"midsection" poems
Is there perfection in imperfection?
Or is that just a personal projection?
I look at my own reflection,
With mental disconnection.
The only thing I see is rejection,
Everything needs a correction.
Especially my midsection,
There is no perfection.
Only objection,
To the imperfection.
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 7:24 AM UTC
oh, my god,
stop praising little girls for being "tiny" and "slender" and "willowy"
for being skinny.
because the scale offers validation
and eating cheetos and twizzlers and cookies and candy without gaining a pound becomes an accomplishment
a sharp and boasting laugh
ha, ha! i can eat all the **** i want
and still be /skinny!/
because a girl will feel pride
in her ballerina legs and bony joints
and guilt
in her best friend wishing she were as small.
because "skinny" stops being an adjective
and becomes a definition.
because being skinny becomes
owning stacks and stacks of size zero jeans
but ******* and shimmying and squeezing your *** into them
(god forbid you buy a size two.)
skinny becomes looking flat in the midsection
but only if you eat triscuits for lunch that day
becomes seeing the outlines of individual ribs
but grabbing with a grimace the layer of fat and skin that covers them
becomes standing with legs spread apart and back tilted and eyes squinted
and looking maybe kind of like a forever 21 model,
until you sit and your thighs melt into huge endless expanses of tissue
becomes avoiding the bathroom scale because you told yourself two years ago you'd never get above double digits.
becomes knowing that most girls would **** for your body, or for the absence of your body - for the carved out spaces where flesh could be.
becomes feeling guilty, feeling ridiculous, feeling ungrateful
becomes never admitting to anyone that you feel anything but skinny.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 7:38 PM UTC
Maggie threw a weak left jab at the upper torso of Jacob to throw him off balance and swung hard with her right arm towards his exposed left cheek, connecting her small fists on his flesh with such impact that it immediately began to swell up. He retaliated with a well placed right hook to the side of Maggie's arm that sent her moving sideways before she regained her footing and answered back with a succession of jabs to his midsection.
Sweat poured down both of their faces mixing with the blood from cuts and bruises that both had received in one of the earlier bouts. They were now in the sixth round and neither showed any determination in losing.
Jacob brought his right leg up for a straight kick towards Maggie's stomach but she caught his leg and rotated it clockwise knocking him off balance and falling chest first to the mat. Maggie attempted to a heel lock but could not gain enough leverage to lock it in and Jacob slipped out of her grip and got back to his feet and shook it off. Maggie snarled thru her mouth guard and spun around with a roundhouse, catching her foot just short of hard enough on his left calf, sending numbness up and down his leg. She went in for a double leg takedown but was caught off guard when Jacob raised his right knee and connected it with the left temple on her head. Her vision began to go hazy and she swung wildly with a left and then a right before she was able to shake the cobwebs clear and see him throwing a straight, hard, and fast right squarely at her face.
She ducked less than an inch before his fist would've met the bridge of her nose and she came up with her fists balled tightly in an uppercut and landed on the bottom of his jaw sending him reeling backwards and losing his balance he fell on the ground. Maggie rushed over and got on top of him in guard position and began raining down lefts and rights to his face which he was blocking. She threw a few shots at his side causing him to arch into a kidney shape and bring his arms away from his face. Maggie grabbed his left arm and went for a Fuji armbar and locked it in tightly, feeling the joint of his elbow bending sharply on her pelvic bone. She arched her back harder, tightened her thighs around his arm and twisted the upper portion of his wrist to the left until she felt the familiar feeling of a tap out on her legs. She released the grip and stood up, ****** bruised, sweaty, but not beaten.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 12:28 PM UTC
Kindergarten
I don't know if I believe in God,
but I believe in heaven and angels
and the power of the vet,
so I mutter to them
in a sticky panic
when the rubber tire of the
UPS truck
catches your tail,
your midsection,
and irons your round belly
into the sidewalk.
I think this is the day I stop being a dog person.
Mar 16, 2012
Mar 16, 2012 at 1:27 AM UTC
one hand
driven up sunken
inhaled midsection
resting at wet sternum
pausing to spread
five fingers
i can feel the beat quicken
digging them in
i inch up toward her
body angular
waves of her churn
i eat dishes beastly
her entire plate clean
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 9:33 PM UTC
He’d been close to the big time,
If not a god of the fight game, perhaps a demigod;
He’d been possessed of considerable brute strength
And the ability to shut out concern for the well-being of others,
But there had been the odd ***** in his armor:
An overhand right which announced itself too early,
And arrived just a smidgen too late,
Plus an unhappy tendency to lose focus,
To stray from those plans his corner had set up chapter and verse,
Choosing the forbidden fruit of the quick knockout.
He had, after losing a bout to a top-ranked fighter
(He was eighth in the world, he would chuckle ruefully,
And I fought him like I was eight years old.)
Decided to chuck it all in,
Enrolling in a scruffy little bible college
Sitting just off an interstate on-ramp,
Cheek-to-jowl with a Wendy’s and 7-11,
In order to facilitate the transition from mayhem to ministry.
He’d soured on the process in fairly short order;
He understood instinctually that he, like all men,
Was a sinner, and likely unworthy of salvation,
And the faculty accentuated the notion daily, if not hourly,
Like so many jabs to the midsection.
He’d inquired, gently, as to the approach one should take
To addressing the worrisome paradox
That all men were imperfect beings
Marooned on an imperfect world,
Yet their fallibility was all they had to build on,
(A rickety ladder to scramble upwards, for sure,
But the only way to reach that golden fruit
Held out for him, though just beyond his grasp.)
The responses varied, from sputtering and vague parries
To the suggestion that such notions were heresy,
And so he’d returned to the club-and-casino circuit
Makin’ the best use of the gifts I have, he would sigh,
Before heading out once more,
Hoping there was one more short right at least one more time.
Jul 5, 2018
Jul 5, 2018 at 4:11 PM UTC
Rivers dry up, except
The Mississippi.
If/When
That particular long and wide
And fat and deep
Body of Wa-Wa
Completely dries up,
The World, as SK
Was fond of saying of
Roland of Gilead and the
Shadowed Spire,
"Has moved on."
Monstrous
Glaciers partied hard inda
MIDWEST!
For, like, endless freezing
Nights and equally
Chill-laxing daze,
Man! Man? Dude!
Dudes? Little dudes
With spears takin' on
The Mammoths! No
WAY!
Way.
They'll not outlive and
OutLAST US, My
Frozen Bros!
(But we had fire, the roasting
Kind and the hot burning
Coals within our spirit,
Fire to perpetuate our
Species through endlessly
Cold nights and days)
Whoo-Hooo!
Dude! You plowed
DEEP last night, Bro!
What's that stuff on yer
Brow. Sweat?
Hey is it me or is it
Hot in here?
Dudes? We're like
SMALLER
Irregardless, or
Re, the You SSS of
A has a large dent
In its midsection.
Because those partying
Glaciers were forced back
Into polar hiding, shedding
Great earthen chunks of their
Fatty selves, carving and
Slashing
The most fertile watershed
In the country.
Their ageless and
Timeless enemy, that
Bright Yellow Orb,
Opened its great
Cyclopean eye, and
Focused, yet again,
Blessed rays of light
Heat, and life.
The melting...
Water lying on the ground,
Unsure? How about we start a
Pool? I bet it'll pay
Off to flow on not-flat ground, the
Pool collapses and begins flowing
With purpose, streaming
Together as a larger
Body of water:
The Miss
'Sippi.
Any number of
Numberless great and lesser
Lakes up North
Decided to be hole-
Y. Gravity
Did the rest.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:57 PM UTC
deep in my core, I am as sweet as honey. I have beautiful bouquets inside of me. touch me and i will bloom for you. slice open my midsection and the flowers will curl around my ribcage. crack open my skull to find incredible thoughts growing as they form. separate my legs and watch me open petals of the prettiest hues.
my petals, my nectar, my thorns. all yours.
selfish lovers have picked my petals off, crush me at the stem of my core. I begin to wilt; I slowly rot. they are repulsed. my beauty turns to death and they turn the other way. quick to blame, they fail to notice it was their hands to taint me.
flowers require delicate hands and the nourishing sunshine to survive. when kept in the dark, they wither. how could you expect me to be any different?
if I could rewire this brain of mine -- this body of mine -- I would much rather fill myself with thorns; poison, barbed wire to wrap my bones.
but I am soft, I am sunshine and nature divine. I bloom and wilt and recreate myself time after time. it takes more than ravenous hands to stop me from growing.
Jun 4, 2018
Jun 4, 2018 at 4:42 PM UTC
April 2, 2012
I can feel it coursing through my veins.
It starts at the bottom.
My toes feel the warm sensation and start to tickle. The urge to move becomes overwhelming and a tapping begins. The beat is steady and concise. It is inaudible to most not paying attention, but to me I feel as though I am beating on a steel drum being playing into a microphone.
Then it shifts to the legs.
My knees suddenly feel unable to lock in place. I must bend them and set them free. At first I do not know if I can trust their movements. Somehow both legs can flow independently and still work together as a unit to support my frame.
The stomach is next.
I can only imagine that this is how one feels after being reunited with a long lost lover. The butterflies start fluttering, sending my stomach into a natural yet uneasy feeling. A ball of energy is forming. I can feel it start to radiate down my arms, to my fingertips, then return to the midsection. It has nowhere to go but up.
There is a pounding in the chest.
Somehow my heart's beat seems to slow and quicken simultaneously. There is no feeling of joy, pain, sadness, or stress, just the calming feeling of fully observing this natural phenomenon. There is a tightening in the chest followed by a complete and utter relaxation as it takes over control. It is almost complete.
The head is the last stop.
It works together with the brain to send electrical currents relaying how to feel back to the rest of the body. The ear drums get the most pleasure. A sweet humming beings in the cochlea and vibrates down my ear canal and rests on top of my tongue until it is ready to be released. All the while my brain is going crazy soaking it all in at once. There is never too much to be absorbed.
What I feel is music. It surrounds me, embraces me, and ultimately engulfs me completely.
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 3:57 AM UTC
a curious family of raptor children, a lake of caterpillar carcasses (boulder soup), a grocer for the taliban, gas powered anything, the exposed midsection of a tree, bank robberies or bear maulings in progress, triangles, an irascible bus driver thinking in isosceles, the itinerant story of a mama mammoth, starquakes and extinctions, massive roaches, a neck bath in hot breath, sudden abeyance from behind, the way gravity kills caterpillars and spares us because all angles of gravity make 180 degrees and this is stillness. fear running a straight line from behind us, through us, and in front of us. what i consistently get caught up in, the third point might be my final resting. this is why i ******* hate triangles.
Jul 19, 2020
Jul 19, 2020 at 6:33 PM UTC
This does not hurt
as much as I had
thought it would.
Although you ran
a bulldozer over
my midsection, I am
somehow still breathing,
somehow still getting up
and moving, because
what else can I do
except go on?
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 9:06 PM UTC
It is exactly that: MY body. That means that I get to decide what it is and what it is not.
Don't call me fat, skinny, ugly, or hot. My body has not failed me. It has provided for me when outside sources did not. My legs are strong and hold me up. I can skip, walk, jump. My arms allow me to really do. I can write, hit, hug. My curves make me a woman. I don't even have to tell you what I can do with those. My stomach holds many of my vitals in. I would not be alive if not for my midsection. And so I thank my body.
Don't judge my body.
You have not been through what I put this ***** through every day. It is rigorous.
I used to cut myself. My skin was split. It had to open and come back together and reconnect more times that I can count. It barely left scars. My skin is strong. I used to make myself throw up. My digestive tract was being littered with corrosive acid on a daily basis. My stomach was devoid of real food. Do you know what that does? And yet they still work perfectly for me. Every time I've smoked, my lungs have been polluted. And yet, all things considered, they still work extremely well for the damage they've been subject to. For that, I thank my body.
Don't judge my body.
You don't know how long it has taken me to love this thing. You don't know my history with self-esteem.
I used to hate my body. I thought I was fat, that my ******* were too big, and that I was flat-out undesirable. I would punish myself by spending hours at the gym to the point that I would fall down or throw up. I would cut deep. Guys didn't want to touch me, and I thought it had something to do with me. I kind of changed for the wrong reasons. Now all guys want from me is physical intimacy, and yet no guy wants a "real" relationship with me. I am not concerned. I used to be. I used to think, once again, that there was something wrong with me. Now I know that it is not me who has the problem. And I am not single because I can't be with anybody. I am single by choice. But they way boys treat *** can lead a young and vulnerable girl to question herself. It has taken me a long time to accept and love my curves and my body as a whole. And now I know that once you love who you are, no person can take that away from you.
But still, don't judge my body.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 10:10 PM UTC
She hung by a thread to her sanity
Constantly staring in the mirror she realized her vanity
But if what they call her is "vain"
Then there must be more than one definition to that name
Because her sense of self is "skewed" and "inaccurate"
But to her it's all she knows and she's quite aspirant
Ready for change and to be a new version of herself
Hardly caring about her deteriorating health
Walking into the health club already exhausted
Not understanding how much it has costed
Not with money or credit but with physical wellbeing
Not heeding her body's warnings or in the mirror seeing
Her hair is thin and no longer growing in places
She compares her pale skin to the other people's faces
She puts two fingers down her throat in the hope to purge up a candy bar
Convinced her calorie count was taken too far
Her nails chip far too easy
And the thought of eating makes her queezy
Yet the stress encompassing her life pushes her to binge
Hundreds into thousands the floodgates unhinge
Never for sustenance, always for taste
Each and every calorie is a ginormous waste
She collapsed on the Stairmill and in embarrassment and rage
Exited the gym floor as though it were left-center stage
With poise and a smile she laughed as they stared
She grabbed all her gear and left as they glared
When she got to the car she was nothing but angry
Pushing too hard her body sat blankly
Breathing was difficult and by speaking she was pained
Every ounce of her life force felt utterly drained
Her skin can no longer take the lack of nutrition
And her eyes are wavering as she tries to focus her vision
She used to be a student with straight A intent
But all she can think about is the next meal and its scent
Forgetting the most basic things about her day
She forgets how to write and takes a derivative the wrong way
People look puzzled as she waves off their concerns
While in her stomach and throat a deep hunger burns
She stares once again at her monstrous reflection
Grabbing and poking at her bulging midsection
Now huddled on the ground she stares at the ceiling
Entering a loose dreamy feeling
On the brink of unconsciousness she extends her hand skyward
Only then realizing that down to her soul she is tired
May 1, 2018
May 1, 2018 at 12:51 AM UTC
Look at her, midsection lines blazing
Heaving prow swollen with glittering ion beams
Her aft sections tight and proud
Bravely bolstering her posture as she surges into the fray
Battle joined, she calls the hunt with thunder
Heralding fell sensors' unerring gaze
For none in the skies who've caught her eyes
Have survived her deadly rays
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 7:23 PM UTC
He stood in front of her ****
He was in an extremely rude mood,
But she wasn't paying any attention
Because Jen was a bit of a *****
When she finally noticed,
Jen started a miniature protest,
"James put on some clothes; at least cover up those" (she said pointing at his testicles).
James swayed his body side-to-side,
He felt he had nothing to hide,
He walked towards her (a masculine stride)...
Jen blushed and covered her eyes.
"James, it's not very funny
To come running towards me"
and Jen whisked off in a flurry (of anger).
James saw his reflection
and poked his midsection,
"Maybe she's right, if my stomach was tight
Jen might not have had an objection"
He sighs and puts a top on.
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 12:00 PM UTC
I am the empty space between the highways,
Abandoned strip of indirection,
Subsisting on passers-by's throw-away
food and emotions / Civic midsection /
I am a buffer / I lead nowhere and
no roads leads to me / I am the empty
nest of a bird long flown to the wetlands /
I am everyone's, cared for by the city,
I am where the bodies are buried
sometimes / I am where teenagers get high,
The lake of grass from which Charon ferries
you and your people to the other side,
I am where tall grasses sway at midnight,
Snowplowsand. Cars pass. Hourglass headlights.
Feb 2, 2021
Feb 2, 2021 at 8:08 PM UTC
She stood on the old wooden platform with tears in her eyes
So many virgins had been taken from here
For centuries The Dragon has come
Father said, It is to protect the village
To her it was a death sentence
In truth, it was
With her white dress fluttering in the harsh wind
A black spot became visible on the horizon
He was here
To scoop her up and take her to his cave
Never to be seen again
Her vision blurred into black nothingness
As his claws closed around her midsection
The Dragon dropped his prize on the array of pillows he kept for them
He knew what she was thinking
The Dragon always felt so guilty for the women he took
Yet he couldn’t help it, he thought as his claws touched down on the caves cold floor
With a cry of pain his long demonic dragon body receded
Until only the form of a naked man remained
Baring only long raven black hair and two vertical scars on his back
And a braided thong around his neck holding his pendant of Light
Striking gold eyes shown in the darkness of the night
She would be his
Willingly this time
He was tired of the life he had lead
A sigh of arousal brought him back to the here and now
The Dragon turned to face his new bride with black wings unfurled
“Hello Andrea,” he smiled feeling his hunger rise to his throat
She looked at him astonished
“Christopher?”
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 4:47 PM UTC
Let me take you by the hand
And walk you up the stairs
A wonderful sweet fragrance
That's coming from you hair.
Your smile puts me at ease
Your eyes say something more
Your body talks the language
A night of love is what's in store
I softly kiss you on top the head
Your cheek lies on my chest
As we stand at the foot of the bed
We gradually get undress
Standing there before me
In just your ******* and a bra
Your beauty catches me
Your the most beautiful sight I ever saw
I pick you up off your feet
And lay you on the bed
With ******* off I spread your legs
Your hands come to my head
I passionately play with your belly button
I pass down to your flower
I tease your little button hole
For what seems to be an hour
Your midsection moves like music
You let out blissful squeals
Your bottom moves up and down
I push my shoulders against your heals
You call my name your body flutters
You shake and tremble too
A smile comes across my face
I love to do this to you
I move up to the top
I look you in the eyes
Place my hand on your bra strap
I give a little tug and I feel a pop
I kiss your right breast then the left
Roll over on my back
I pull you over to me
I give you **** a little whack
You deliberately clime on top of me
You let slip out a little peep
You move down firm and easy
Until you go ***** deep
You move like the ebbe and flow of water
You ride like there's no end
I explode deep inside you
Then we do it all again
We fall into each other's arms
Our lips again they meet
Lay your head upon the pillow
As I reach down to pull up the sheet.
Now we fall asleep.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 12:01 PM UTC
I am utterly and totally (not limited to completely) dazed and confused in a dark alley of emotions in the midsection of an endless tunnel that leads to possibilities of the unknown. I have already made my choice; I have already chosen my path miles back, and I have traveled long enough to know that I am in far too deep to change my mind. I touch the walls for a message from the blind but even they can't lead me. And so with no other choice but to step forward into the vast night, I pray on the Lord to comfort me and to guide me, in hopes that the demons within my own soul may never find me. And when all is said and done I hope I can find my way back into what I know, back into what feels right; back into the light.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 11:38 AM UTC
It's the vibe, the same on you got when I put my hands around your throat, your midsection. People like to tell me I'm scary like the easy way. People like to tell me I'm beautiful, like the hard way. People like to tell me I'll see you again on the other side of the lake where my dreams will never reach because they are glass and I am glass and I am sorry for caring about the way you lied. I'll surround you throat, your midsection with a thousand liars hands and say hallelujah, I'll say didn't you know? Not everything is painful, not everything hurts like the smite of god. What did you do to deserve eternal damnation? You say you never kiss and tell but kissing cousins lie, they lie like stainless steal being scratch proof, and the feeling of tears on a Sunday. You...just forget I said anything and I'll go on forgetting your name.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 11:12 AM UTC
The nation's midsection bloats like a Mississippi fish in the sun.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 9:55 AM UTC
It's the way you held my hand, my midsection. You whispered a thousand lairs tails into my hair. You like to say I'm hard like the good way, you're just easy like the bad way. You don't realize the only thing better than my love for you is my love for me. I know you don't care but if you could kiss my brow tomorrow then I might be able to love you today. You're too cute and cool and a narcissistic, self-centered ----------------- Hey, say you love me one more time. You go on forgetting my name and I'll go one writing
hearts around mine
with yours.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
Sitting down next to an elderly man
His back was arched, countenance slow
Clean shaven with tailored suit
Yet slouched around the midsection
His quiet hands fumbled in a paper back
Lifting cheese and then a *******
He chewed with a painful sigh
I could see his socks as his pants road up his shins
He moved much like a sloth does crawl
Without a quick or jerky motion
But trudging along with a hint of hesitation
Staring out with vacant gaze
His furrowed brow made it look like he was squinting
Remembering a past event it seemed
A nostalgic time for this old man
A nostalgic time for me
Though I'd never sat here before.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 6:51 PM UTC
I am urged to
dissect my midsection
and count the rings
that tell the tale of
the years I have
lived.
I want to show you
every line and let
you see my past
right before your
own eyes.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 1:12 PM UTC
To my ex-lover who told me I'd be much more beautiful if I wasn't so heavy
You'd be much more pleasant if you weren't so ignorant.
I gave myself to you as I stripped every layer of my conscience off
Lying out in front of you
You were the first person I let see my stomach
To run your hands over each scar on my body
That map out my childhood
One for the first time I dieted at eight years old
One for the first time my father ridiculed me for my weight in public
One for the man who touched me prematurely
Causing me to bleed from the inside out
Until my body was submerged in crimson
And I long to feel something on the inside again
Whether it be feathers or needles.
He taught me to settle for men like you
Because with you, I can feel daggers.
As you touched my *******
They amazed you
Why are the sacks of fat and tissue and fluid on my chest
So much different than the cushion around my midsection?
I should not be seen as parts of a whole
As threads that can be manipulated into something more pleasing to the eye
I am an entire person
And my womanhood is not for industry
For foreplay
A *** toy fit to meet the needs of every man who lays his hands on me.
The glimmer in your eye during *** made me shutter
And maybe that's why I turned away last time
Because that shine was selfishness
All you saw me as was your pin cushion
That you could stick knives in
And I would be willing
You could put all your aesthetic expectations into me
And I would absorb them without a fight.
You must not know me at all
I have gasoline in my mouth
And when you tell me to sit down and shut up
It is the flame ignited.
Just as they say I'm loud in bed
Maybe the reason is that too many men
Have tried to shove cotton down my throat
Failing to drown me out
Telling me my voice is merely static
Telling me I am anything but beautiful
Well, I hear beauty is in they eye of the beholder
And my eyes are the only ones that matter.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 1:50 AM UTC