"flossing" poems
Flossing more often because of you
Kool-aid blue cold condensation
Wiping my brow drifting dreaming
Biting my bottom lip until bruised
Fantasies of you being used
Objectified with warm honey eyes
My popsicle melted on your lips
Elbows dug into my mattress
Give me some sugar, ******
My pixie stick sweetheart
Indulging my sweet tooth
Flossing more often because of you
Jun 7, 2021
Jun 7, 2021 at 12:17 AM UTC
tongue traces teeth
pushing
pushing
pushing
is it moving?
it's moving!
wiggle wiggle
oh my God it's
MOVING
reach up
fingers touch the tooth
anxious like a child
with their first
loose tooth
teeth
teeth
teeth
teeth
nightmares:
gaps and spaces
sinks full of
blood
and
TEETH
push them back in!
--fall out again--
push them back in!
--blood on your fingers--
brushbrushbrushbrush
flossflossflossfloss
is it moving?
is it moving?
brush
floss
brush
floss
brush
floss
brush
floss
is it moving?
it can't be moving!
if pushed too hard,
could that make them
fall out?
gums sore
from over flossing
gums not growing
from toothbrush
abrasions
teeth,
not quite
pearly white
holding tight
teeth
teeth
teeth
Feb 16, 2011
Feb 16, 2011 at 1:47 PM UTC
For fuck's sake.
How did we end up here again?
The soothing, annoying word flickers on my blue-back lit screen and I am ****** back to the tumultuous moment when once upon a time it yelled bipolar.
And here we go again.
My thoughts flick, flit, floss between teeth made for biting and real meat. They need plaque, collection, to grow and accumulate mass to progress. But there my flicking thoughts go, flossing.
I've always struggled focusing, but I just got excitable, got manic, and it would solve everything. Mania was my monster, my red bull, and now that its sated and off to Wonderland...
I'm left here, face to face, with a twitchy white rabbit wondering why I would ever think to use my pretty little head when its such a good projectile into the sky.
I had always wondered, in those whispering nights, when my hands couldn't stop moving and my head wouldn't shut up, if something was wrong. But it was silly, I had two already, full of worry then full of poles. Couldn't be another, could it?
Of course, a Grace of Wonderland always knows best, and here we are. Another bottle to drink to keep me sane.
I wonder if my fingers will thank the capsules when I might stop biting them? Or my toes? Is this why my toes always twitch and dance, why they stand center-stage in so many of my mild fantasies? After all these years, the divas that my lower digits have become may not appreciate losing their star titles.
I just want to be fine. I want to figure out how to move beyond all the strange misfires in my head. How did I survive so long without a notice? Inflates my ego to know I should have been caught by now.
Guess just like the White Rabbit, despite my widgets and worries, no one can stop me from running when I'm madly, absolutely, refusing to be late.
Graces only knows to fight with fire and fists. Tis the state of my Wonderland, and perhaps now things will only get better.
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 7:08 PM UTC
In secret
Words prepare dialogue transporting emotions like pilots
With no mercy words turn around and get messy
Placing Vaseline on dry throats speaking levy
Lips on skateboards sniffing the ground for reality’s ride
Electrifying plots against blurry words with
no physical basic thoughts thinking dialogue cravings
Untidy tiding plots buried in baritones hurried to hire imaginary thoughts
With no mercy things get messy
Stainless inks get messy
Poetry comes in speed bumps
Never the less poetry comes in speeds
Bumping speed bumps
Bump all slumps
Bluffing word bumps
Bump all stunts
Puff them hard till words provoke gumboot sounds
Bump all ink pumps and thirsty thumbs
Speed bump conclusions jumping resolutions around
words spoken in gibberish gigabytes per seconds smelling leverage
Amplifying televised revolution on repetition far from average
Paralyze those walking eyes
Bumping rhythms
Dusty broken chests serving overcrowded greeting lines
On solo mode
Flirtalicious solo chaotic modes
Bumb connections around chairs warmed up by bums
Speaking the same womb and rhythms
Brothers and sisters chained up in pairs and bums
enslaved by messy word poetry speed-bumbs
Words get messy with no mercy on lip bumps
Those messy words camp behind bushy brains
Rail track through lips with no vibrating mercy veins
Affiliate with true bones
Crossbones carrying history's forgotten side bums
Instrumental bones
Stinking hip hop bums speed flossing word stunts
Words dig up chaos with no mercy
Armed with no rounds
Pounds stolen before two rounds
Sheriffs secretly scared of their own uniform sounds
Shortlisted words saving society's bums
Words are just messy and profound
a.s.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
Some people parade around
Like they are preening themselves
Flossing their jewelry
And pruning their feathers
Parading around
Like they are better
Then other people
Closing themselves off
From people they feel
Are somehow beneath them
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 3:28 AM UTC
There is an old Chinese saying
that goes like *'those who lie too much tend to
lose teeth'*
I have one ripped from the top
and two snatched from the bottom,
from my un-truths--half truths
those new moon truths, with a crescent
sliver of a lie--but lie none the less
My mouth blossoms red and purple,
veins and capillaries split-lit
muscle malformed, bacteria nurtured
in the hammock of my gum,
all from those words I said to him.
Things like 'I love you',
so sweet and artificial that no
amount of brushing, flossing,
or gargling could prevent the
plaque.
O woe,
I have the mouth of a ***** for appearance--
all in the name of appearance.
Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 11:01 AM UTC
And it all came crumbling down
The job
The familial ties
The man
And it all fell through my fingers.
A naked shell disintegrating
Paying taxes
Flossing and waxing.
Feb 28, 2021
Feb 28, 2021 at 5:06 AM UTC
flossing jocks swing mighty
***** crow blowing triumphant
incumbents sent to extend the morality
vitality reality equals fallacies and tribulation
recreation station seething with malcontents grossly exaggerate
the aggregate to depreciate the innate greatness of iced milk and cherries
varying fairies trailing mankind grind to different beats
seated meat sacks lack tact and force ill-mannered children
to render hate venders with crayons
yawning chasms plastered with plasma and grass clippings
flipping chihuahuas slipping in to the dark
bouncing ta-ta’s, beer-soaked and tightly clad
refocus the mass passing by
flying low with bellies plastic filled
pelicans land softly on quiet mountain lakes to breed in peace
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC
The beautiful scar
deep in green,
peaceful question mark
loops through the field
in which I stand
on ground
soft as a soap-drunk sponge.
The sun,
a lit matchstick-tip
burns all shades of tangerine
and saffron.
The water I hear trickle by,
the water I see
flossing the weeds,
a turquoise flow of blood
from this vein
to the beating heart.
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 12:45 PM UTC
You are the Titan of Tears,
Sobbing to the unforgiving milkman
Who breaks your ***** bottles
And feeds you curdled milk
From withering cattle.
He crunches around broken glass
With his scuffed leather boots on your front porch
As you watch from a hole in your bedroom wall,
Losing your first piece of dignity
And the last of the sanity carrying you since age ten.
You are the Titan of Tears,
Crying to the cutthroat poetess
Who refuses to send your estranged sister
A collection of misery soaked poetry.
She burns your insincere words in front of the mailbox;
Stanza by stanza the ash coats your mouth
Like lipstick for the ******
Spiraling into smoke as she walks away
Fast enough to lose her in the midst of your fit.
The Titan of Tears—
You whimper in torn apart doorways
To block out strangers who will never appear.
You, Titan,
Who only feels clean when flossing
In the harshest of summer storms
Because you believe your great God is washing
Sins out of your matted hair.
You, Titan,
Whose childhood feels never-ending like evening traffic.
Childhood is the milky smoke you witness
Seeping from your dying neighbor’s chimney;
Childhood stares at you
Like glassy eyed pigeons outside of your office window
As you weep into your cold black coffee, Titan.
Your lacking adulthood is full of sloppy attempts to silence
Barking dogs in your slush brain,
Pushing down the bile that rises in your flaking throat,
As water floods your eyes like a basement during Katrina
And feeding worms writhe out of your flared nostrils,
Covered in snot and blackened discharge.
You are the Titan of Tears;
Your weeping rivals Mother Mary’s ****** streaks.
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 12:15 AM UTC
These kids,
They look so
Derelict,
They look so
Full of ****
Like they could
Ever skip
The river styx
Crossing.
So rather
Than glossing
Over their eyes,
Maybe these guys
Should start
Flossing
The wrinkles
Of their brains
By tossing
Back a few
Infected grains,
It's Ergot that
Brings
What you forgot;
As in your face,
As big as
Great danes
Made of waves
Of color.
If fluorescent
Grays
Ever
Deliver me asunder....
It's so dull
Under
This counter,
My mind starts
To flounder
As I flip the
******* flounder.
Or is it
Tilapia?
I wonder,
Could I be
Happier?
Probably, but
Don't you know
I like it
Sappier?
Is that a word?
Who gives a ****
Not this bird,
Thats why she's flying away,
Not toward
The veneer covered
Ways I say
"Come here."
"Go away."
"2 for fives two for fives,
****** got garbage around the way."
The way I pray
For acid rain
To melt my clothes,
My skin,
My muscles and veins,
My mostly drained
Trays of grease;
Popping.
Bubbling.
Please.
Please
Give my
Knees
Some ease
From their pains,
I've been begging
For weeks,
I need to sleep.
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 12:59 AM UTC
bananas.
long readings for long classes.
people who sneer.
that scary story i heard when i was little about the man under the bed licking the girl's hand, all the while she thinks it's her pup.
the fact that i cannot draw.
that i ever stopped playing the fiddle.
seeing the **** silhouette of some unidentifiable female's back and knowing if she was not there, i'd be able to see your face, your nose, your eyes.
that it doesn't rain every day.
flossing.
that i sometimes feel incapable of utilizing my vocal cords.
that i don't sing as loud as i'd like to.
realizing after i've finished my cigarette that i was sitting next to a pregnant friend.
the fact that i have pregnant friends.
that i tend to feel stuck everywhere i go after just a few short months.
that someone tried convincing me i was missing out because i do not own heels.
that people are mean to each other.
that i want so badly to make something tangible out of my thoughts, my words, but feel comfortable with no one to collaborate.
i can't play the guitar anymore.
that "anymore" was in that statement.
that i feel it is detrimental to my existence to be around certain people that i rarely see and when i do they make me so sad, but i still want them there more than most others.
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 12:40 AM UTC
yeah ***** wanna make
enemies with me
ya see me flossing pistols with shining jewelry
not tryna be purtttty
but im coming with
the wrath of a panther
expanding my legacy
in every community
black folks hispanic folks
stop letting them smoke
out ya mind i grind with as i shine
over enemies they stay worried about me
and how i beat my feet so swiftly
enemies i line em
up one by one
this aint a game son
i be the don next kindred
of the holy one
died like my homie
did at thirty three and a half
Picture me dyin'?
for a world that never
carried about my ***
now these ******* coming fast
flash of my past
but im back to put them on they ***
check my gun blast
to this ***** name "militant returns"
now ya soul burned body stunned
by my lyrics spittin'
like bullets lock n loaded
explode it
through ya brain cells
i see you aint livn' well
ya see should haven't made enemies with me
ya punk *****
livin in this life
of sin from begin
to the very end
will the father lord
let me in?
casted as a plant
but my roots grew up a ***** up
now im makin' rants
for my childish antics
never panic while i bust at politics
once my pistols hit
ya melon aint no
tellin' or jailin'
me in this penitentiary
i was born rugged
and ill die rugged
life is raw so **** it
gotta set black forts
for the crooked courts
feedin' my thoughts
esoteric knowledge
soon ill be a corpse
for exposing so much
secrecy to all my
known enemies
triple teamin me
it dont matter
the more they come
they more i dump
sendin- bombs like Trump
nah i mean transform on the scene
never puff bio green
coming wicked across yo screen
**** this dream for cream
DC white house i know ya fear me
but shouldn't have made
enemies with mehh
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 12:29 PM UTC
A new girl moved next door,
I helped her carry some of her boxes in
She was very nice
Little did I know what was in store
A few months had gone by
She was starting to settle in
One weekend, I was drawing, when I heard a spraying noise
I looked down and saw the girl
Washing her car, her attire, or lack thereof, making a lot of noise.
She looked up at me, saw me watching
She bit her lip and moved her bikinis string flossing
Teasing, and tantalizing, I slowly walked away into my room
It was kinda early but I contemplated pleasuring myself, at least before I go out this afternoon.
Right as I got up to get lotion
There was a loud knock at the entrance to my home
I answered the door and said who is it
And it was her, completely disrobed.
Wait Nero, how does the story end?
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 1:33 AM UTC
Man I'm rocking man, I'm rocking
Hear me when I'm talking
Truth spoken where lies are spoken often
Die daily awake inside a coffin
Fighting my flesh its a giant no Tom Coughlin
The smell of death
Like the smell of breath with out flossing
This world wilding like a mosh pit
Disgusting like *****
Waiting for God to clean it like comet
The truth hits harder than a following star
I'm rocking like a chunk of a dead planet
Floating out in space stranded.
End of life can anyone plan it.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 10:24 PM UTC
Corporation bosses
Tossing the lost
Into the fist of jaws
Concentrations flossing
The reparation of old glory
Muted and refuted
I’m not joining the band
Just because he said
Yes we can
Apr 5, 2010
Apr 5, 2010 at 8:55 AM UTC
Often times, abominations misled;
memories beyond travels abound,
with a mint of souls falsifying the "wind"
"flossing" our inner guide they intend...
maintaining a "dirty-game" like "secret agents"
what’s for the future?
having travelled from afar
is this our place?
to delineate as “aliens” scudding from the surface?
Who are we-but sojourners casting a dice of chance!
hitting the freeway, but for what "price"?
followed by a little "preparing the way,"
What else would we think about, anyway?
In time and space...or anywhere else!
Phew!
We are always here!
We will always be here...
Muhumuza Kenneth. E
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 3:38 AM UTC
I play drums until my drum sticks break
Hitting the melody on every beat that breaks
starting a rhythm of revellers in Harlem shake
Like Kelis, I bring the girls to my yard after a date and a twerk
We flossing to a drum roll, and we clap
kick drum cues the end with a tap of a hi-hat
Wake up in the morning in bed
Wearing a Bugs Bunny onesie and a top hat
Did this really happen?
I don't know?!
Wondering about my pillow
With splinters and the broken drum sticks
Jun 2, 2021
Jun 2, 2021 at 5:24 PM UTC
There's words on the tip of my tongue
I'm trying to spit them out
The taste of stale chewing gum
Wandering about.
Flossing through my teeth
The whisper of frustration
The loudest of heartbeats
A head ache from nauseation.
What was I saying?
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 2:08 AM UTC
Life is…competition.
Everything starts with “She’s a good person, but…”
And what does that even mean—‘good’?
It’s such a tricky word…
It trudges and collects, rolling and sticking and melting into a mess.
It covers and confuses.
It oozes…
‘Good.’
It is cavernous and claustrophobic all at once.
Because what do you tack onto that word and what do you leave out?
And how much is too much before good is no longer good?
Before it turns to flaws and flossing teeth—
Revealing surprising grime on white napkins.
Now she’s “‘Mary,’ the kind soul with an eating disorder.”
Life is disorder.
***** fingers constantly filing and misfiling,
sealing cases closed with oversized labels that undermine the contents inside and the very boxes that hold them.
And what does it mean then?
When you are a rectangle and I am a square,
When Mary is placed on the shelf over there?
I am not scared
of the brown—not ***** blonde—roots creeping up from the top of my hair,
of the pimple on my chin.
But what makes me cringe is your satisfied grin when you notice that her daughter
is not quite as thin…
not quite as thin;
It is a sliver of a win,
Like the sliver of cake that you take to your plate
for fear that your trousers might break—
and then—
gasp you’ll belong with them,
cardboard congregated in the corner,
stacked and packed together,
the ones with jean-zippers torn asunder.
I cannot help but wonder
what life is…
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 8:25 AM UTC
i have interviews;
plastic plants are placed squarely throughout stale spaces
the real plants are on desks and on window sills,
mainly private offices
where women sit and look out windows;
they wait once a month
for window washers to lather the glass
and it’s calm, their legs are crossed
they wait for the squeegee to screech
and then they wipe away the rain stains
that should have been pressed in a diary
windows get clean slates
at night you can hardly tell that anything is *****
but today the windows are stained
through sunlight one can see it all
even the grasshopper leg pinned to the fourth floor window
where a man is flossing his teeth
after having craved a super food salad
that he won’t allow his assistant to know about
i have interviews;
and i will pick at my **** stockings
hide my pleasant coffee stains
but not shave my ***** hair
i will sit with the women who take pleasure in windows;
collar bones with freckles and sun kissed tints
eyes always nearly closed
because of the succulent hisses by cubicle #3;
they slither through lungs and offer more
than how many words i can type
before someone lights up another cigarette
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 9:32 AM UTC
How much of my history can you read from my mouth?
Can you make some sort of sense of what my life is about?
"You ought to quit smoking.
It's bad for your gums."
It seems my teeth are paying the price for how I like to have fun.
I dread the sound of that drill,
but I'm here of my own free will.
Please don't tell me that I have a cavity.
Ask me about my flossing habits,
and if I've been experiencing sensitivity.
I have.
You see, I've been having these dreams in which I'm spitting out all of my teeth.
I looked it up in Zolar's encyclopedia.
It reads:
Teeth falling out = death.
It's been ******* with me.
I found some other sources which state
that losing your teeth in dreams is a subconscious way of expressing anxiety.
Sounds about right.
I've been waking up in hot sweats every single night.
With a weight on my chest that feels like the precursor to death.
I've told my favorite non-friend about how lately I've been feeling a sense of impending doom.
Like I'm headed towards disaster.
She didn't have anything to say about it.
I guess I've always had a flair for the melodramatic.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 2:37 AM UTC
Jumping around to the rhythm of music begets sweat
The baseline vibrates and my shirt drenched in sweat
Flossing to the ditty with a pretty lady both dripping sweat
We both slide to the left pouring with sweat
Stop on the beat wiggle & twist ****** in sweat
We both slide to the right pouring with sweat
Break on the beat wiggle & contort in sweat
We roar to the chorus & dripping in a cocoon of sweat
Coming up my hands on her waist damp in sweat
Dip to the cadence her hands on my waist moist in sweat
The melody pumps & we prance our hair damp in sweat
Body temperature hot phizog flowing in sweat
Cheek to cheek buxom ***** enmesh in sweat
Belly to belly we wine lower back in rainy sweat
Electric slide in floor droplets of sweat
Transition into the shuffle then glissade in sweat
End the party twerking trickling in sweat
Jul 9, 2020
Jul 9, 2020 at 10:48 AM UTC
I hold these truths to be self evident
I love she who is always prevalently in my life
She's in my thoughts all over my mind
Widespread wild shrunk into one cranium.
This is why I can't contain any of them.
I'm addicted to you, fren.
I can't tell you I love you, but I did just then
9 hours 4 minutes and 30 seconds. When.
Time flies when the feelings are reckless.
My minds straight but my heart feels hectic
In love like never before what the heck man.
It's perfect it's a symphony neglected
We hear the music but keep it on the low
but the instruments remain respected.
I feel higher than ever in the passenger seat,
listening to ABBA or other more obscure beats.
Going to burger king where we dipped both our feets
in the idea of love, where you first kissed me.
Then our chicken nuggets, so saucy. bb.
After hanging by the streams my brain was fried-
my thoughts flossing
Felt safe because I remember that you never lost me.
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 2:18 AM UTC
The frustrating pocket sweater lies
next to a glowing, sharp calculator and the vacuum
smells up the whole place with purple air.
The knot on the table is promising,
the curling band-aid twists over a sheepskin pencil pouch
and dreams continuously of health-care, and affordability.
A series (or a set) of remote controls telling the canned beans to drink from the yellow mug, that's the lucky one.
Cat-tails whimper, and an old man hugs the edge of the moon,
making sure the fork in the road is repaved.
Flossing, a girl looks up into the eyes of the lawyer and asks him,
"Have you ever seen me before?"
A running start the clock gets before it jams into the car,
with the other undesirables.
Counting their blessings, the smaller plants assemble before the dawn of the helicopter, to plead with their feather-dusting friends.
Keep up the good work, a construction worker yelled across a desert,
to a tree. A huge tree with sparkling fruit and splinters waiting to be annoying.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC