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16/F/In a bad time
;) it's just rants
Poems
Kate Livesay Jan 2021
Chapstick
Kate Livesay
Jan 2021
I bought some chapstick.
You said to get the kind you use,
So it’ll remind me of you.
In the parking lot,
I unwrapped the tube and spread it on my lips,
Indulging in what felt like you.
The moisture repaired my cracked skin.
A fresh start for my xerosis.
Honey flavored!
I didn’t think twice.
When you called me two days later,
My body froze with your news.
I knew you’d dump me.
Not so sweet after all.
And now I have this ******* chapstick,
Honey flavored, mind you,
That brings me back to a place of a past time.
I use this chapstick everyday,
Hopeful that one day I’ll actually use it all.
What we had will be gone.
Two months have passed,
And I can’t seem to make a dent.
Will you always be around?
At least my lips are always moisturized.
As I moved on,
I watched the parts of you that lingered in me
Completely vanish.
I began to notice,
The chapstick isn’t honey flavored.
It’s scented with hellos,
Flowering bushes,
Springtime summersaults,
And fresh cider.
Every spread of that chapstick tube I use,
A part of you peels away,
Like the dead skin that previously surrounded my lips.
But the more I stare at that golden, honey design on the chapstick,
The more I come to realize that it’s just chapstick.
Nothing else.
No more,
No less.
You said to get the kind you use,
So it’ll remind me of you.
In the parking lot,
I unwrapped the tube and spread it on my lips,
Indulging in what felt like you.
The moisture repaired my cracked skin.
A fresh start for my xerosis.
Honey flavored!
I didn’t think twice.
When you called me two days later,
My body froze with your news.
I knew you’d dump me.
Not so sweet after all.
And now I have this ******* chapstick,
Honey flavored, mind you,
That brings me back to a place of a past time.
I use this chapstick everyday,
Hopeful that one day I’ll actually use it all.
What we had will be gone.
Two months have passed,
And I can’t seem to make a dent.
Will you always be around?
At least my lips are always moisturized.
As I moved on,
I watched the parts of you that lingered in me
Completely vanish.
I began to notice,
The chapstick isn’t honey flavored.
It’s scented with hellos,
Flowering bushes,
Springtime summersaults,
And fresh cider.
Every spread of that chapstick tube I use,
A part of you peels away,
Like the dead skin that previously surrounded my lips.
But the more I stare at that golden, honey design on the chapstick,
The more I come to realize that it’s just chapstick.
Nothing else.
No more,
No less.
haley
Oct 2017
you
had a chapstick tube
stowed away in your bag of things you never put to use
those scarred chapped lips
scratching, tearing
crevice of your mouth craved my heart
bleeding, uncaring
and subsequently my mango chapstick would serve it's purpose
on your lips and never mine.
among other things, you had a pair of white socks.
you never wore them,
too pristine
(you'd ruin them as you teetered on slippery suspended logs)
you reminded me of a cracked open window,
always hoping you would be at the mullioned panes
chapped lips, white socks and all
but the only thing that pushed against the glass was the scent of mango air.
and
mango never smelt so bitter.
when
will you come home
replace the mango air with your feverish cologne.
a swaying of the breeze and your tee shirt wraps a cotton arm
around your waist
the bitter aftertaste
your tongue like grapefruit wedged against my teeth
i missed the smell of burnt bread bottom,
when we were in the kitchen
and the gown of silver hemmed water that danced down the roof,
tapping
again and again and again
but, when you come home next month.
I will be gone.
the mango
around our home
had long since
turned bitter
and that brown picket fence no longer bends around my heart
i am somewhere where the mango still smells sweet
and
boys give my their chapstick for i've long since run out of mine.
had a chapstick tube
stowed away in your bag of things you never put to use
those scarred chapped lips
scratching, tearing
crevice of your mouth craved my heart
bleeding, uncaring
and subsequently my mango chapstick would serve it's purpose
on your lips and never mine.
among other things, you had a pair of white socks.
you never wore them,
too pristine
(you'd ruin them as you teetered on slippery suspended logs)
you reminded me of a cracked open window,
always hoping you would be at the mullioned panes
chapped lips, white socks and all
but the only thing that pushed against the glass was the scent of mango air.
and
mango never smelt so bitter.
when
will you come home
replace the mango air with your feverish cologne.
a swaying of the breeze and your tee shirt wraps a cotton arm
around your waist
the bitter aftertaste
your tongue like grapefruit wedged against my teeth
i missed the smell of burnt bread bottom,
when we were in the kitchen
and the gown of silver hemmed water that danced down the roof,
tapping
again and again and again
but, when you come home next month.
I will be gone.
the mango
around our home
had long since
turned bitter
and that brown picket fence no longer bends around my heart
i am somewhere where the mango still smells sweet
and
boys give my their chapstick for i've long since run out of mine.
Latreece Rose
Jan 2015
He said my cocoa butter chapstick lingered
in his taste buds.
We shared only a kiss,
mouth to mouth
lips on lips
tongue with tongue.
As if two strangers,
we had no draw until
we kissed
like a universal pull
of gemstone energy.
He told me he craved
my cocoa butter chapstick
for it had a hint of peppermint
that made his head spin.
in his taste buds.
We shared only a kiss,
mouth to mouth
lips on lips
tongue with tongue.
As if two strangers,
we had no draw until
we kissed
like a universal pull
of gemstone energy.
He told me he craved
my cocoa butter chapstick
for it had a hint of peppermint
that made his head spin.