They ask me, why the teeth?
I smile and just stare back at them with amused eyes
Golden ambers, raging like fire that aren’t so weak

Their legs shift awkwardly side to side
Questioning glances pin at my little open box
Little bits of white fossils shine with rusted blood that has long dried

Sharp ridges of the alabaster’s ends have worn out completely
So much denial, error, and mistakes
So many years of biting, proving, and screaming

I’m no silly child leaving my precious treasures behind
Under soft white feathered pillows
These sharp tips were made to cut anything under great pressure with pride

And without teeth I wouldn’t be me
The older I have gotten, the more tremendous the wear
I still stare at all of you cackling from underneath the sheets