's not so scary to talk to, they think. But you were taught an art, and against any instinct you build a shrine to yourself and decorate it with love. You imagine a hidden place where every part of you is beautiful. You make who you are a masterpiece. Dark and brooding or pink and positive. These constructs of ego are fragile, it is hard to believe you are enough. But your alter to yourself stands ornate with personality and interests. Most boys you let into your sanctum trample all over it. It means nothing to them. Most were never taught what goes into creating something beautiful. Some are even afraid of it, intimidated, and want to see it squashed. But you'll find a boy that noticed your pouted lip. A boy that you let watch you shower. A boy that will then call you another girls name and strip you of the power you thought you built, and then as you battle to express your pain, will still look at you through their lens, an object of their desire first and foremost, underneath their ignorant gaze. Do you: Believe you can make a thing of beauty with men? Try meet their standards? Give them the benefit of the doubt? Try find a man you can depend on? Go to 1. Do you: Resent them? Reject them? Mistrust them? Go to 2. 1. You are a martyr. You take beatings. You risk life and death to depend on men. Confrontation is ugly. You pay your dues with your beauty. You are torn apart and stitched back together one stitch tighter. You keep peace. You plant flowers and they are picked and you plant them again. You are only doing what is expected of you, as, first, and foremost, a beautiful thing. 2. Hopefully you are interested in women, romantically or platonically. Otherwise you are alone. You protect yourself from the ignorance of men, becoming invisible to them. The ones who notice you in passing you may try to teach. They are resistant. They do not want to talk about their lack of burden. They do not want to imagine themselves weak. They do not want to imagine you strong. They do not see you as someone to learn from. They would prefer you be first, and foremost, a beautiful thing.

33

My grandmother was an atheist by the time she died. And long before I was born. But I called her Bobba. She dimly warmed the cottage behind my home. Collecting impossible piles of crosswords and articles cut out of newspapers. Historical records. She wore a silver Star of David on a delicate chain around her neck. Somewhere in the corner of my mind: Her, hurtling towards inevitability. One caretaker at a time. Somewhere in the corner of my mind: A lullaby she sang at night. Where angels watched me. A prayer made over an only child.

0

Mar 2

Mar 2, 2026 at 6:59 AM UTC

toothache

I wasnt raised religious

My grandmother was an atheist by the time she died. And long before I was born. But I called her Bobba. She dimly warmed the cottage behind my home. Collecting impossible piles of crosswords and articles cut out of newspapers. Historical records. She wore a silver Star of David on a delicate chain around her neck. Somewhere in the corner of my mind: Her, hurtling towards inevitability. One caretaker at a time. Somewhere in the corner of my mind: A lullaby she sang at night. Where angels watched me. A prayer made over an only child.

13

While we have time To stop for searching hands to find. To stand in the doorway not saying goodbye. As stars fall off the edge of space, No form or body to feel the embrace. I want to remain in a permanent state, I want to feel the edges of your duvet, While we have time.

0

Mar 2

Mar 2, 2026 at 6:53 AM UTC

toothache

While we have time

While we have time To stop for searching hands to find. To stand in the doorway not saying goodbye. As stars fall off the edge of space, No form or body to feel the embrace. I want to remain in a permanent state, I want to feel the edges of your duvet, While we have time.

8

Lets not circle round the words we use, nor underplay the things we choose, to say to think to love to do, did I mention I'm in love with you? You make the sun rise, you make the sun shine, you make the river flow, and now you're all mine. You make my poems short, No need for epithetic re reprise, To conjugate my thoughts to rhymes, Or edit down the extra lines. reread, reword or summarise. your voice like honey, your skin beguiles, your soul defies a logophile.

0

Mar 2

Mar 2, 2026 at 6:51 AM UTC

toothache

If I wrote you a poem, would you read it?

Lets not circle round the words we use, nor underplay the things we choose, to say to think to love to do, did I mention I'm in love with you? You make the sun rise, you make the sun shine, you make the river flow, and now you're all mine. You make my poems short, No need for epithetic re reprise, To conjugate my thoughts to rhymes, Or edit down the extra lines. reread, reword or summarise. your voice like honey, your skin beguiles, your soul defies a logophile.

17

Early winter, Trouble brewing. Do I know what the **** I'm doing? When we meet again will it be clear? Do I know what I'm doing here? Spoons still drying, Sunshine waning, The once inviting dance is draining. Caring for myself, More than someone else, Is not something I find entertaining. But when I'm cooking, When I'm cold, I connect with something very old. Memories become old as well In a backwards kind of parallel To do lists need belief suspension, I need to get my driver license, But first I need to change my name. Tomorrow's a bitter pill to swallow, I don't think I like this game.

0

Apr 13, 2025

Apr 13, 2025 at 4:28 PM UTC

toothache

To Do

Early winter, Trouble brewing. Do I know what the **** I'm doing? When we meet again will it be clear? Do I know what I'm doing here? Spoons still drying, Sunshine waning, The once inviting dance is draining. Caring for myself, More than someone else, Is not something I find entertaining. But when I'm cooking, When I'm cold, I connect with something very old. Memories become old as well In a backwards kind of parallel To do lists need belief suspension, I need to get my driver license, But first I need to change my name. Tomorrow's a bitter pill to swallow, I don't think I like this game.

21

We spent at least 15 minutes in the parking lot, Everyday. Itching in the grass and making up arguments. Waiting for my mom to pick me up from your house after school, Spraying mist out the water hose at each other and into the sky. Over invested in card games and extra-murals. Got locked out of your club penguin account. I lied to my mom about the pickup time, So we could play pool a bit longer. All that nothing might have been everything. Wait for the bus with me sometime again.

0

Jul 29, 2024

Jul 29, 2024 at 3:21 PM UTC

toothache

Waiting for Godot

We spent at least 15 minutes in the parking lot, Everyday. Itching in the grass and making up arguments. Waiting for my mom to pick me up from your house after school, Spraying mist out the water hose at each other and into the sky. Over invested in card games and extra-murals. Got locked out of your club penguin account. I lied to my mom about the pickup time, So we could play pool a bit longer. All that nothing might have been everything. Wait for the bus with me sometime again.

11

quiet high summer nights waving off mosquito bites and lips so dry the tap tastes like nectar a glass shared is sweeter, better. soda like opal in the moonlight should we order in tonight? leave the window open. though it's raining this is our little love remaining

0

Jan 7, 2024

Jan 7, 2024 at 10:03 AM UTC

toothache

Getting chowed by mosquitos

quiet high summer nights waving off mosquito bites and lips so dry the tap tastes like nectar a glass shared is sweeter, better. soda like opal in the moonlight should we order in tonight? leave the window open. though it's raining this is our little love remaining

9

I’m rocking back and forth against the hull of my loneliness, Stuck in knowing it’s goodbye But not being able to say I love you or I’m sorry. I’m crying with joy and longing as I lie in the love and conversation around me, Wishing it were mine. I’ve been high so long my heart rate stopped going down with the sun. Going over it all all over again all the time. I feel like a child again, terrified by the the dark, the wind, the eyes of men. I’m breaking down in the line at the gas station. Looking out the glass wall at a Lovecraftian highway, Flickering florescent lights like the ones from The Exorcist. On my way to a cavernous husk of a family dinner, Most of them gone now. Just me, my mother, and my widowed, bereaved, great aunt. There’s a stupid old cardboard cutout of a mascot next to me grinning too widely, holding up its product. I scream and tear it’s head off it’s body In my mind. I have work on Monday. This is life.

0

Sep 19, 2023

Sep 19, 2023 at 12:14 PM UTC

toothache

How far away the stars seem

I’m rocking back and forth against the hull of my loneliness, Stuck in knowing it’s goodbye But not being able to say I love you or I’m sorry. I’m crying with joy and longing as I lie in the love and conversation around me, Wishing it were mine. I’ve been high so long my heart rate stopped going down with the sun. Going over it all all over again all the time. I feel like a child again, terrified by the the dark, the wind, the eyes of men. I’m breaking down in the line at the gas station. Looking out the glass wall at a Lovecraftian highway, Flickering florescent lights like the ones from The Exorcist. On my way to a cavernous husk of a family dinner, Most of them gone now. Just me, my mother, and my widowed, bereaved, great aunt. There’s a stupid old cardboard cutout of a mascot next to me grinning too widely, holding up its product. I scream and tear it’s head off it’s body In my mind. I have work on Monday. This is life.

20

Favorite things: Sandwiches Reconciliation Music Justice ************ Forerro Rochers Nice things people have said about me Drugs Love Good long stories River rocks Tall trees Gifts Art Deep dreams

0

Jul 19, 2023

Jul 19, 2023 at 12:11 PM UTC

toothache

Favorite things

Favorite things: Sandwiches Reconciliation Music Justice ************ Forerro Rochers Nice things people have said about me Drugs Love Good long stories River rocks Tall trees Gifts Art Deep dreams

16

I want impossible things. I just want to make you believe. But I’m hardly even here. And day will always break. And pay checks don’t make themselves. And I hate how much I love people That humble my tiny fears. I’ve rattled the gates at the top of your driveway in the cold of night, Waiting for you to open, Too many times. I say I get taller by breaking down, But quietly I wish we both believed in the same religion. So we could stop arguing about it. So you could think I was a genius. So you could bask in it all like I did. But I digress, I learn to say. I’ll learn to pray Another way.

0

Jun 25, 2023

Jun 25, 2023 at 6:22 PM UTC

toothache

Metaphysical desires

I want impossible things. I just want to make you believe. But I’m hardly even here. And day will always break. And pay checks don’t make themselves. And I hate how much I love people That humble my tiny fears. I’ve rattled the gates at the top of your driveway in the cold of night, Waiting for you to open, Too many times. I say I get taller by breaking down, But quietly I wish we both believed in the same religion. So we could stop arguing about it. So you could think I was a genius. So you could bask in it all like I did. But I digress, I learn to say. I’ll learn to pray Another way.

19