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#loosetooth
Everything is too sugar-spine, salt-lipped, staticstitched and jitterglow. I can’t sit still without turning into a girl-shaped emergency. I keep my synonyms in jars— one for ache, one for almost, one for the word I made up that means I miss you so much I become a faucet. Language is a loose tooth. I tongue it until it bleeds metaphor. Call it poetry. Call it coping. Call it anything but what it is: me, peeling the world into vowels because I’m scared if I say what I mean, you’ll hear it. And then what? You’ll answer? You’ll echo? You’ll send a voice memo saying same and I’ll combust on the Q train like a well-read matchbook? God, I am so caption-core, pun-drunk, rhyme-accident-prone. I named my stomach pit afterthought. I named my wrists reminder. And I named you don’t. But I still say it every time I open my mouth to speak.
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Apr 6, 2025
Apr 6, 2025 at 9:30 AM UTC
Kiernan515
Loose Tooth Language
Everything is too sugar-spine, salt-lipped, staticstitched and jitterglow. I can’t sit still without turning into a girl-shaped emergency. I keep my synonyms in jars— one for ache, one for almost, one for the word I made up that means I miss you so much I become a faucet. Language is a loose tooth. I tongue it until it bleeds metaphor. Call it poetry. Call it coping. Call it anything but what it is: me, peeling the world into vowels because I’m scared if I say what I mean, you’ll hear it. And then what? You’ll answer? You’ll echo? You’ll send a voice memo saying same and I’ll combust on the Q train like a well-read matchbook? God, I am so caption-core, pun-drunk, rhyme-accident-prone. I named my stomach pit afterthought. I named my wrists reminder. And I named you don’t. But I still say it every time I open my mouth to speak.
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