"exfoliate" poems
Spring came full of rejuvenating hope to ward off the chilly winters,
It came replete with dreams of days much brighter,
It came to exfoliate & gently scrub away the old ones,
Yes it came to make way for the new flowers.
It stayed till the sun was high up there in the shy sky,
It stayed till the sun burnt holes in human pockets with bills of electricity,
It stayed till the sun was cursed for being out there with AC's to help the well to do,
Yes it stayed there till it was the merciless month of June.
Summer then took over in July by burning animal & human skins alike,
It even did not spare a patch of cool water in the naked-barren lands,
It made animals cry & people kneel down and call for help,
Yes their calls weren't left unanswered and soon it was the rainy monsoon.
Monsoon - the rainy season lashes upon the oven hot land in August's end,
It eases the hot temperatures and releases peafowls in mating,
It even threatens to drown the ill-prepared cities of India by flood-waters,
Yes Mumbai is just one example of how Indian people want the autumn to come.
Autumn - the reliever from torrid showers,
It is an exception in the Indian season cycle,
It is neither that torrid monsoon before it nor is it the hostile winters succeeding it,
Yes it is a short calm time just before the winter season extreme in the north.
Winter season as we've learnt to call it in schools,
It sends chills down the spines of Indian people all over,
It is harsh only in the north but the other people simply don't have tolerance or genes,
Yes I love the beautiful winter season so what if once it nearly took my life while on trekking.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 9:37 AM UTC
Tomorrow morning they are going to take them,
what am I going to do?
He says it doesn’t matter to him, because I have a pretty face.
In all the years we've been married, he’s never told me I had a pretty face.
I don’t think he’s going to be able to handle this.
Hell, I don’t think I'm going to be able to handle this.
God ****** I am going to loose my hair,
I am gonna loose my beautiful ******* hair, then everyone will know.
People will put sanitizer on their hands after they shake mine.
All my friends and family will treat me differently.
They’ll feel sorry for me, they won’t know what to say.
And then there’ll be those who will say too much, or the wrong thing.
"I’ll pray for you", some will say,
But I know what they are thinking, they think....
"that is what she gets for drinking her martinis and smoking her ***
Some will even say it is God’s will.
**** God!
He is stealing my beauty,
my wonderfully gorgeous **** my hair.
They are a part of me.
I don’t give a **** what a man thinks about my *******
that they are **** or voluptuous,
they are a part of me.
And now, like a side of beef,
they are going to section me up and take them from me.
What will they do with them?
I mean after they biopsy.
Can I have them to bury?
Sorry, I know that wasn't necessary, but I am mad.
I am mad and afraid, I am so afraid.
I know my husband, he will never be the same.
He doesn’t **** me with his eyes closed, my **** turn him on.
But then any woman’s **** turn him on.
When he reaches to touch them, there’ll be nothing there.
I’ll look like a little boy, nothing.
Maybe I have identified with them too much,
I have made them a big part of my personality.
I've fed my children with them, my boyfriends fought over them,
they have got me into and out of trouble more than once.
**** I am going to have to get a whole new wardrobe.
And now, in the morning
they are going to cut them off of me
and put them in a stainless steel operating room bowl.
Like chicken fat.
Why do I feel like this,
I didn’t cry when the dentist pulled my wisdom teeth?
What if he told me I had to or else I would die, I’d pulled them myself?
I trim my nails, and get my hair cut and dyed.
I exfoliate my skin.
I lost 10lbs last year and I didn’t shed one tear,
my ******* will weigh more than that.
But I am loosing something else,
I am loosing normal.
I'll have to find a new normal.
I am loosing myself
and replacing it with a different person.
I’ll be one of them,
I’ll be a survivor,
a hero.
I'll hold hands with other survivors and walk 10 miles
and wear a **** load of pink.
Hey, but I don't look too bad in pink.
later this week a friend is going to have a double mastectomy. These are just a few of the words I have collected from other breast cancer survivors. I had to do something for her. My hope is that we become more aware of the fear and pain that breast cancer victims go through.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
When I hear a concealed clock ticking,
I think it's some shouldered past jello grenade
ready to chastise my fletched thumbs.
Like the last time Sandman drew supper with his knees,
and decided to fling cherry cobbler at my nose,
I realized this homeless perfume actually belonged to Mother.
Her pearls redeem her complexion,
milk marrow of silk against her nose--
three strikes dawdling their tongues
from underneath tin necks.
Steady, rinse, exfoliate:
but those are difficult to do
when your rib cage cracks
like the last octave
of a reddening audience.
Brother thinks the tree skirt is soft,
coddling his pats and rabbits
below a ranch full o' pine scented apples.
Sister wonders if she should bring new girl home,
(met at 1:33 AM on 23rd Street.
Apartment documented to smell like baby powder)
but friends are friends are friends are friends,
just friends as furrowed Daddy repeats to himself.
Even "Hallowed be thy name..." confuses the CCD out of him.
"Cancel Alabama's trip this year;
the bees will be humming in their own candle wax.
Besides, who wants to hug Nana
when her breath doubles over in grilled salmon?"
Dec 18, 2011
Dec 18, 2011 at 8:22 PM UTC
Wooden swing, sandal toes.
Willows.
Swaying.
Sweet
water
running.
A silly, sinking feeling.
Sun saved Boat's neck.
Sun saved Boat from Night,
from shipwreck.
Harbored.
Beached.
Bobbing,
beat of red dawn drum,
tune of tangerine rind tenor.
Wheez.
Sea breeze.
Breathe.
Sugar soap.
Sun drop.
Exfoliate.
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 2:08 AM UTC
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~
1. Take care of your teeth and gums
Brush & floss, everyday (Seriously)
Keep your teeth, if at all possible.
They are your very own precious Ivory.
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~
2. a. Eat well. Do not deny your body
nourishment. Gals, you will want a nice
set of ***** Trust me...eat.
b, Try to not put on too much extra weight.
(no judgement here) Just that it is very
hard on your body. Ridiculously
difficult to lose when you're older.
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~
3. Love the skin you live within. Try not to
bake your bareness too long in the sun,
or burn your precious epidermis.
Cleanse, exfoliate. Most of all, drink plenty of water and moisturize, moisturize, moisturize
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~
4. Hang on to all of your bones.
You will miss them when they are gone
Take care of your hands, neck, hips and knees.
Once your joints wear out, it's a total ******
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~
5. Keep movin' and groovin'.
If you stay still too long, you will get stuck
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~
6. Find the humor in everything. It is there!
All of life's lessons placed before you.
When all else fails, you can laugh about it.
(Trust Me. Your going to need this one)
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~
~Christi Michaels~May 2015~
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 4:38 AM UTC
She is an empress, goddess of the river
Weeping willows shade her, the life giver
We must praise her, and her gentle rapids
He is a lost and confused soul in labyrinth
She was his empress, his goddess of the river
His hair fluttered in the wind, the rhythm of the world
Her eyes shimmering in the sun set on the one she knows as the one
Her well-wisher, worthy fisherman
He wants to swim in her currents and he can
For he is the river goddess’s lover
Her crystal waters wash him
His kisses bring to her face an eternal smile
Her sandy rocky river bed exfoliate his feet
A promise of love they both intend to keep
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 1:14 AM UTC
the beauty of english nakedness, look at it for long enough
and you get to retract or at least crab-walk east
into the pincer plateaus of the frozen tundras and see
again, proustain afresh in the cork-lined room:
what bothered me was the acute stress on the faroese a -
english really is a blank canvas: or a complex canvas with
many unique distinctions of individual words - perhaps
the dementia crisis in english-speaking societies -
also why the accent diversity between all those who come
to learn it, and those who live in the zeitreich
of the absteigen sonne - but theories are theories.
so back to the blank canvas, which allows so see
the dynamics, although as i said, the acute faroese a
(acute, because derived from the latin verb of needlework /
puncture) - ~etymology (approx. because not
related to words but phonetic units, i.e. letters)
thus reveals that the latin accents died, truth tooth
of the phrase latin is a dead tongue - but not as dead
as when you see remnants of the transformation,
in that certain latin activities (verbs) spawned the stressing
revisions on letters to appropriate the nordic and germanic
slavic, *** and celt into its ***** acute to puncture -
like the polish acute o (ó), meaning to puncture the o
and make a U sound, although when otherwise acute is
needed, but the geometry is less obvious it means not to stress,
but sharpen, cut-short, exfoliate into a range of onomatopoeic
comparisons: sneeze - wheezing - high pitch flute -
play the clarinet - pincer the tongue - pliers -
god knows what instrument i'm really playing: ć, ń, ś, ź -
cut the letters from cen nan sap zed into the uniqueness
of the actual first letter, go into roman do re mi fa so la
****** musicology) rather than greek omega omicron
alpha beta. so this acute faroese a, what bothered me
was the suffix -áp... the p you see, if the accent dynamic
was to end with a german umlaut -äp or with a
māori macron -āp... i would have said the p...
rather than ending with a b.
*"heimlich" tongue-numbing d.
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 9:06 AM UTC
I'll have my thought-provocative chamomile island
Hold your breath if you'd like
As long as it lasts, I'll pull you to the pools
Where the warmth doesn't sink nor spike
It bubbles with treasure awaiting
Marked as rubble that keeps procreating
These caverns, they'll be warm as a mother's arms
The sea life will smile back, warm
As the breeze that will dry your walk home
This is sand I could sleep on, sand that couldn't exfoliate, it's
Smaller than your pores
The roar of a ****** the waves arching spine
Sighing as the loamy foam symbolizes sweet decline
Rind of the ***** sun
So ripe it could puncture with your own thumb
Heated juices soak the soil
Feed the trees, learn your new roots
Swaying palm leaves lap your back
Laughter breaks out in the mouth of the land
Pigmented petals kiss your core
The trustworthy breeze tucks around your form
Of course you'll be staying, even though you never went
We'll pass our days more perfect than the prior hours spent.
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 12:40 AM UTC
I listen to the sound of my fate as it pours out of the bottle. At last the pressure can escape. Breathing a sigh of relief that would meet the clouds with gentle licks. I am seated at the edge of my own precipice and at the bottom is a river. Ready to carry me down a tumultuous pass to the sandy peroxide foamy waves that exfoliate my sins.
Scout the bottom of the ocean for my heart,
You will find it throbbing like your eardrums in the auricle of a conch shell
You will hear the sound of my voice
And feel the grit of sand as you clench down your teeth
The water dries around my knees as I float atop the surface. Exposing my holy flesh to the contenders of will power. Will power my will to engage the mighty rock. And burst and bleed and eviscerate to form, to mold, to sculpt the golden stool of my consciousness.
Feast your eyes upon my crown
Adorned with the corpses of my victory
And collateral damage
Feel its weight as heavy as mercy
The blood pours into the ink as I dig these verses from my soul. The goal, my raison d'être, ikki *** and my modus opernadi is to excuse the agenda pushing glitterti when they tell me what my life should be. I should be, cruising the milky ways and the galaxies that my being exists in. Infinite space, infinite time leaves way for infinite possibilities to truly be free. So don’t mind me.
Standing as the revolution
The testament
Revolving around your disillusion
Thicker than cement
My empire was built on dreams, schemes occupy my reality and place you next to me. And the rest of me I will give to you as I pull you inside of me. So that when my eyes close you sleep and when you are sad I weep, deep is the colour of our passion beyond indigo. More fierce than the might of Chaka and his legions and yet as quiet as snowfall and you are
Beautiful. A shock to the senses that
dissipates the fog.
This concludes
the prelude.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 4:47 PM UTC
The world is filled with beauty
Long stretches of landscape and wildlife
Only to be ruined with the desire for nightlife
The trees stand as guardians without a shield
As the natural animals calmly graze in their fields
Acres are destroyed because of our greed for yield
Species devastated like a swift avalanche
The overwhelming need to breed advances will be the death of us
The earth aches as we willingly drill her beauty
And the pores exfoliate to a mess of gloomy vapor
How could we do this to our home?
We have bested our creator of life
Do we control her just in spite of conquering the land?
Or is the element of greed too powerful to handle.
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 5:45 AM UTC
In a dream I never sought
unprecedented horrors and thoughts
a scissors with a hint of blood
heavy and surreal sound
the demon within speaks
I exfoliate to my core
The mask of sanity is no more intact
Disturbed and desolate in an unknown labyrinth
Of love, of law and of thoughts
Death is abutting your life
an escape to an aberrant sanctuary
scrupulous circles of luminance lead you further
The past is farce and forgotten
The senile you and your transgressions end
Your dalliance with humanity culminates
Loathe and love exist no more
Reverie is not what I need
restore the thought indeed
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 4:54 AM UTC
The worst part is that when I
walk in the door, I'm slapped in the face by
two radiant smiles
that deny
we just screamed at each other.
Or did we?
Maybe you just blocked it out and I
choked -
Screaming in my sleep
to stop the road from escaping
my feet
and leaving me panting from
either crying for hours or
running for miles.
I guess that doesn't matter now because
I can't feel any of it, not
the boiling hot tears that
sting my eyes or
their salt that attempts to exfoliate
my dry, raw skin;
Colourless, now, because sunlight gives
life and I've taken that away -
I can't stand another bright,
happy face as I sit here
drowning
in whatever takes my fancy.
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 4:17 AM UTC
I stood under the showerhead today
cleansing myself and wondering
if the same thing could be done to my past.
Head first, I
lather my hair,
massage my regrets into my skull
and I let it sit.
I’ve done this enough times that
I think my brain
has absorbed them all
The sorrows seep in
and decide that one rinsing
- and neither was two, or three, or four
wasn’t quite enough
- my arms are sore so I guess I’ll just move on.
Next, my skin
is subjected to vigorous scrubbing.
I can never
remove enough layers of shame
I can never
exfoliate all my guilt
and when I look down, my hands
contain ghost stains of crimson gloves
- *“Out, ****** spot! out, I say!”*
I wonder if
anyone else sees me this way
I wonder if
the callused and scarred tissue in my heart
can be so easily removed
like dust, grime, oil, blood.
I slump against the tile wall,
letting the water scald the coldness inside me.
Is it easier to live when you close your eyes
instead of watching the things that nearly killed you
swirl around in infinite eddies
down the drain?
I flinch at the way the water
gurgles down the pipes, wondering why
it’s so easy for them to take it in
and let it go.
The water stops. I shake off
the last of the tenacious water droplets
and I run my hands down my wrists, my ribs, my face
It is good to feel like your body is a clean slate.
I remember what all I scrubbed and scraped and
rubbed off, and I think
No more. No more. No more.
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 1:10 PM UTC
I only spit shine our hikes
in the woods and I marinate rain drops
in melted wax so we can peal
it off our skins when we get bored later.
I only exfoliate on lost time while
maneuvering around false hope
you seem to deliver from an eternity
void, stamped and all. I must jump its
sound and skip a couple staircases
to find its Jonas Salk. I only go mad on
the colors I write about the clown who keeps
his nose on a rounded cliff and
his acts in prepositions. I invest
verbs with the future and liquidate
past futile nouns in denial.
I plunge the toilet of the oppressed
monk who never gets the good and
rough *** those mornings the birds sing.
I sew fellowship when viscosity
is at maximum and the sewage
ruptures four feet from the prince
of mercantile who ends up
building a wall to protect himself
and others from the foggy morning.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 2:46 AM UTC
You always were attracted
To the girls that hid
Behind their dead skin cells
****
That's what you called them
Like a salamander
Maybe
Put their hair in pig tails
hear whispers of a white devil
being reborn
Stop trying to kid yourself
Exfoliate.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 12:54 PM UTC
Emollients are hard to come by
For this agronomy of my soil.
The hay is vague, the crops are spoiled.
I want, I toil, I quail the mail.
I'm tired, detailed, drawn as a
Pawn to the business grail.
My stool needs Emollient
My head needs painkillers.
Last nerves have got my words
My country and home
Needs a exfoliate !
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 12:13 AM UTC
A soup of thoughts
ocean of humanity
onion-seaweed adrift
in a salty stock-lake
to the far reaches
of our existence.
A fear of the shoreline,
far off distant abyss
yet in the safety
of the puddle
we intertwine our
melted-butter hearts
sticky liquid mess
of icing sugar
dribbling down our
thighs bathing in the
brain-stew, hoping
to one day feel the
sand of the shore
exfoliate our
scaly toes.
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 10:44 PM UTC
****** needed some remedials.
A b sees and one two threes.
Some tables and basics
Lasix...for a swollen ego.
We go.
We went
We gone.
A wash and wrinse... a manipedi. Exfoliate.
Real .
Uncluttered.
To the quick.
Too many lifetimes posing
A heart that forgot
The forget me nots.
Too many summer in the blazing sun
Many bone chilled winters.
Howling storms became the norm
Sooo.Gold stars and paper cuts
Elmers glue to start anew
Baby.
Kids need cookies and milk.
Hearts need to be gentle as spun silk.
Open like Dr Sues and simple.
Like popping your first
Pimple.
Simple.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC
1, 2, 3, 4
What are women fighting for?
My father doesn't know-
about my past.
As the **** culture comments
slip from his tongue-
I mourn for the women
who experience the same.
Because every time
it is a knife upon my spine
chipping away at my backbone.
Some days,
it hurts to stand up straight.
5, 6, 7, 8-
Women need to procreate!
We tell women
their legs are an entry way
men can use at will.
But then they urge us to keep the seed
growing inside of us-
when sometimes it is just a ****
coming to the surface
because of an invasion
of our own garden
the one we spent
so much time growing.
In the case we let it flourish
into a flower, even though we don't
have the proper nutrients
all of those mouths
that told us to water it
are now dry and absent.
They don't return
so we are the ones who become withered..
Once,
a man who thought we was more
medicine than overdose
took away a child
that could of been my sibling.
And ever since-
my mother feels the withdrawal.
7, 8, 9, 10-
Will **** culture ever end?
Not when there's a vulture
among the white house
now painted blood red,
Caucasian white,
and bruised ego blue.
When the words
are noosing their way
around our necks-
we must give misogyny a kiss of death.
When some "feminists"
spew misandry from the pores
remind them to exfoliate
the hatred from their vocal chords.
Remind them to
look up the definition of feminism.
We can't forget-
about the boy who was forced
by his cousin and stayed silent
because "men can't get *****
right?
We can't forget-
about the women of color
who fight harder than most
because their skin
gives them the greater war.
When this America
is etched with white supremacy
Don't let them fetishize
or demoralize our sisters.
We stand together.
Don't let these instances
slip through your fingers.
Grab them by the throat
and remind yourself
of when they made
you lose your voice.
1, 2, 3, 4
What are the people fighting for?
******* Equality.
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 10:21 AM UTC
Thanks for the drop
So Seemingly accidental
Kicked like a pebble along this gravel-road time line
I turn and glance a mirror
How introspective.
My ***** cragged shell
My thoughts tainted by my odious flesh
Mississippi catfish have seen better days
I can only swim backward if I’ve finally seen the danger
And the warning signs come a flooding
Crawdads taught me well.
A clam diving headlong into the sludge
Detritus never felt so comforting
Sand in my eyes
Sand in my eyes
Exfoliate your corneas boy!
Rotten fruit never tasted so good
Spoiled milk and flies
A dog to its own *****
Thanks for the shock collar
The pound
The castration
Hand that feeds
How sweet and tender-hearted
You cherish your convenience
I am a cursed man
Born dead
Alive and dead once again
As time is slowly ticking
I gasp for air
Salt water
Light to relieve me of crippling water pressure
It’s too dark down here
Why is the end of the tunnel above the surface?
I can’t breathe up there
Throw me a line
Yank me away
To an abrasive serenity at the hand of a fisherman in the kitchen sink
A plastic ring will do nicely
Might as well sink and feed my brothers
Might as well think to myself
Rather than lead others
Might as well smudge my words so that no one can read what I wrote
With the needle in my side
My thorns are innate
Yet I wield them as stripes
My fillet is laid
Across the plate at the last supper
My time as a bottom feeder is through
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC
Roughly one year,
twelve months,
three-hundred-eighty-three days,
nine-thousand-one-hundred-ninety-six hours,
five-hundred-fifty-one-thousand-seven-hundred-fifty-four minutes,
thirty-three-million-one-hundred-five-thousand-two-hundred-fourty seconds…
It is in these shreds of time that many vile moments will unfold like the last shedding of a snake’s skin.
There is no vaccine for the venom that is soon to occur,
it must simply run its violent course.
It will thin my blood,
and exfoliate me from within so that my soul is raw.
It is neither the lightheartedness of friends,
nor the contempt for those I have wronged that will keep me alive,
as there is no hospital that can cure wounds of this nature.
Time has lost its medical license due to malpractice,
and I once again find myself practicing patience with snakes.
Aug 18, 2025
Aug 18, 2025 at 9:35 PM UTC
Baptize me in your waters.
I want to drown in the depth of your eyes
and breathe under the soft waves of your kisses.
Let the broken shells you wear
mix with the muddied sands of my foundation.
They can exfoliate the castle walls built around my heart.
Pull me under -
whether in clear reflections of sunny coasts
or trifling shades of navy tsunamis.
Consume me.
Consummate something -
before it all washes away,
before it all sinks
and marries decaying wood and yellowed pearls
hidden beneath hope, dreams,
and greed.
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 9:59 PM UTC
I told you not to worry,
emotions can be blurry.
But telling you to be positive,
isn't effective.
If I want to be supportive,
I need to see from your perspective
But that is easier said than done.
Maybe we could meditate,
concentrate and exfoliate our minds.
Isolate the bad,
separate it from the good.
Don't let it suffocate us,
but learn to tolerate it.
Let it educate us,
so we my learn to appreciate again.
But that is easier said than done.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 9:33 PM UTC
Some times I wonder how I would cope
stranded on an Island sporting a thong made of rope
Not sure what I'd do about my hairy pits
And I've got curly hair so I'm sure I'd get nits
I suppose I could exfoliate with a coconut shell
but the unwanted hair would be absolute hell!
I could go without make up and pretty clothes
and I'd have time to practise my Yoga pose
I would work on my tan, relax and chill
even catch breakfast with my new fishing skills
This actually sounds like a dream to me
so much alone time, just me and the sea
I'd look fab with a tan and a body so ripped
cellulite gone and slender hips
Wearing a grass skirt, feeling it sway
feeling so alive eating my five-a-day!
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 4:10 PM UTC
luxuriate
my lovely
…lovely
one
dip in the hot pool
soften the skin
ease
exfoliate
murmur within
deep within
my lovely
…lovely
one
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC