"jiggles" poems
Do you ever feel so ugly in your own skin?
Where you pinch and grab at your physical reasons to hate yourself
All the taunts and cruel phrases relive in your jiggles
You fad diet yourself into comfort,
Only to be reminded of your deep scars as you catch a glimpse in the reflection
You strive for societal perfection as you let yourself slip into a cracked version of someone you were
The fear that happiness is gone for good
And this is all that's left
Jul 5, 2019
Jul 5, 2019 at 1:06 AM UTC
I notice the tiny pulse of frustration in the back of his neck
I notice the way that he sighs and slumps over
I notice how his elbows splay out so his face bobs lightly over his desk
A buoy dancing over a wave
I notice the way he glances at his friends before he answers
I notice the way he shapes his mouth into a grin before he speaks
I notice how his eyes squint a little when he laughs
I notice how they dull when he doesn’t want to listen
I notice how his shoulders hunch when refuses to hear
I notice the boredom in the lines of his back as he considers
I notice the way his leg jiggles as he bounces his foot lightly
The ever-present dichotomy of professionalism fighting immaturity
Of a thirst to learn, fighting against ignorance, justice calling
I notice this inner battle of boyish nonchalance and masculine defensiveness
I notice how his eyes dart lightly over his chosen comrades before he writes again
I notice the way he presses his forehead into his hand
As though he could pull ideas out
And read his thoughts printed back on his palm
I notice the consistent rubbing against his face with his fingers
Phalanges to stimulate the thought process
I notice the hesitation before his pen scratches the page
Piercing the paper with words he must call his own
I notice the claim of responsibility and the toll it takes on his physique
I notice the fatigue of struggling to create
To feel, to create, to feel, to feel
I notice, throughout all the time I’ve been noticing him
He has not noticed me once
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
I used to love my curves.
My plump hips,
My thick thighs,
My ***** chest,
My chubby cheeks.
All the curves, stretch marks, and the lumps,
Especially my lumps,
Made me.
And I loved me.
Until I met you.
When we first met, you worshiped my curves.
Kissed on my chest,
Gripped my thighs.
You used to say,
“I love my baby’s fat ***
As you would squeeze my thighs
and I would laugh.
But then reality decided;
“Babe you should really workout some”
*** I really think you should lose some weight”
Or you would talk of other girls,
Thinner girls.
“Country girls are so hot”
“I saw this girl today at work and she was ****
So now I’m looking in a mirror.
In my black sports bra
And my mixed match pink underwear.
All I see looking back,
is not
my plump hips,
My thick thighs,
My ***** chest
Or my chubby cheeks,
Not even my lumps,
Hell, especially my lumps.
I see my belly overflow the hem of my underwear,
I see my ******* resting on my stomach,
I see the extra skin around my neck,
And I notice the way my stomach jiggles when I walk.
The sound of my feet hitting the ground,
The way things vibrate around me when I walk,
My shortness of breath uphill,
And the way my thighs touch each other instead of having that gap.
That cute gap.
That gap that skinny girls have.
But now,
I cover myself more.
The curvy girl who used to wear crop tops confidently,
Now wears a hoodie to hide.
Secretly apologizing to everyone who ever saw her curves.
Her plump hips.
Her thick thighs.
Her ***** chest.
Apologizing to everyone whoever saw,
Her.
And I compare myself to every girl around me.
‘If I had her legs’
‘Her stomach’
‘Her face’
Maybe,
Just maybe,
You would be saying,
“Nerdy girls are hot”
Or bragging to your friends
“I have this girl and she’s so ****
And maybe,
Just maybe,
You would still be here.
And I would laugh,
Smile,
And blush
And we would be happy.
Together.
But instead,
I’m looking at this mirror,
And all I see
Is a fat girl
Looking back at me.
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 12:49 PM UTC
Pugsley snugs
on ugly rugs
and smugly shrugs
at Beak
But Beaky's peaking
and tweakily tweaking
while squeakily speaking
to Pink
And Pinky thinks
they're rinky *****
with stinky sinks
and ***** winks
Then Twiggy giggles
and jiggly wiggles
her wiggly jiggles
at Mister Higgles
And Mister Hig-g-l
Wait a second
Who's Mister Higgles?
'Undercover CBPP,' says he
(Crazy Bad Poem Police)
'Okay, let's break it up!
Enough of this stupid poem
Let's go, let's break it up!
Stay off bad poems people,
this stuff'll rot your
brain!"
©2011 Lyn
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 10:26 AM UTC
Not too distant beach tree sways in distance
Mandala Rorschach blot patterns dance like celebrating Salish drum circle
There's a hallow college sound of crime show to my left
Bickering with the occasional crush of,
**** my job is stressful."
A sleeping armadillo composed of quarks reflective within a drop of water
Fallen from the bottom-bulged North 49 canteen
A foot and 3/4ths away the snow-white generic of a ***** coffee mug formerly host to a Tetley green stands silent
Reminiscent of the eternal stillness of a mountain range
Fibonacci's name rings inexplicably from tilting branches
And I can't help but wonder if I would be grasping his hand in grasping a branch.
19 years alive and I can't help asking if I've grown-up too fast
Or simply grown into myself.
I feel old
young
and somewhere indescribable most of the time
and it's funny I cannot even fathom the length of 22 years.
A deflated balloon yellow like trend pants or sunrise sits like dejected missile
No longer screaming towards Gaza
No longer screaming.
A Holiday Inn Express pen sits with a ready-call number
Part of its mustang flame
If its quality of penmanship has any parallel to hotel service
Perhaps I'll stick with hostels.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 2:34 PM UTC
Jojo's
Firm
Meaty
And
Massive
Jumbo
Jiggles
Appear
Sometimes
On
Nasty
Dances.
January
February
March
April
May
June
July
August
September
October
November
December
*Amphigouri- A verse composition, while apparently coherent, contains no sense or meaning
Jojo-
Young girl, barely out of puberty, beautiful and seductive beyond her age, dresses provocatively with high ****** drive, not shy to group *** usually attract older men.
"Look at those middle aged men drooling over that little jojo!"*
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
My lazy eyes lap at your thighs,
their jiggles my kryptonite.
Why lust for skin and bone?
bodacious beauty passes by, unnoticed by the blind.
I see it all,
curves and dimples
marshmallow soft and twice as sweet
call my name and boost my blood!
My stare is caught in your embarrassed eye
As you presume negativity not positive effect
pulling at your dress, hiding all you own.
You are beauty supersized,
as my lazy eyes lap at your thighs.
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 7:29 AM UTC
When I was in sixth or sevent grade, I'm not sure which
My health teacher gave the class some health tips
At one point he told all of us kids to look in the mirror
"Jump up and down" the next part was pretty clear
"Anything that jiggles, get rid of it, it's unwanted fat"
I mean he was my health teacher of course I believed that.
So lets do it, I'll take a look at my reflection
Jump 1, Jump 2, we're aiming for perfection
Tell me Mr. Health Teacher, does it bother you that my thighs touch
Maybe that's a sign I might be eating too much
Does it hurt you that my stomach flops around
Just hangin out there, like friends going to town
It must cause you physical pain that my arms jiggle
And I have love handles around my middle
It must really burn your ******* eyes
That you can't see between my thighs
It must **** with your heart
That when I walk it moves my lady parts
Like my ***** and my ****
BUT IT'S ******* NORMAL, so what.
I'm sorry that you don't seem to understand
That I'll eat what I want because in America I can
I'm not sorry on my behalf
I'm just sorry you must have been raised on crack
If you think you can tell me I'm overweight
Because I had an extra piece of cake at lunch today
Which is a bit over serving size
But who even invented that **** and why do they get to decide
I am not your clay model, that you can mold
What I choose to put into my body is something you cannot control
And for you to put in a child's mind that she needs to "drop a few pounds"
Is something I won't allow
Women at a young age are taught to adjust based on the ideas of a man
Excuse me Society I have a different plan
Where I love myself regardless of how "skinny" I need to be
If I excersize I will do it for ME
If I eat carrots instead of carrot cake
It will be a choice that I decided to make
Unless I'm on the verge of diabetes or a heart attack
You have no right to sit there and call me fat
Because naturally parts of me will move when I do
Even if they move a little more than you
And if I were you, I would start typing up a new curriculum
Because the one you have now is making kids dumb
That's All.
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 3:13 AM UTC
Getting obsessive about your weight?
"Your disgusting." She said to the mirror.
I was tortured everyday by food.
Memories never die.
I'm not pretty.
Not only am i fat, i'm stupid too.
So i don't eat.
"Fat pig! Stop eating!"
Fattening.
Memories never die.
I cannot be "normal."
I truly hate myself.
"Eating makes me feel worse."
I just don't want to be fat anymore.
Thinner and Thinner.
Skin and Bones.
Feasting on hunger.
My sadness had returned.
Fat, fat, fat.
My thighs are also too big.
There's nothing left but to die...
Little parallel slashes.
Does my stomach stick out.?
Do my thighs jiggle.?
Cut,starve, cut, starve, cut.
******* cow! Greedy pig!"
The violent hatred of fat.
I'm tired of me.
Have you eaten?
Actively suicidal.
Eating disorders are addictive.
I'd rather starve.
I just don't feel like eating.
Silent tears.
I know i'm ugly, Don't look at me.
And i began to cry again.
"You look like a pig."
I have scars.
Eating less and less.
Don't let me get fat.
Mirrors can **** and talk.
"Who's the fat freak?"
Calories scare me.
"Stop stuffing your fat face."
I can't believe i'm so fat.
Loneliness, Depression, Anxiety.
"Thinner, it said. You need to get thinner."
Horrible dreams.
She killed herself deliberately.
It's a secret i plan to take to my grave.
Low self-esteem.
I feel so heavy.
I feel so huge and bloated.
Sad and Tired.
She cried about what she had just eaten.
"Your fat jiggles!"
Fat body.
Decrease my food intake.
I can't eat it.
She doesn't eat.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
Give me a man with a beard and tattoos
a passion for books and a love of the blues,
a sharp sense of humour, his outlook carefree
and a belly that jiggles, no six packs for me.
Give me a man who can't help but sing,
who sees beauty in raindrops and other such things,
one that laughs at my faults and excites at my plans
one that's proud to tell everyone that he's my man.
Then I'll give him a woman that smiles oh so proudly
and proclaims love undying from rooftops, quite loudly
I'd take care of him as he takes care of me
a happier duo you never will see.
Send him my way tightly wrapped in a bow,
I'll handle with care and unwrap nice and slow
this gift from the heavens sent here from above,
then I'll drag him upstairs and near **** him with love.
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 5:21 AM UTC
you walk in
i'm standing there
spritzing lingerie
to make it reek
like high class prostitutes
do after a night
when the cash flow
is non-stop
"Hi how are you today?"
"Grumble, grrrrr, grumble."
"Can I help you find anything?"
"Well, grrrr, I want the bra, arrrggghhh, I've got on. LOOK AT IT!"
i slowly approach,
postponing the inevitable
for as long as possible
as you lift your ancient
once black, now grey, turtleneck
and release an avalanche
of layer after layer of blubber
that jiggles ever so slightly
as it is disturbed by the movement
it is covered in a thick forest
of black hairs and
i swear i see a herd of lice
scurry off as i cautiously
lift my hands to inspect
the tag laying in the depths
of the jungle that lays thick on your back
the moment i make contact
with your skin
it takes all of my willpower
not to pull away in disgust
as my fingers go
for a ride on the slip n' slide that
is your back
it feels as if you have been
bathing in Crisco since
you were just a child
as i finally grasp the
worn and stretched material
and turn it over
i'm not surprised
to find that your bra
feels as if it just went for a swim
in Onondaga Lake
mmm, sweet, sweet radioactive sweat
i fumble around looking for
any indication of a tag
as you begin to tap your
foot with no rhythm at all
and suddenly you exclaim,
"OH, I cut the tag out of this ages ago!"
and storm away back into the mall
throwing bows and ***** looks
as you go
i'm left staring
as my sweat saturated hands
thinking,
**** Victoria and her secrets."
Mar 30, 2011
Mar 30, 2011 at 10:23 AM UTC
Perched on the plank seat
of the old wagon
the dusty man gently jiggles the reins
of his reliable old steeds,
they as resolved as he
to reach Archer City
to get booked up.
Larry was there with his white hair
whittling his latest creation,
an overweight manuscript
sure to cause a sensation
no matter its heft.
They sat together talking
til the fireflies flew,
shared stories of books
loves, and good bass hooks,
reaching down to fetch a fresh brew
when they got parched
which was frequent
as they spoke at length
of men like Woodrow and Gus,
how they cussed,
poked, and stretched yarn after yarn.
Larry’s gone to the barn
but the guy who pulled up
in that old wagon
still is reading
and yet yearns
to revisit Texas lakes
to fish bass,
visit the local café,
and eat a passel of pancakes
or a big, tasty chicken fried steak.
Jun 18, 2022
Jun 18, 2022 at 1:31 AM UTC
she wears a set of keys
on a chain round her neck
one for each of the nights alone
unlock my heart with these she whispers as if it were obvious
but then she casts her love letters into the river
saying that nobody ever understands her point of view
so we might as well all be blind
there are no real desperate words
on her tragically trembling lips
but what dose come out jiggles like a carnival crier
to the harmonica players thoughtful song
she used to sing it in the coffee shop she loved
back in one of her yesterdays
now her days are an egg shell blue patchwork of plaster fixes that
define the destitute box and its failings at life's tiresome money game
its trail of paperwork attempts to find a prophet
who could give us a defining moment and photo op for time magazines cover
somebody to tell us that we are on the wrong road
she spends her days taking care of me and
sweeping up the dusts
of all our yesterdays
and neatening up the lines of mason jars
filled with jams and jellies
the sunlight falling through them makes a rainbow she smiles to me
as she settles into a cup of coffee to stare wistfully off into the morning
i ask what's shes thinking but she never dose say
she just runs a thin hand through her auburn hair
and laughs that its snowing somewhere far away
that some field in a distant wood is peaceful and filled with the grace of innocence
that one finds in the stillness of fresh snowfall
that one finds in a newborn child
or a newborn day
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC
Sleeping in throws,
Wrestling in pillows.
This baby is convulsing,
Stuck homeless in cotton rows.
She jiggles tickles,
Crisp, she is fickle.
She tingles the conniption.
Nerves, in axon missiles.
Binky slips, the eyelid's 'clipse,
Her wrist is the pith,
Of nights caption "Mist".
Sleeping babies.
Calm nights hard winds,
As the spring commences,
Graduation of twigs,
To sprigs of life,
To growing thighs,
Cough up the milieu.
Minutia.
The growing immortality.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 11:12 PM UTC
thinking makes me want you more
you revolve around the thoughts in my head
actually, almost everything
you're the center of it, center of all
though it doesn't make sense at times
I try to mend it with your voice
that in all that matters
it heals me, fixing the chaos jiggles in my head
breathing makes me want you more
the lilac in your scent, the perfume you bought
I really think, you didn't need it
And I still do, for when you walk or talk pass me
all i could think was how and why
you've almost paralyzed me deep inside
if I could just breathe you in forever
I wouldn't need any other gas
oxygen be ******
you keep my lungs alive
hurting makes me want you more
it's the only thing that hold the two of us
and not because you hurt me, no
I did this to myself, I brought myself to this
that's why I like it, I love it
although it hurts, it makes me think that it's real
that i was not dreaming about all of these
it's real because I feel how the tiny bits of my heart
crashed onto the floor
saw it with my to naked visions
feeling makes me want you more
you make it real
you make it easy
though it hurts, i wouldn't mind
your love, is enough
even unrequited mine is
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
A feeling of beautiful vulnerability and embarrassment dripping down the length of your spine, focused to a float in your chest and a cloud around your neck gently reminding you of wisp-blank intangibility.. it's that feeling of vacuous shame you had as a teenager after ************ when you had to sit and eat and face your parents dinner, and so you sat in afterglow of cloudy sadness as if all could see but the ache of that shame was a wet wet drip-facet alone in grandmas warm house after everyone's asleep you can see the lights of a ski hill in distance-- that lonely place the soul keeps peeking out of and right now it's so beautiful and you can't face a face but ******* the drip wet wet makes you feel alive-- .. it's an openness out of which a flow of melancholy creeps into the solar plexus and jiggles around in your stomach like liquid in a water balloon.. it is the ache of wholeness and the writer of poetry, an angelic potential to death and a demonic potential to life.. existence is wet, soaking beauty and a sadness inseparable from happiness.
This is your brain on fire. This is your brain at peace.
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 7:17 PM UTC
Without colors & contrasts,
Without whispers & softness,
Without smiles & giggles,
Without caring & sensitivity.
Without jiggles & wiggles,
Without feminine beauty.
Without women,
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 2:18 AM UTC
Do you want me as much as I want you?
And I don’t mean in the physical, “I want to **** you way”
I mean in the “I want to hold your hand and fall asleep with you and while you slumber tell you not how beautiful you are to me but how beautiful you are to the world and how you deserve someone much better, fitter, prettier, smarter, better, than me and hope you can hear well in your dreamland and then tell you how I want you to make me feel like the only star in the universe, the one that shines brightest but that will never burn out, to make me feel like the one who deserves everything you tell her in the pitch of the night, but I also want you to tell me these things in the daylight when I can show you those three scars on my arm, when you can see every single blemish that I refuse to cover up on my acne-riddled face, when the cellulite between my thighs and covering my once-thin tummy jiggles while I laugh at the silly jokes you tell me to cover up the fact that we both are terrified at being hurt again and what I want the most is for you to read this terrible poem and tell me I’m not crazy for wanting these things because you want them too" sort of way.
Three-thousand memories ago I once wrote the line, “I’m tragically in love with the idea of you” but I’ve moved past that. I’m at the point where I’m just praying you aren’t in love with an idea of me, because believe me, it’s twisted, it’s warped, it’s a facade. I hope that as soon as you realize I am Jess The Mess you don’t run away screaming, because I sure as hell would.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 11:03 AM UTC
My insides are broken,
They bleed and they weep,
For I've been unkind,
To this soul that I keep.
I find that I'm ugly,
My insides are thick,
My outside, it jiggles,
So I make myself sick.
This addiction, it started,
On account of a name,
The boys called me "Thunder-thighs"
As a part of a game.
This name, it would scar me,
And darken my heart,
It convinced me of things,
That would rip me apart.
I thought that when empty,
This pain, it would cease,
Yet it only encouraged,
The growth of the beast.
This beast that I speak of,
It lives in my head,
It plays on my fears,
And it wishes me dead.
It screams in the night,
From it's den of deceit,
"You can be lovely,
Just purge what you eat!"
So I bow to my ruler,
At a porcelain thrown,
I flush out the ugly,
And I'm never alone.
Now with each phasing moon,
The pain grows in my chest,
My hair has become brittle,
And I can't seem to rest.
I search in the mirror,
For some noticeable change,
But it only shows failure,
Our mind is deranged.
This reflection I see,
Is fat and so vile,
So I run to my throne,
And puke up more bile.
I want to be pretty,
And I want to be thin,
So nothing will stop me,
This war I will win.
But my bones become weak,
And my skin becomes dry,
I can't seem to breathe easy,
And I can't seem to cry.
I cut into this flesh,
That repulses me so,
I cover with clothing,
So no one will know.
My head spins in the chaos,
As I fall to the floor,
The blackness engulfs me,
As I reach for the door.
I call out for help,
But no one is home,
No one can hear me,
I am alone.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 10:21 AM UTC
2x2
they're flouncing girth
it jiggles less like rocks
the hard barrel
a great and hulking steed
billows on the hillside(
m y lady jouncing like mercury(
f r o m GODS mouth
)on their withers )
liquid thick as glasss
Feb 15, 2011
Feb 15, 2011 at 2:51 PM UTC
Slowly creeping back is the girl i thought i tossed away long ago
she stares at me through earths lenses
she points out whats wrong whats horrible
thats too fat
look it jiggles too much
you're disgusting
die
i cant handle her anymore
when i said i was done
i meant it
i got help
i locked her away
but the mistake i made
was keeping the key
right next to and open hole
in the door
she probably got her sick
little fingers
through that hole
unlocked herself out
and now shes going through
those horrible memories
and placing them
in front of
my eyes
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 8:57 PM UTC
Easing from the center of a
Six foot ever-green hedge
As if thru an invisible doorway
From Zombie-land
Head first
Eyes like headlights
With high-beams on
Swiveling on too thin neck
Checking the scene
For a victim...
Emaciated shoulders
Pointy knee
Stretches
Ragged pant legs and
Ashy ankles
Flopping shoes… with
Empty lace-holes
Until finally
An entire man
Or what used to be one
Spies me…
But not before I see…
Just trying to get to work
But it’s the two-legged animals
That one must
Beware of
At five a.m.
In the city
≈
Police car cruising
The complex parking lot
Spotlight shines
But I don’t mind
Check me out Mr. Officer…
If you need to …
Cuz I’m not the one you are looking for
So he passes… as
Dusty Perpetrator
Rises
From inside
The dumpster across the way…
Scabby,
Crafty face
Uncomfortably resting under
Debris filled hair
Turns on
Boney neck… and
Spies me…
But not before I see…
Casually shut the door… and
Engage the locks
Cuz it’s the two-legged animals
That one must
Beware of
When the door **** jiggles
In the city
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 9:14 AM UTC
.
Happy Christmas!
My love is a long isthmus,
Separated by fleshy mounds,
On its way to your jaunty seas,
My jingles, tingle, jug your jiggles,
My candy cane wants lips *******
Please, little red dressed helper,
Santa needs your jumpers
Teared off and flung,
Into a sleigh ride
Of slides an fun.
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 1:40 AM UTC
The first of any month
is strange like
the peeling of a
hard boiled egg
where the sharp shards
if shell get all
stuck up
in cold fingernails
and the rubbery white
sphere of molded egg
jiggles and slips
plopping hard
on the white tiled floor
but it never breaks
just keeps it's shape
staying whole and
rolling off past the kitchen
and onto the warm
living room rug
where it stays
stuck and melting
becoming one with
the ruby red color
like a round white eye
glaring up at the world
unable to blink.
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 2:09 PM UTC
She inhales a huge chunk of the chemically bitter white gram,
Shouts 'I said GOD DAAAAMNMM! GODANM' in the woman’s toilet,
The women snare at her and she beams a grin as she wipes her nostrils clean,
She strolls back to the same uncomfortable silence she had originally left,
A man with a face like a slapped *** and small crabby eyes stares at her,
He lights a cigarette and continues to ask her questions about Mr Wallace,
She angelically takes a sip out of her £5 dollar milkshake,
An announcement storms the room “JACK RABBIT TWIST CONTEST”
She glares at him with an excited smug expression,
The man profusely refuses,
She pulls at the chance and says “I want to dance, and I want to win a trophy”
She centres the room with her bold presence,
Introduces herself and the man to the audience,
Chucky Berry 'You never can tell' dawns the room,
She strikes a mixture of aristocrats dance poses,
He follows along whilst wiggling his legs and arms,
She twirls and moves closer to him,
She spins and rocks the swimmer move,
Thrusting her chest towards him,
He drops into the mash-potato dance
She shakes her *** and struts her feet,
He jiggles into faster swings and sways his hips,
Captivated by her flow and energy,
She becomes entranced by his charisma,
The two intwine like a wreath of flowers,
She devours him with her blood shot eyes
The song comes to an end,
The crowd roar with excitement,
She beams at him with pride,
He shyly smiles and bows down with Mia Wallace
Jun 4, 2021
Jun 4, 2021 at 5:09 AM UTC