"jiggle" poems
They have spent their
content of simpering,
holding their lips this
and that way, winding
the lines between
their brows. Old folks
allow their bellies to jiggle like slow
tamborines.
The hollers
rise up and spill
over any way they want.
When old folks laugh, they free the world.
They turn slowly, slyly knowing
the best and the worst
of remembering.
Saliva glistens in
the corners of their mouths,
their heads wobble
on brittle necks, but
their laps
are filled with memories.
When old folks laugh, they consider the promise
of dear painless death, and generously
forgive life for happening
to them.
28k
My ****
follows me everywhere!
Wiggle wiggle, poke poke, jiggle jiggle.
At the fridge in night I've a friend by my side.
By my backside.
On,
my backside.
Stuck with humidity to the toilet seat on a rainy day,
that's right!
The bathroom exists, and on a toilet do I sit.
At least four or five times daily.
Stuck to chair, playing with hair with one hand
and a controller in the other.
Pumping up and down and in circles as I
jump squat.
Jump squat!
To share if you dare put your palm down there to squeeze.
Grab slap, wibble wibble.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 2:07 AM UTC
i was considering how
within night’s loose
sack a star’s
nibbling in-
fin
-i-
tes-
i
-mal-
ly devours
darkness the
hungry star
which
will e
-ven
tu-
al
-ly jiggle
the bait of
dawn and be ******
into
eternity. when over my head a
shooting
star
Bur s
(t
into a stale shriek
like an alarm-clock)
13k
You used to be joyful,
So carefree,
You used to eat.
You let her get to you,
You used to go out,
Now you only go to the gym.
You got ****** into it.
She controls you,
Telling you not to eat.
You’re too fat;
Not good enough,
Your thighs jiggle.
Rejecting food, purging,
Counting your calories.
You’re wasting away.
Your eyes are sad,
No life left in them.
As you weigh yourself,
All you do is get angry.
You took her away,
You made me lose my best friend.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 10:25 PM UTC
my subject, mrs. ((brown?))
for this speech is
going to be: obesity. ish.
you see I remember
the article you handed out to us,
loos-leafed,
fresh-pressed,
a dry white piece that told,
in simplest terms,
the most inarguable & bland facts
about !healthy eating & !weight loss!
but mrs ((whatever)), I want
to tell n and the entire
******* crisp class,
that obesity is a load
of steaming ****
from someone who’s really fucki
ng sick (you know how much
better it stinks then)
that obesity
was made to be glorified,
I don’t tell you this—
I ****** jiggle it to you,
grab my santa clause puch and
shove it at you--
tick tock
we wait for the clock
to tell us what
s to come,
except it makes us guess
--see this:
a mid-age woman, mother,
fat & previously fat,
goes in for stabbing pain in the chest, or
chronic diarrhea,
seeing stars & no energy left.
((this happens))
the doctor says,
well let’s weigh you n see
if you’ve lost
the weight I told you to lose before
remember Sharol
now Sharol..,,,, sweety…..
you weigh 55.62 lbs over the
state-set “healthy limit”k,
so we’re just gonna give u these
diet pills & I promise they work,.
all nach-yer-awl u see, none of that
waterweight ******** [! excuse my language]
and in about 3 months you’ll lose
half that overweight,
and I promise the starsll go away and you’ll
feel right tip top okay now that’ll be
$60 & come bac k in a month to tell me
how much you’ve lost okay
haha but that’s alrightright?
she was unhealthy
&
doctors make you healthy
only her brain cancer maybe, or like, colon
cancer or literally anything other obesity
kills her in about 3 months
bc the **** doctor would only
pretend that she cared
what
was
wrong with Sharol, sweety…,,,
im sharol and so are you and
so is your uncle & so is
your mother, probably
because most of us are “obese”
& the only cure for obesity
is the cure for the term
“obesity” you see
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 3:50 PM UTC
I am a chubby girl
And when I sit on busses
And hear the people behind me laugh
My heart skips a beat
I am a chubby girl
And when it rains
I am paranoid people think
I am wearing a sheet not a coat
I am a chubby girl
And when I walk
My thighs jiggle and
Sometimes they clap
I am a chubby girl
And when I see a shop
Assistant mutter I curse
My size
I am a chubby girl
And when they shout their words
Leaving needle marks
Instead of punctuation
I cry
I am a chubby girl
And skipping dinner just
Made me hate myself
I am a chubby girl
And throwing up just made
The pain come out
I am a chubby girl, wait
I am a girl
And I am beautiful
I love my body like my mother
Loved my baby cheeks
Like I should ve done
From the start
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 3:02 PM UTC
I've learned about self love
a lot in the past few months
and how to love the way
my thighs jiggle
I've learned about self love
a lot in the past few months
and how to appreciate
my thick eyebrows
I've learned about self love
a lot in the past few months
and to remember that my eyes
twinkle like no other
I've learned about self love
a lot in the past few months
and how to treat my body
like a temple
I've learned about self love
a lot in the past few months
and that everyone's definition of beauty
is different
I've learned about self love
a lot in the past few months
and how to accept
that I'll never fit society's standards
but that it's okay
I've learned that I'm beautiful
and that's the most important part
of all
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 5:13 PM UTC
I hate when people watch me eat.
I wonder what they think.
"God look at that chubby girl with ranch on her salad"
"She'll never loose weight if she eats like that"
"Her cheeks jiggle when she chews"
"How much more can she fit in her mouth"
I wonder if they hate me as much as I hate me,
simply for eating lunch.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 10:55 AM UTC
The brass trumpet sounds
In the dark, where weeps aloud
And hearts are made of silver
To match her necklace that slithers
As a snake which tangos
When their bracelets dangle
No one seems much surprised
For her dance, the cobra rise
To greet the man on the street
As he is poisoned head to feet
Shake the jeepers, I'm telling you
If not, may your spirit be cool
She is definitely a piece of work
And drunken whispers offer jerks
But, they do not have a clue
This woman moves to voodoo
Wiggle... Jiggle.. Lady Dancer
You eat them like a malice cancer
Wiggle... Jiggle... Lady Dancer
Tomorrow, you will have to answer.
Mar 8, 2011
Mar 8, 2011 at 9:24 AM UTC
Saturate and brimming of my hometown Boston,
of its sunshine Marathon peoples and bomb images,
my heart fracture rend.
On the third day—resurrection of all my sadness
came to me, feeling fresh and born to fruition,
so this grew.
It grew and through my tears coming,
I stood to witness two loving sparrows
on a window branch.
My sadness at some abeyance, studying and curious
I was of her--all akimbo shivers and rock-in-roll, of him--
flying feathered stone, rolling from branch to branch
and coming home, repeatedly.
Circles flying within moving circles!
Did something happen
with the last jiggle of her branch?
Did you see that? Science says
what they were doing—they had finished.
(But what to believe of science?
It calls their loving--mating rather).
Now to tell you—the sequencing was this:
when I was full knocked down
on account of my grief,
and I hardly had strength to go on,
a Beatles song flew in and gently pierced my heart,
singing to my ear: *Why don't we do it in the road...
no one will be watching us...why, why don't we do it*
O, Spring Life of Sparrow surprises!
Open road, that budding tree,
any new notion is something grand!
How do I say now? That you two
were most helpful, your innocence
forever abiding?
Fly off Sparrows, forever prayer!
I speak this with all my love.
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 5:45 AM UTC
I'm telling lies to terrorize tame territory,
and so they'll strip me down, string me up, and bleed me dry of glory.
Mourning from the morning after, hanging from a ceiling rafter.
Two rows of platinum canines, call me a gangsta-veloci-rapper.
Truly emancipated, drinking whiskey from Lincoln's skull.
Proclamation of my bank roll grants more ***** than animal control.
Flicking cigarettes at MC's who think they're superior,
into their passenger window to burn holes in their interior.
I run all night, jiggle my handle after flushing.
All the plump gals seem to love me, I've got their cellulite a'blushing.
I don't like ***** but I'll sip on something Russian,
if you ship her in the mail first class from your Middle-Euro cousin.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 2:24 PM UTC
Feels so good, can’t believe that this is legal
Quench my thirst, I might need a refill
Moving your hips to make it jiggle
“Throw it back” makes you so lethal
Body language exposing your demeanor
Don’t stop, we need to finish the mission
Got you wrapped around my finger
You’re so fine you’re a s-x symbol
Hop on top, watch you go hard
Show me that special lotus trump card
Ride so wild, it caught me off guard
Foreplay crazy, place you in a choker
Got you stretching doing yoga
Too loud, we waking up the locals
Baby wait, this is becoming explosive
Reset position, time to flip you over
Sep 20, 2020
Sep 20, 2020 at 6:49 AM UTC
They put us in glass boxes
And empty rooms with glass ceilings
We conform to make our ends, and we learn to muffle our feelings
Their inventions age into Standards, and they sell us their finest wine for a fee
No prison for this Queen
'Cause I like my ******* free...
They applaud our independance at first
Then tell us we are now too proud
Our voices once unheard are now suddenly too loud
Make sure you please the people
No heels too high, and no skirt above the knee
I wear no bra to imprison my womanhood
'Cause I like my ******* free...
Jiggle jiggle with hard ******* let them bounce naturally
I am every bit of my roots- I'm ***** happily
I'm not ashamed of their smallness
Despite their size, they stand as firm and tall as mountain peaks
They're embarassed or jealous of my freedom
'Cause I like my ******* free...
Big or small, short or tall, even if one is size 'A' and the other 'B'
They are our imperfect perfections
They belong to you, they belong to me
Our country has learned to dictate through mandate
While they ********** themselves to higher power
I'm not ashamed of my nakedness and I look in the mirror after my shower
So if you think I need a bra
Then I will tell you you need to be imprisoned
My mind is mine, as is my body and they will never take my vision
They try to smother what they don't understand
I'm just evolving into the best Me
I know who and what I am...
...And I just happen to like my ******* to be free.
May 5, 2010
May 5, 2010 at 1:28 PM UTC
I’m singing the blues
Saying good bye to my shoes
The red patent high heels
With the shine that appeals
The shoes that made me feel hot
Whether I looked it or not
Made me walk with a wiggle
Made my back side jiggle
Gave me a **** demeanour
Made my legs feel leaner
Helped me walk tall
On the days I felt small
The same red shoes, so sweet
That are now tight on my feet
Which squash my big toe
And somehow, they know
That I’ve got dickie knees
So I’ll never wear skis
Not to mention arthritic hips
Which cause a total eclipse
When I bend over
And moreover
I walk just like I’ve got off my horse
So I’ve got to bid farewell, of course
Part company with my lovely red shoes
That is why I’m singing the blues
…..They should sell on ebay pretty quick
….. I’ll spend the money on a walking stick
©Nicki Tilston
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 9:13 PM UTC
Green, red, red and green
Bangle, jiggle, twinkle and sheen
Rush and tumble, hurry and pay
Have they are all forgotten
What the point is this day?
Rushing past the man on the street
He who is huddled with nothing to eat
Sitting so quiet, tryin’ to keep warm
As he tucks in his legs away from the swarm
Blue day, Black day, black and blue
Green paper flying, silver coins too
White snow flying resistance of few
A man disappeared under the snow as it flew
Green, red, red and green
Bangle, jiggle, twinkle and sheen
Rush and tumble, hurry and pay
Have they are all forgotten
What the point is this day?
Presents and wrapping, bangles and bows
Shiver and shaking, shoes with no toes
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 9:36 AM UTC
At the risk of sounding sexist
I’d like to pay my highest respects today
to the girl at my accountant’s
with the beautiful *******
Usually the only things that jiggle there
are the numbers on the ledger,
but today a couple of numbers
stuck out for me to admire.
She knew it all added up spectacularly well
as she bent down obligingly
and pointed out where I should sign
and showed me what I needed to see.
She knew and I knew that
capital gains and expenses
were comparatively insignificant here.
Saucy insouciance was the obvious upside.
Of course, I shouldn’t have noticed,
but then I'm afraid that's what happens
when you’re more
of a ******
than an entrepreneur.
Mike T Minehan
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 8:43 PM UTC
Wind swept
Wild places the grass it puts on a veritable orchestra of movement as it undulates to the power of the breeze that passes
Mountain meadows splashed with a profusion of flowers they jiggle as if there tickled about something or other
The crest of the hill bordered with trees sloping down the hill children are running reminiscent of Jack and Jill
This utopia of nature sets aside the hurly burly the curvature of the hills still the wind hold the sun just right you it invites
Cross these pasture lands the feeding ground of many cattle and sheep the pride of the farmer who keeps
Inexorably bound by breed and creed for centuries this way of life flourishes among these native grasses
Tender shoots these roots give of their riches the sun and rain gives them a time to reign with joy all reaps
Pleasure in the walk letting fingers glide over the heads of tall grasses the silent telling of harmony filled poise
Future generations will be brought to these shadowed grounds they too will by their lives express and know contentment
Hourly they hold in sod that has known the breath of time as it has passed time and time again it enlivens breaks fourth
Sturdy and resplendent it shows all its dependability the same respect settlers knew is found the builders of this continent
Long shadows grow upon earths shoulders she knows the good and the bad but through resilience remains unconquered
The distant mountain stands eternal guard, it affects rainfall, mutes the winds force guarantying a peaceful valley
Perpetuity is taught in this land tomorrows unfold from days gone by with regularity they build and keep the way open
Stewardship the blessed hope working in harmony with all that surrounds at days end this will be the final sum and tally
The herdsman knows the time he invests it well always with broad vision does he act in this wisdom all will be victorious
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 8:45 PM UTC
To see things through child's eyes
A world seen different
Not like an adult
Everything has its place
Order,
Structure,
Harmony,
But every now and then,
Relax,
Let your hair down
(Even if your bald)
The child within needs to be free
Fun,
Enjoyable
Crazy
Be like the child within,
Play with your young ones
Not as a giant,
Become their size
Jiggle your ****
Be silly
Lie on the floor, be their bouncy castle,
Even though all the wind is out
When you arise from the floor,
See through the eyes of your child
Imagination,
Dancing,
With your tongue wigging about,
Be the
Parent,
Uncle,
Aunty,
Granddad,
Or
Nan,
But every so often relax
Let the child within run rampant
And have some childish fun be free...
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 4:00 PM UTC
Your control over me is insane.
Do you realize that the words you say
jiggle round and round my brain,
pounding, pounding,
tearing at me from within
and I can't even begin to make it cease,
this tortuous game
from which there is no release.
pounding, pounding,
You really have no clue, do you?
how much your words affect me,
make me reflect on everything
and the effect is nonstop
pounding, pounding,
causing me to clomp to the brink while
struggling, trying not to sink deep
into the very emotions you cause
by attempting to stop them. The ironic
pounding, pounding,
of a few words, you have no idea
the consequence they bring
and suddenly I'm running,
bounding, bounding,
leaping willingly off the edge.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 5:03 PM UTC
You can't safely have a cigarette outside of the bus terminal
without a couple of folk asking for one.
You can't safely have a cigarette in general.
But, if five of them have to last you a night and a sunrise,
you don't really mind turning down a few nameless hands.
Some of the bus drivers like to talk about football, weather;
others complain about management or the patrons;
a few don't say much at all, avoiding sympathy.
They're probably the smart ones.
They don't want to learn the sad stories in between stops.
I usually like to just sit in the back and ride out the best bumps.
The handrails jiggle and crash with every pothole.
-
The men who work at the metal scrap yard
usually get on in front of Debbie's Diner on 22nd street.
Bundled up for warmth and firm of face, they only speak to each other.
Small talk about who almost missed the bus, broken crane joints,
and who moved the most barrels of copper piping fill the blocks.
They tend to pick on the guy who runs the aluminum can crusher;
big guy, they call him "Boose" and he couldn't be much older than I am.
His hands and lips are dry and cracked from exposure,
but his face still shows ember of teenage years, though jilted.
There is a bar that serves three-dollar chili across the street, spicy.
The workers go there when they miss the first bus, have a beer,
down a bowl of boiling chili, and catch the return bus in better moods.
-
The railroads on Brush College road tend to hold up traffic.
The ADM plant doesn't really mind if a few twenty-something mothers
are late to their practical nursing and phlebotomy classes,
but they voice their complaints out of a cracked window to the side
of a ten story soybean silo nonetheless; steaming ears and all.
I stare at the graffiti on the laggard train cars, each unique
in color, quality, style, and message; the industrial Louvre.
These waits sometimes last a half hour or more.
In the days before Pell grant rewards come in,
when students still feel like they're working toward tangible cash,
the seats are all packed with heavy breathers.
The air becomes thick with community college carbon coughs.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 9:23 PM UTC
I can't seem to wait
It's sick I know
I'm so excited
To have the body that my mind
Wants to know.
I want to see bones
Not my rib cage
But more!
Oh joy,
The hip bones,
Collarbones,
And muscles galore!
I want to be strong
So nobody can tell me wrong
I want to be the best
To have a body that I seem to long.
This tale may sound weird
But at least I know what I want.
One day I'll have a body
That won't jiggle, but one that I can flaunt.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
Staring at a reflection
Watching for clues
Waiting for signals
But I'm never allowed to lose
Weight
Fat
No flat stomach left
And thin hairs mar
The one you're left with
Your body protrudes underneath your
Bra-line and
It makes you want to cry
Your butts still good
But you fearfully watch the
Jiggle of your thigh
Your body is all you've ever had
Your teeth are yellow and
Your hair loves to be bad
your nose is chipped and angled
Your skin mangled with spots and
Scars
Marred
Imperfect
Only the mirror makes you smile
But photos lack the style of
'Attractiveness'
You feel you can only look like you
In person
But now you have to search for the good
You know they would have you do that.
Okay, I like the practicality of my body.
Where I have stood, there has stood
Health, a wealth of love in
Laughter lines
I love the lines of my muscles
Count my contours,
Feel I'm fine when I breath in my
Cheekbones, hate the stress filled
Frown lines
Never forget the time I
Looked and found myself
Too thin
Too tired
Too wired up
To find myself
Too injured.
Never regret
And never forget
The point I realised
At least imperfect
Allows for 'happy'
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 7:48 PM UTC
I sat on a curb in a parking lot,
surrounded by friends,
eating cheap Thai takeout.
I looked and saw my legs
expand against the rough concrete.
"I have fat thighs" I say.
"so?" he says.
"all girls do"
But he is not right
I have seen girls with slim,
willowy thighs that do not even touch.
There are girls with smooth hard thighs
that do not jiggle or tremble
thighs that have lines and shape.
Backstage one night, in a dress
that made my breathing come short,
I complained about its tightness,
blamed it on myself.
She laughed and said
"god, I would **** to be as skinny as you"
Truthfully,
I do not know what I look like
I know an ever-changing image
trapped in cold glass
and soft pale pieces
that conform to my touch
but I have never seen myself,
not really,
and I never will.
So I won't ever know,
no, not really,
how I appear to others.
"you're too pretty for that"
Am I too pretty for the
sticky lips and swollen eyes?
"how do you stay so thin?"
I'm on a great new diet
it's called 'I hate myself'
"I wish I looked like you!"
but god, do you know how it feels?
how each second is self-conscious
--more; it's self hatred
how sustenance is a numbers game
how your friends laugh
when you order a salad
("oh my god, really? again?")
and how it cuts right to the very center
of what makes you human and whole.
You wish you looked like me?
I wish I knew what I looked like.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 11:27 PM UTC
Tickle your ear
Pull your shirt
Rub your fuzz
Teehee
You raise a brow
Confused in thought
What are you doing!?
Teehee
Jiggle my body
Make funny sounds
Stick out my tongue
Teehee
Strange is what you call me
Unique
Shake your head and chuckle
Teehee
I'm 21 and a half
Serious as can be
But weirder than your coffee mug
Teehee
I'll jump on you like a narwhal
Fire in the hole!
I just threw something at you
Teehee
Love me
Hate me
I'll still go around being me
Teehee!
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 11:39 PM UTC