"chapstick" poems
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.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 2:30 AM UTC
Smoke is filling my bones
The carcinogenic ghosts of an irish ancestory
At war with my german temper
Fueling the fire
To a heart that beats for belonging
Keeping me in step with the frostbitten sidewalks
Of a December morning
Lips moist from french vanilla cappuccino
And your chapstick
Smoke is filling my bones
I'm rolling through my own fingertips
Losing touch with my own reality
Wondering if my knuckles are white from clenched fists
Or the grip around your palm
Smoke is filling my bones
You don't smoke
Yet you fill your lungs with my exhale
Breathe me in
I'll house myself in your capillary beds
Where I'll tuck myself in for the night
Listening to what makes your heart tick
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 11:25 PM UTC
You are the rock stuck inside of my sock.
You are drying off naturally after the longest shower in history, because you forgot the towel.
Like the string that is hanging off of my sweater. I keep tugging it and
pretty soon it is short enough for July weather.
The person using the car horn instead of ringing a door bell.
The low battery symbol on my cell.
Pungent perfume from a co-worker, the grossest smell.
The **** that asks for the red piece from your package of sweets.
The friend who cancels five minutes before every time you meet.
The rap artist that thanks God when he wins an award, even though his
songs are just about killing.
Medical technicians milling about when your arm really is broken.
The chapstick left in the pocket when the clothes are in a dryer.
Dress pants for work that are so tight, you feel you must be riding a wire.
The friend's children that you think are rude,
Unexpected company when you and your lover were getting in the mood.
But I guess it is just easier to say, I just don't have a good attitude.
Apr 19, 2010
Apr 19, 2010 at 10:21 PM UTC
And now the future is palpable,
And I can almost just barely taste it
On my lips
Just like the chapstick
I applied 15 minutes ago.
The future is in my range
And I can just barely smell it
Just like the perfume I applied this morning.
I can smell it faintly, when I notice it
But times the smell disappears,
As I get used to it;
only to be reminded of it
When I receive a hug of congratulations
And my friend will say, "You smell nice".
And in that moment I sniff my sleeve to try and smell myself
And get frustrated when my chapped lips feel rough against the texture of my shirt.
So I reach into my pocket, and struggle to find a small skinny tube,
I grasp it in my fingers and apply it to my lips
Afterwards licking them,
Smiling,
Because I can taste the future once again.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 5:38 PM UTC
My most favorite thing
Is when they still have long hair
And dress like guys do now
Not super baggy pants
But not form fitting either
And you take them to bed,
Or, knowing stems,
They take you to bed.
And all that manliness
About them is still
Just barely there,
In the slope of their shoulders
And the way their hands touch you
But then they get undressed
And it's the most beautiful
Combination
Of boy and girl.
They're so fresh and confident
But not cocky
They're respectful and talented
And it's like they try to only
Show the manly side
But then you get into bed
And it's like unwrapping
A present
That only gets better
Every time you unwrap it
A little piece of their femininity
Uncovered just for you,
In that moment only.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 6:46 AM UTC
I prefer the chapstick
to the lip stick.
I have nothing to hide
while the red stained ladies and gents have little to show
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 12:30 AM UTC
To tell you exactly, specifically, precisely why I love you
I'd have to reinvent an alphabet, create a language, learn to sign
The feeling that bubbles within when I look into your eyes cannot be captured or explained
I feel like the world stops moving
My breath struggles leaving my lungs
All my fears, worries, washed away
What is so powerful about loving you
is the way you love me in return
I feel confident, unstoppable, beautiful
You tell all the dark parts inside to quiet
whispering, no shouting to them:
I am worthy of love
To be worthy is all that I have ever wanted,
needed,
cried for in the middle of the night
Although there is still so much to learn about each other
Adventures to be had, moments to share
I am giddy with anticipation
your love gives me strength
Replenishes me
Fulfills me
I have yet to really write down how I feel about you until now
I've been afraid words would take our magic away
I'd wake up one morning and realize is was a mere dream
You steal my chapstick with your kisses
Put up with my sassy abrasive nature
You encourage me to work
The way you look at me sometimes gives me the courage to begin to look at myself the same way
With your arms tightly around me, our legs intertwined, I begin to imagine what heaven could actually be like
When I'm with you, I say I love you honestly
Eeach time is unique.
I realize how incredibly lucky I am to have you
to be loved by you
every syllable is as sincere as the last
You make it okay
All the bad, dark, sorrow filled places within me that sometimes consume my light.
You accept those places,
You make me forget they even exist
You make my light shine brighter
We joke about my ego
but since you have been in my life, I feel okay
Even when I'm not, I know I will be.
Granted, it's not solely what you do for me but what you let me do for you
You allow me to love you
Accepting my love
welcoming it like you would a long lost friend
you do not turn and hide
you embrace me with arms open wide
It's magical
It's what I've waited for my whole life
What I spent so much energy convincing myself I could never have
It's everything that I'd ever want and more
It's love
It's life
It's you
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
her mouth was sandpaper.
her mouth was sandpaper
and she spoke like
a smooth surface,
words scraped into fluidity
like a wooden sphere,
turned over behind teeth ‘til all friction
is lost.
she spoke like the walls of a birdhouse
in the room of a dead carpenter:
pretty unassembled things.
her mouth was sandpaper
and every kiss chafed,
rubbing raw my lips
and tongue
crafting with each touch
drawing blood like
juice from an apple,
like sap
from wood already cut from the tree.
her mouth was sandpaper
and she told me
*i bite my lips,
rip at
the inside of my mouth,
cannibalize myself cell
by cell.*
bone saws in her mouth.
the only difference between teeth of jaws
and saws
is mercy
(and she swallowed her mercy long ago).
her mouth was sandpaper
and she spoke like a carpenter’s hands:
rough palms,
tough pads,
a utilitarian artist
a crafter of dead flesh.
a mortician for dryads
and kodama.
the art and the artist
in lips
tongue
and teeth.
her mouth was sandpaper
and i brought mine to hers
again and again,
her bitten-rough lips
opening like doors to
purgatory.
less entrapment than addiction -
returning once more to nails and hammers,
hell’s blacksmiths below
heaven’s painters above.
coming back home
to the space between,
to bone saws
and a carpenter’s hands.
her mouth was sandpaper
and her voice was carpentry,
her teeth bone saws
her words
birdhouse walls.
her mouth was purgatory
but her hands
were hands.
her mouth was sandpaper.
i held her hand
and chafed my lips raw.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 12:26 AM UTC
There was a tube
of chapstick in the
lapel of his jacket
and i wondered
silently if it
might be
the same
as a kiss.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC
6 years old
loves barbies
plays outside
learning to ride a bike
shes getting taller
9 years old
loves chapstick flavors
walks outside
rides her bike everywhere
she is the tallest in her class
14 years old
loves mascara
runs outside to burn off the cupcake
bike sits alone
she is the biggest in her class
16 years old
loves black
runs lines down her arms, she doesnt see the sun
she drives around for hours thinking about everything but nothing
she is shrinking
18 years old
loves loneliness
runs and runs and runs from herself
she drives around hoping that she will be strong enough to make it home
she is breaking
slowly
20 years old
loves skipping meals
goes running until she feels like she's going to pass out, then runs another mile
she drives around thinking about her suicide attempt and thinks about heading home
she doesn't even know if home is a place or a feeling or if its real
lines going up her thigh now because she found out that wrists make people worry
people don't understand the process of self destruction
it started a long time ago
and it will never end
until she does.
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 1:45 AM UTC
Coffee on my breath,
wearing a frown.
Sunshine, my sweater,
my soul turns brown.
Lips slick with chapstick,
chics' licking sack n' ****
drag off a ******* *** n' lean,
obscene in the sense,
the ******* fags' a drag queen.
Rival the bible,
hell to sell any,
whats worse, church
bells smell ugly
under my nose.
I chose the shallow dirt
road to death, even the
tallest tales hail the same frail fate.
Fill my urn to earn my fill,
**** it.
There is no still
frame to capture the moment,
fracture the film and leave it alone.
Yellow toned, below me,
sallow, cornered in color coordinates.
Drenched cover but dry at the core of it;
dazzled by **** dazzled by diction,
you write the dirtiest fiction
and I'm the ******* ***** in it.
Leather bound, cable wound,
leather bound. Black.
Leather.
Sep 18, 2010
Sep 18, 2010 at 7:30 PM UTC
all i know is
it's getting harder and harder
to pretend like
i'm fine with being your
just friend
when every time i pass you
and you smile at me
and your lips part
and your mouth opens
all i can think about
is slamming my lips against yours
until i cannot see the image of his lips touching yours
anymore
and you are bruised with my love
because all i know is
the evening you kissed me
last summer
by my front door
i felt every nerve ending ignite with fire
and i could hear music in my head
like a movie
and i couldn't get the taste of your chapstick out of my mouth for 3 whole days
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 11:00 PM UTC
On a slow summer evening,
cherry-stained and giggling,
I sit on one side of the porch and
you both on the other though
it is going to take you two, with
your green eyes and red fingers like
chapstick or popsicles, 100
days in a fast space ship to reach me.
Hopefully the cherries you’re bringing
along won’t spoil before you arrive
on my alien planet (alien though
you share more of my
molecular makeup than any others)
and in return I’ll show you some new
creation but in all fairness I should
be thanking you for who I am
because it was, after all,
you two who shaped me.
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 11:53 AM UTC
sun girls:
they’re all bright eyes and warm hands, they’ll kiss you on the cheek. beautiful freckles. glowing skin, sunflowers and paintbrushes gripped tightly in their hand.
moon girls:
dark clothes and a eyes-closed kind of grin, beat up sneakers and an arizona iced tea, hair that shines, they sparkle even in the dark. soft kisses that taste like spearmint.
mercury girls:
smooth talkers, could convince you to do anything. big eyes and round lips, hair tied up or tucked behind their ear. late night walks and quiet conversations.
venus girls:
lipgloss and breathless laughing, soft hands and tummy. kissing their girlfriend randomly. a voice like honey. hypnotizingly lovely. muffled music and strawberry lemonade.
mars girls:
quick winks and subtle smirks. would **** for you. a love deeper than the ocean, strong shoulders and collar bones. ****** knuckles healing over and tight hugs.
neptune girls:
dreamy girls, hazy around the edges. tilting their heads to the side and sleeping soundly. delicate hands and cherry chapstick. hot cups of tea served with knowing eyes.
saturn girls:
sharpened pencils tucked behind their ear. serious eyes with a hint of laughter. tapping their toes and paying attention. books piled high with the pages well loved.
jupiter girls:
moving their hips and applying lipstick. a smile that electrifies you and lips that entrance you. has a hundred admirers but loves the one girl she can’t have. red lights and excitement.
pluto girls:
confidence that carries through the air. tastes like energy drinks and lightning. crooked smile messy hair. continuous movement with no time to talk. gesturing hands and shuffling papers.
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 9:16 AM UTC
If I wear to choose to hide these lip stains
From the fabric of your collar
I'd choose ****
Put on some chapstick maybe
But instead I paint my mouth with the darkest of lipstick
To match with your crude taste
I want you to remember me
Every ounce of my black and burgundy
Never forget the longing you feared
And I willingly embraced
Leave my mark
So you can trace your steps back to your emptiness
I'm the girl with the dark lipstick
They'll match my lips with the imprint
That dirties your collar
Yes
I was there
Make them know how unaware eyes were
The secrets you held trapped behind your bedroom door
Words say too much
But these blacks and burgundies say just enough.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 2:09 PM UTC
when i write
i always find myself wishing that i wrote like Lana del Rey,
making even the simple things seem extraordinarily grand, to be able to glamorize what is sometimes a painfully normal life
i want to touch someone's skin
and write about it in a way that makes someone feel as though they're touching velvet
i want the kiss we shared
to linger on someone's lips like the taste of their favorite chapstick
i want to write about love
so that in turn someone will lust for what i already have
i want to write about my years of pain and isolation in a way that makes someone want to rip their own heart out and offer it up to me on a platter made of shimmering, sterling silver
which, of course
i'd have to refuse
because what would a writer be if surrounded by love and admiration they knew was real, that they didn't doubt for even a second
although, the sensuality of the circumstance might be tempting
an artist without eternal, incessant suffering
is merely a wolf in sheep's clothing
or a fool who thinks he's a king
they simply aren't built to last
i want to write about my mid-night thoughts and for someone to think: Lana would be proud
Jul 27, 2022
Jul 27, 2022 at 11:46 PM UTC
I remember the taste of your chapstick
original flavor plain as you were, a taste insipidly vapid
I remember everything up until our last kiss
that fades into the smoke of memories I burned with your box of letters
cut with the strings of you that had me tethered
disappointment doesn't hold a flame to the fire burning inside me now
I'd wail and cry aloud
but the ocean cares not of the downfall of man
knees dug into the sand
arms outstretched, a shameless attempt at holding the sky
as close as you once held my
body more rigid than it's fragile contents
I remember the taste of your chapstick and I never knew what that meant...
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 12:16 AM UTC
I'm sick.
No, not meaning 'dope', or 'awesome'.
Like, 'hey! Let's shoot Mariah in the face cause this
Sinus infection is killing her!'
My only friends right now?
My dog.
Maury.
Chapstick.
and
Jell-O.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 2:23 PM UTC
I saw your chapstick in the store the other day
I stood there just staring at it
Do I even need chapstick?
No.
But it has the taste of you
And god I miss that
Now my lips feel permanently stained with you
You linger on every word uttered from my mouth
I can't stop licking my lips
Ive never even had a real grapefruit
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 7:32 PM UTC
Being real is hard
as opposed to being fake
as opposed to being bubbling plastic, mask this
look past my plausibility
soft body
teeth mouth throat
eyelashes,
heart
fake
styrofoam
empty
deserted
these eyes are what I have to offer now, these ears
If you had reached me earlier, I would've had more
to put at your disposal:
my devotion
my hands
my feet
my sanity
my presence in this day, for this conversation
my heart, soul, and chapstick
but I've said too much.
If you had reached me earlier
I swear I would've given you the rib-cage straight out of my chest
before your lips were halfway open and asking--
I know I would've been in your veins before fall
But I can't worry about your veins now,
I've opened too many of mine
and what I'm trying to say is honey,
My heart isn't full enough for me to pour it out to you every night.
You know I wish I could
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 7:13 PM UTC
My lips are still blisterin,
From all that whisperin, that
Made me kinda sick, so I
Search for my chapstick, but
Find in it’s stead,
A pen, orn’ry and red,
That chooses to be used,
And true to my cue, I
Seclude and intrude
On each and every muse-
-ic, -ing, -ment, of my peers.
And its clear I have seared
Every page I have seen
And heard of my herd,
Pulled apart at the seems
Teeming with teams
And half-assessed dreams, that I dreamt
But have since beheaded like queens.
Yet who is the jester? The joker? The fool?
It’s me from your world, your country, your school.
It’s me who coos uncool, and caws too rawly
And so rarely, Even I’m a bit scared of me
No! No fear or fervor is necessary, tremors and
Heartstrings tremble headlines on the Daily.
Oooh, calm, soothe, my tongue, my soul, my lips,
I’ll cool them off but remember all this, or else you
May be blistering, and searching, for my lost chapstick,
But be lacking in trust, ‘cause I used it all up,
Quite a long time before you even lusted that luck.
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 3:04 PM UTC
i am grateful for stretch denim on days
when
**** it
is a fashion statement
for lavender laundry detergent
because that smell reminds me of the home i've built in my head
for tea at
2 a.m.
when all the things i've done race in my head
because the next morning, i usually get my **** together
for colds
because they make eating an entire roll of cinnamon buns
completely justifiable
for the mountains that surround me
for NPR and good, rated M fanfiction
for def poetry when i can't find the right words
for finding a pack of cigarettes when it is only
11:30pm on a thursday night
and i am well past drunk in a slightly damp armchair
for harry potter and neil gaiman
for when twenty dollars fills up my gas tank
for my grandma's potato salad and biscuits with honey
for feminist zines that make me want to smash the patriarchy
for burts bees chapstick and jasmine-green tea
for friends who let me cry on their
bedroom floors
for books that keep me entertained
(even if that means me crying in my bathtub while reading them)
for courtney love and joan jett because those *******
have ridden in my car with me over many
heart-breaks
for well-water and sulfate free red wine
for johnny cash and new orleans and whiskey
for salt-- because that **** can wash away anything
for farmer's markets and co-ops
for bottles of water and for cookie dough
when my mouth
is the consistency of cotton and my mind is a little bit gone
for warm days in January and cold days in September
for breakfast and for hikes that begin at five a.m.
for summer nights drunk on wine and a little too much fire
for friends who call me 'momma bear' and for friends that call me 'baby bird'
for poems that give you cold chills
and flowers stolen from my neighbor's yard
for skin that smells like the sun and sage
for beeswax candles
and the smell of clean laundry
for days when i wake up and realize
i could have died on a bathroom floor
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
A sanctuary, your features have found the warm tranquility of my skin
The soft touch of your lips, and the squeeze of your embrace
entrance me with shivers; this is the only bona fide calm I ever encounter.
The beautiful sensation of your breath as it tickles my collarbone,
and the simultaneous movement of our two bodies;
I engage in the exquisite process of soaking in your persona as you absorb my own.
The brush of your vanilla-chapstick lips on mine releases a butterfly cage in my stomach –
butterflies of cherry red and periwinkle blue,
a momentary lapse in their usual shades of black.
The pressure of your body resting on mine, pulling closer and closer
ceases the trembling stutters of my lungs’ perpetual struggle
to breathe under the weight of the world.
We become immersed in our reverie of each other,
and I synchronize the patterns of my breath to match yours.
This beautiful symphony of affection that is your nose buried in the crook of my neck
leads me to finally venture to define the word love –
It is you, in between my chin and my collarbone.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 2:09 AM UTC
Sappho of the South
Sweetest lips upon my mouth
From Tomboy Casanova
To Soft Butch Jehovah
Stone Top, Touch-Me-Not
To chapstick and Birkenstocks
She’s my Strapping Queen
The only flicker of my bean
Oh, Lavender Menace
I’m on my knees in minutes
Stud-finder
Cunt-diver
Love-guider
Me-inside-her
Lover’s lips upon my mouth
Lovely Sappho of the South
Jun 14, 2025
Jun 14, 2025 at 1:07 AM UTC