my teeth
              are thick blocks
                                         of white.
that only seem to find pleasure in
interrupting my speech
and my smile.
they chatter while broken
      words
          and phrases
crawl hesitantly out of my mouth.
i carefully mold the definitions
and the
wrenching metaphors
into clay that’ll dry up in the sun, and
      drop
              like a pin.
and i feel my bones come together
in my state that i call my own
                  plucking
           my eyelashes off
clipping the idea of being full grown.