Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
hedgingsPoems
we can’t get out of bed. there hasn’t been one time where you saw the light before i did - maybe once, when you swore to make me eggs for breakfast, scrambled with just a little bit of milk. i taste your morning breath but when you kiss me it’s always Colgate. i like your morning breath more than any brand of toothpaste it tastes like you not some pharmaceutical company ****** who still remembers the beginning anyway my cries flooding the clinical tiles maybe my mother held me like a gemstone towards the new sun, but who still remembers the beginning anyway the eggs run different the second time you make them you laugh, same crusty eyes, same fading patience as we cross 12 noon: no one stays the same, not even eggs some days are gold and silver. some days i tumble out of bed with yesterday’s bad hair and you wake up late, and the eggs are different, and i taste your morning breath, but when i stagger home onto the couch and hurl my dress across the room and can’t turn on the tv when i’m starfish face down on the floor you are always weary, ready to hand the remote to me.
0
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 4:48 AM UTC
why we watch sunsets
we can’t get out of bed. there hasn’t been one time where you saw the light before i did - maybe once, when you swore to make me eggs for breakfast, scrambled with just a little bit of milk. i taste your morning breath but when you kiss me it’s always Colgate. i like your morning breath more than any brand of toothpaste it tastes like you not some pharmaceutical company ****** who still remembers the beginning anyway my cries flooding the clinical tiles maybe my mother held me like a gemstone towards the new sun, but who still remembers the beginning anyway the eggs run different the second time you make them you laugh, same crusty eyes, same fading patience as we cross 12 noon: no one stays the same, not even eggs some days are gold and silver. some days i tumble out of bed with yesterday’s bad hair and you wake up late, and the eggs are different, and i taste your morning breath, but when i stagger home onto the couch and hurl my dress across the room and can’t turn on the tv when i’m starfish face down on the floor you are always weary, ready to hand the remote to me.
Written by
hedgings
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 4:48 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem