"flag" poems - Hello Poetry

I'd like to think that she's thinking: "How far have I fallen?" As she sits on the corner of her bed, Listening to the soft buzz of his battery-powered toothbrush. I imagine her, Running her fingers through her clumsy, coagulated hair. Glancing at her chipped, crimson toe nails, Then looking to her class ring, Made entirely of imitation ingredients, Wondering when is the proper time to trash it. When she was still a friend of mine, I never saw her wear make up, I never saw her show off in tight jeans or low-cut tees. But as he spews the toothpaste into the sink, Skinny jeans lay tussled on the floor, Next to the side door that leads to his sister's side room. The make up she wears is from the night before. It's skewed and shows evidence of running, Like a wasted watercolor. I'd like to think he isn't that handsome, And that he's obsessed with Paul Walker. I'd like to think when he re-enters the room, He's in grey sweatpants, He's wearing a black tank top, With a Confederate flag backdrop, With two barely dressed babes looking ****** in the foreground. His hair, unwashed and greasy. He rubs his belly, And bears an idiot grin on his face. Looking like he just learned how to smile at this pace. "Did it feel good?" feel good. After he asks, he scans her body, Beginning at those crimson toes, And Ending at that clumsy hair. Every second he scans, He still wears that drawn-on Idiot grin. I'd like to think at this point she thinks of me. Of my warnings and prophesy. Her eyes start at the chipped toe nails, Course over her tanning bed-inspired legs. And finally reach the only thing she has on, A t-shirt that belongs to his sister. A t-shirt, when given by him, It was mentioned, "thanks, mister". Though she didn't satisfy all his redneck intentions, During last night's expedition. He still paid her back with a morning one-sided session. "It felt good" she says. In reference to the ten minute ********** When her body was strummed and plucked, Underneath his sister's Terri Clark T-shirt. As she sits in the filth and the ****** fallout, On a bed that is six days ***** While he is grinning, Being everything but wordy. I'd like to think she's thinking: "How far have I fallen?"

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Jun 4, 2010

Jun 4, 2010 at 10:31 PM UTC

jj-hutton

She was a Friend of Mine

I'd like to think that she's thinking: "How far have I fallen?" As she sits on the corner of her bed, Listening to the soft buzz of his battery-powered toothbrush. I imagine her, Running her fingers through her clumsy, coagulated hair. Glancing at her chipped, crimson toe nails, Then looking to her class ring, Made entirely of imitation ingredients, Wondering when is the proper time to trash it. When she was still a friend of mine, I never saw her wear make up, I never saw her show off in tight jeans or low-cut tees. But as he spews the toothpaste into the sink, Skinny jeans lay tussled on the floor, Next to the side door that leads to his sister's side room. The make up she wears is from the night before. It's skewed and shows evidence of running, Like a wasted watercolor. I'd like to think he isn't that handsome, And that he's obsessed with Paul Walker. I'd like to think when he re-enters the room, He's in grey sweatpants, He's wearing a black tank top, With a Confederate flag backdrop, With two barely dressed babes looking ****** in the foreground. His hair, unwashed and greasy. He rubs his belly, And bears an idiot grin on his face. Looking like he just learned how to smile at this pace. "Did it feel good?" feel good. After he asks, he scans her body, Beginning at those crimson toes, And Ending at that clumsy hair. Every second he scans, He still wears that drawn-on Idiot grin. I'd like to think at this point she thinks of me. Of my warnings and prophesy. Her eyes start at the chipped toe nails, Course over her tanning bed-inspired legs. And finally reach the only thing she has on, A t-shirt that belongs to his sister. A t-shirt, when given by him, It was mentioned, "thanks, mister". Though she didn't satisfy all his redneck intentions, During last night's expedition. He still paid her back with a morning one-sided session. "It felt good" she says. In reference to the ten minute ********** When her body was strummed and plucked, Underneath his sister's Terri Clark T-shirt. As she sits in the filth and the ****** fallout, On a bed that is six days ***** While he is grinning, Being everything but wordy. I'd like to think she's thinking: "How far have I fallen?"