"jawline" poems
I want to touch my fingertips
To the center of the brim of your cap
And run them along the edge
One hand in each direction
Until the stiff peak gives way to soft fabric.
I will gently slide my fingers
Under the edge of your cap
Until it lifts off your head
So that I can toss it behind you
To be forgotten about.
I will trace your jawline
While you say things
In that honeyed, gravely voice of yours
Only it's not quite gravel- not that harsh
More akin with rough sand.
Then you will smile
And your teeth will shine white against your tan skin
While your eyes crinkle and laugh
And I will fall, sinking into their pool
Of warm, caramel coffee.
You will find my hand with yours
And interlock your fingers with mine
Holding them both to your chest
Your hands are large, rough, and strong
You only hold my hand, but my body is paralyzed
May 27, 2012
May 27, 2012 at 3:26 AM UTC
•□• Can't shake this mist •□•
Draggin' paged swords down my stomach,
Split my opal skin
wide open
▪ccrack▪
find a sunset gushing out
¤twist¤
can't swap the dead sea
and the larkstone coffin
in my cherry-blossom throat
°scatter°
All these razor droplets
'◇quiver,◇'
bronze scraping at my jawline
/|\groan/|\
And look yonder---
a lonely crow
whispered louder than thunder
'''scratch'''
•□• Can't shake this mist •□•
....
Come back to haunt me,
but my poetry already has me
six feet under.
¥ Demons ¥
€ squirm €
in
the
₩ Soil. ₩
"We aren't any different now, are we?"*
.
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 9:53 PM UTC
let me lay my palms
in that sunken space
between the contours of
your jawline and cheekbones.
let my fingers hide itself
within the secrets of
your jet black hair.
let me draw you close
and closer until
my face fits perfectly in the mold of yours.
it's alright to cry.
maybe your tears will wash the
doubts
hiding between your
lines and creases and the
fear
exuding from your pores.
let my eyes fathom
the depths of yours.
i am sure that hope and wonder
are just there sleeping beneath
and
until they awaken
and rise above the waters,
i will
look at you,
watch over you.
i will
embrace you
until your head
stills its throbbing,
until your skin
regains its glow and warmth
i will.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 7:20 AM UTC
for the first time
since i was 11
i look in the mirror
and i actually like whats staring back at me
i don't know why it took so long to regain
the feeling of self love
and being content with less makeup
or none
in the mirror
i wish i know what could have happened
when i started looking at my little 11 year old body
and thought i was overweight
Oh my god i'm 75 pounds?! i remember thinking
I could blame my mom
or the boys who paraded naked pictures of me
criticizing my changing body in its early stages
i was made fun of for having supple *******
the first girl in my 4th grade class to wear a padded bra
i hated it
every second of my changing body
i started to get curves
and was known for having a "big ****
and this "best friend" of mine told me she was glad she didn't have one
a boyfriend shot me down
"you can't leave me because no one will want you"
mother and step dad made fat jokes when i was 14
because i'm not obsessive compulsive with my diet
now i look in the mirror and i'm so happy
i love every curve from my arms to my ankles
and my dark brown eyes stare deep into you don't they?
grandma wasn't kidding when she said people would pay
THOUSANDS!! for these lips
and this square jawline has it's perks
i used to get paranoid when people stared at me
until i caught someone
and they told me i was beautiful
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 2:40 AM UTC
I feel so bloated
When I think of you
Like I've swallowed a hundred pills
To forget your silhouette
Against the moonlight
And the perfect edge
Of your sculpted jawline
And the contours of your chest
That move with your ragged breath
And your very strong hands
That are oddly so gentle.
It's almost like I can hear you
Whispering my name
Or feel your arm
Gripping my waist.
These images are so vivid
Why aren’t you here
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 10:39 PM UTC
we love a guy with a black eye blood shot
those cute five-finger dimples in his jawline up in millennial graphs
of x-time and y-self worth
increasing steadily in units knuckles and palms
lips and prods in a smooth
arching crescent down-facing hieroglyph of his swollen socket as
the plane descending for Cropper and kudos
touchdown
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
i long for the mornings i stir and hear those even breaths rolling over soft lips,
when we are lazily tangled up in one another
where i brush the hairs away from your eyes, though closed,
and count the faint freckles dotting your nose
for the moments of intimacy,
like the first few mornings that i whispered i love you,
countless times before i ever really told you i loved you
where i stare at those mocha eyes opening when you wake,
only for you to smile warmly and pull me closer
the intimacy of the sun peeking through the window,
and the security of your arms holding me tightly
you are my morning cup of coffee
you are just what i need to make it through the day
a week from now i’ll be by your side once more
i will trace your jawline as though i am preparing my mug,
wrap you in sheets of memory
drink in the sight of you in morning light
and take you for all that you offer
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 7:07 AM UTC
Whisper your breath against my neck
Like the wind speaks through the tree leaves.
Feel my pulse beneath your lips,
Over my wrists,
Next to my jawline,
Hovering about my still heart.
Spill blood rushing in my veins,
Into my lungs and send
A tornado of butterflies
Spinning deep within my stomach.
I want to fly into your garden
And flutter in such a harmony
That piano keys long to be touched
With a tenderness that only fingertips can hold.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 5:08 PM UTC
Skinhead
super short
military hair
with a strong jawline
jutting out
I saw you
One random
blindingly hot afternoon
In a jeep
I tried to squeeze in
the small space so the two guys
could scoot over
You’re the guy to my right
Reluctant to pass to the driver
my exact change
You sat upright
Your right arm lifted, hand
closed on the security rail
I could only see your profile
Your jawline and Aviators
Mouth set in a deadpan line
Lean, quietly confident
Dressed casually and carefully
Odd eggplant-colored shirt over
whitewashed jeans
You turned slightly,
your nose strong
chin dignified
skin clean, with slight
blemishes of stress
Pretty eyes
That never landed on me
Your lips slightly curved
as if remembering something
You are beautiful
Arrogant-looking
Bored
Worldly
You’re not from here
Not from common places
Not from this wretched community I belong to
Then my eyes traveled to the back of your head,
An inscription was tattooed
at the back of your skull.
Your hair growing, beginning to cover up
the past?
A dangerous past?
New life?
A mere change of look?
Where are you going?
Where are you from?
Why are you taking this route
to and from common places?
What is your agenda
on this high afternoon?
Are you a rockstar?
Are you a poet
A gangster?
Then finally it’s my stop.
I got up and wished you
were following behind
That we have the same destination
Just so I could look at you
in full view
I stepped into
the sad, bright afternoon
Then I turned around
You’re not there
You sped away
To some place
Some life
With your Aviators
And your principles
And it hurt
That I never even
knew what
your tattoo meant
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 3:36 AM UTC
I hate how I can remember every little detail. That makes me obsessive…doesn’t it? That’s one thing I don’t understand about our society; we’re always trying to be normal. We want…confidence for example. We want confidence and if we don’t have any we automatically have selfhate problems, but if we have it we become obsessed. Does anyone here really know the true definition of obsessed? Because I would really like to know, really. Alright, then answer me this, why is it always negatively understood? Is it all that bad that I know the exact moment when she is going to fix the undone bow on her left shoe because I can see how it has been eating her up inside for the last five minutes? But, she would never in a million years stop her speech to us to fix the undone bow on her left shoe. Is it all that bad that I know that she has been wearing those shoes for the past thirteen days and the bow came undone on the third? I know that she has a freckle right on her right jawline even though it’s small and not that noticeable at all. But, I noticed it. That makes me a freak, doesn’t it? And in addition to that, I am completely aware of her breath and the amount of time it takes for her to breathe in from her great, pretty nose and breathe out once again. I am completely aware of the way she always picks at her medium-length oval squared nails when she talks. I am aware that she wears two rings on her right hand, one on her middle finger, one on her ring. I know that she swears quite frequent actually, but catches herself every now and then replacing the cuss with a letter. You know something, I may be obsessed. I may be a freak and I may be crazy. But, no one else in this world has the privilege of knowing this woman or appreciating her as I do. Because no one ever took the time to notice the undone bow on her left shoe.
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 7:34 PM UTC
I scrutinized the miserable wretch harnessed to the table
Polished my knuckle with his murk, malice, and fable
Placing a centipede on his stomach as it shuffled to his eye
Languidly impending horror as he begged me to die
I put pressure on his abdominal with the ball of my hand
Took a breath to my diluted lungs as the boy’s jawline ran
Tantalizing screams of dread, poor boy fastened on steel bed
I protruded my hand deep and to his intestines, it fed
My malignant clasp ripped and mangled as it went
Like the centipede too, itched and mangled as it went
And as his entrails to, like sizeable centipedes they went
In a ****** stream of fluids crawling and sprawling as they went
I bound up with glee as my poor wretch lay be, and I swung him head-toe to a pit
Where billions of legs crawl, but human ones not at all, a realm where arthropods permit
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
Slumber is sliding slowly away as wakefulness creeps in
Few hours remain before morning breaks, and I feel his arms around me pulling me back to rest
I feel the warmth of his body and the smell of his skin long before my eyes open to meet the day
I can hear his heart beating its soft steady lullaby against my face on his chest
This amazing man, so loving, so gentle, so kind, yet fiercely protective and loyal; a mixture of perfection
This is what I want, I think to myself, as I start trailing my fingers across his chest
He lets out a low growl in his sleep, his body responding to my touch even in its unconscious state
Does he feel my presence with the same strength that I feel his
Does it permeate his resting mind and infiltrate his dreams
His nakedness next to me is so primal and natural, everything about this feels so right
I study his face, the long eyelashes resting on his cheeks, the cut of his jawline, his lips not long removed from my own
I listen to his soft snoring and smile at its familiar cadence, a sound I couldn't imagine being without now
I wonder if he knows; does he know what he is to me
He is air, he is water, he is food, he is sunlight; nourishing my every need
I worry that I am not enough to fulfill all those needs in him, but I will live my life trying
This is what I want, this moment, this peace, laying on his chest, his arms keeping me safe, our bodies lazily intertwined
This is how I want every day of the rest of my life to begin
He starts to stir and his eyes sleepily open taking me in, he pulls me even deeper into his embrace
I melt into him; happy, peaceful, and content in this moment that I never want to end
Yes this is what I want; this man, right now and always
Good morning my love
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 9:58 AM UTC
Your ****** terrain framed by grizzly
gristle
and the batting stalks that give glimpses
of the bright bear cubs held within
hide the warm sunken caves
in your cheeks.
But the soft woven cover that so
delicately protects you still whispers
"come."
"come hibernate in my jawline."
Sep 21, 2010
Sep 21, 2010 at 6:24 PM UTC
lust is pink
dark and cloudy
casual in its appearance
beautiful in its persistence
as those reddish waves crash upon my shore
lust is soft
clear and winding
round the bark-less trunk of my torso
rustling the leaves of my hair
as my roots begin to stir
lust is loud
quiet but growing
symphonic in its metaphoric
crescendo to the top of the page
lick my thumb, flick back to previous sheets
and try to figure out where the music started
lust is music
slow reggae from a stereo in the morning
heavy metal blaring from a passing car in the afternoon
turntable cranking out Sinatra in the evening
tape deck cracking and splitting the indie rock
that curls around us at night
lust is strange
wistful and insistent
tugging at the corners of my jacket
as i remove the layers that protect my jawline
so you can taste the soft skin there
scarf unwinding, falling to the grass
and the cold flees from our shoulders
frightened by our moving hands
exploring the obstacles across our bodies
lust is here
obvious, apparent
even to me
in my awkward awareness of the raindrops
blistering my warm skin
and lust becomes silent
as we swallow the sound of the tension between us
put the words to our lips and bite
in your mouth i find four letters
l u s t
and i take them from you
m i n e
give them back
lust is generous
and so am i
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 3:00 PM UTC
Stranger,
Why won't you look at me?
With those piercing blue eyes
parting that pale, beautiful skin.
Like a sea-
parting the sand.
Stranger,
Why won't you turn my way?
With a brush of that platinum hair
on that harsh jawline.
Like a field of wheat-
tickling the striking sky.
Stranger,
Why won't you smile at me?
With that quiescent smirk
surfacing on those pale pink lips.
Like a sunset-
just starting to sink behind the trees.
Stranger,
Why won't you gaze at me?
Like the way-
I gaze at you.
Stranger,
Make me feel beautiful.
Make me feel noticed.
Make me feel-
Worth It.
Stranger,
Your walking away.
As if you haven't just crushed a heart.
A soul.
Stranger,
Look at me.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 8:42 PM UTC
your greedy hands are no greedier than mine,
as your fingers travel past my waistline,
thinking that i’m about to waste my time
on a man like you,
“too good to be true,”
kinda borrowed, about to be blue.
my greedy hands will clench,
as i lean closer on that bench,
ignoring your disgusting cigarette stench.
“i’ll break your ******* jawline
if your hands don’t leave my waistline,”
and you didn’t waste time
running away.
Jul 10, 2021
Jul 10, 2021 at 3:40 AM UTC
Reach into the nothingness
Like a warm breath slipping into the cold night
Hands outward, eyes open, upwards towards the sky
Embrace the silent subtle voice
Which hides behind the daily routines
But is no less mindfully alive
Cast images onto the fog itself
Until you've seen the many dreams which you've procured for yourself
In this cloudy life
Breathe with the forgetfulness of evey waking step
As you amble through these miles set
With jawline firm and eyeline slight
Smile at the passing sight of another universe in tow
Which ambles by and out of view
As your inward story comes alive
And live not in line with every Crow on any high wire
But fly as if there were no tomorrow in your quiet sigh
Upwards and towards the sky
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 12:59 PM UTC
Parting my subtle fingers, touching the silky,mellifluous hair
Slowly moving beneath,
Placing my hand beside ,
Drawn to your marvelous, profiled, sculpted, jawline
Teasing fore play and kisses,
Without wasting hesitation,
Removing fabrics swinging in rage across the room,
Bare back and body,
Temperature rising,
Top to bottom,
As you harden and drenched,
Your rugged , tempestuous hands,
Throwing a weak influenced temptation,
Into a lustful haze, spinning
An imitation on repeat,
The heat intoxicating , inflaming the bonds between our desires,
Penetrating our virginity,
Throbbing in and outwards,
Notion the anguish and agony ,
Discomforting in moving surfaces,
I plead within your name ,
Carelessly tugging and hanging onto your body,
Arms flung around your waist,
As you angrily demanded more from me,
Ordering to continue on wards,
The obsession grew expectantly,
A new form of infatuation,
Thrusting relentlessly,
Earsplitting moaning,
Sensual whispers,
Piercing marks ****** ,
Licked,
A Sign of ownership,
Smacking grip below,
Letting go uncontrollably,
Reaching into the endearing ******
Seizure,
Absolute Bliss.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 2:29 AM UTC
What a great unhappy waste
of muscle mass and jawline
Impetus in a mess
is what begs question of these confines
If things were not coming apart
in the ways we all saw under the surface
would our brave little boy
have robbed himself of his life toward purpose
as misguided as this?
Twenty three years staring into mirrors
with two **** brown globes of lightning
filling up with self deprecation
is a waste?
Somehow I knew you'd say that
and the news wrapped in words wrapped in plastic
glances like the spear tip to plate armor
aimed and stabbed from a distance too great
Colored nails, black or pink, or **** and gnarled
Painted face, totally, or face too **** and concave
Chest heaving open or covered from the world
Downtown or eating cereal in sweats from a mixing
bowl
On your couch
Be the bullet for all of us who took one
Be the blade for those whose voices drained by knife
And be the voice just by living
Even if hidden,
My Love,
You're real!
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 1:43 AM UTC
two marbles blinked
and stared,
marveling at the wondrous visions
inside her mind.
the arches
of her brows,
so frail -
so concise -
furrowed like a busy caterpillar
longing for metamorphosis.
a shimmering wheat field of strands
caressed her
jawline so
graciously,
wild and free
just like her soul;
wanderlust for an eternity
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 11:06 PM UTC
the light, it seems to
shine right out from you
angling along your jawline
catching on your hair
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 11:06 AM UTC
His hand on my face
My jawline being traced
Caught in warm embrace
No, we won't go slow paced
These feelings won't erase
Love's not been misplaced
No, it's not a phase
Both caught in a daze.
Your mind is a maze
I'd get lost in for days.
Get lost in his gaze
And the way he says
I'll love you always.
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 2:43 PM UTC
If I ever had the chance to sketch a portrait,
I'd sketch a portrait of you,
Your beady grey eyes,
Your jawline,
So definite,
Your smile,
Your hair,
So surreal and breath taking.
You are perfection,
And the best piece of art I could ever draw.
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 4:45 AM UTC
she said she fell
for the drunk me -
well, i liked me
that way-better, too
how very sad
- but true
i'd drink again
if i knew i could -
if it would do any good
- to lick her sweat
one drop at a time
all along the jawline
- making her salt mine
one more time.
r ~ 11/15/15
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC