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Sarina May 2013
At nine, I asked my mother if I could shave my legs
and she said no
At ten, I asked my mother if I could shave my legs
and she said no
At eleven, I asked my mother if I could shave my legs
and she said no

At twelve, I asked my mother if I could shave my legs
and she said maybe later.

At thirteen, I had not shaved my legs
and my mother asked why, everyone wondered why –
that is like asking where I got my molars from
or why my tastebuds sizzle when I drink orange juice.  

Suddenly suddenly I was grown
but I had to hide every ****** tissue in the garbage.
Peeka Aug 2014
Wisdom teeth- you're out.
Sneaking four, about to commit a heist- no doubt!
Fuzzy and tingly- then darkness consumed the high.
Awoke, the sting of absence felt.
I've taken my drugs- cried and iced.
I caught ya. Wisdom teeth.
I will plead for sleep.
Gone now, but if I ever lose my molars?
How wicked would that be?
My wisdoms couldn't aid me!
I'll accept the philosophy of Candide.
For "all is for the best" arguably,
In "the best of all possibly worlds" supposedly.
Wisdom teeth out today! Finally feeling better. By the way, all should consider reading Candide. :)
King Panda Jun 2017
you had me when you
skinned my hide—the future
and present of squiggled
intestines tilting with the
rotation of earth.

I am macho—no nighttime.
the summer constellations
throw me a bone and big crunch
as my molars snap with my

it takes a year to go around the sun once.
it takes a trawl to fish properly.
it takes a dog to chase the brightest

Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
/ because such examples have to, have to(!) be perpetuated, reiterated, perpetuated, reiterated... these... "things"... these minor quests of establishing being - against, the authoritarian rule of the democracy of beings.

you don't shout,
you don't disturb the "social", "peace",
of proverbial english society...
   shouting does not good,
akin to:
   silent water eats
         away at the shorelines...
what you do...
is akin to what birds do...
you don't gnash your teeth:
i.e. clench them molars...
gnashing means clenching
your molars -
a gnashing a gnarling,
a pestle & mortar scenario...
    no shouting...
silent movie era of hollywood
   you... simply... chatter...
you strike incissor teeth against
each other... crafting a lightling storm
like crackling sound,
  like corn flakes...
    in a bowl of milk...
   you... chatter...
                 inspiration? birds...
bird calls...
    you... chatter...
    mind you, unlike the english,
looking into my mouth...
    the jaw should fit within the confines
of the skull...
    the upper set of teeth
should accommodate the jaw's
line of teeth...
   but you simply... chatter...
which is embodied by attempting
to take a phantom bite at "something"...
   central incisors against
              the lateral incisors...
you subsequently: chatter (χατερ)...
   i missed the eta (η): given that i also
missed the excess of tau - in what isn't,
a translation - other than a phonetic
equivalent of putting on sunglasses...

because, when your neighbour,
tells you... that you can't smoke...
in your own home, perched on a windowsill,
out of the window,
implying that the smoke is
vacuumed into his bedroom?
   and somehow, the law,
and the air, we share, is somehow his,
and his alone?
    and i can't do, what he can,
within the confines of his property?


some english are ******* backward
hardly insulting the ****** community,
with some succumbing to prosopagnosia,
while some (notably down syndrome)
actually having a memory capacity...
that curious look and a familiar expression
waiting for a smile...

i basically live next to a mental illness
example, par uno...
          and englishman who "thinks"
he's king, rather than a convenient
                       ****** won't budge...
guess all i'm equipped with is
                          my chatter remedy;
and english society still "thinks"
that i'm the "mad" one.
    - because it's like...
  how can you dictate, what someone can,
or cannot do, on their property?!
like smoking a cigarette,
     perched on a windowsill, outside a window,
with the accusation:
   the smoke is coming into my bedroom...
oh right...
                you own the dynamic of air
to suggest such a bias?
blushing prince Oct 2018
myopic frames on a stern temple remind me that once he too wandered recklessly and felt ardent
empowered by time on his sleeve
there was nothing he couldn't conquer and nothing standing between the open air and breathing it in
i suppose the difference here is i grab the breath of air and hold it in my pocket for when i stop being so nervous

marshmallow heart
the road only goes one way and the streetlights hover and coil eternally, you can never meet the epilogue
a drive-thru drink in one hand while you feel your hair tangling into a mess of a beehive, the one that likes to unwind in soft tendrils on a weak pillow
heart racing for the constant fueling of a near empty tank telling you to go further this time, this time
time isn't yours

holding in a cough
i too have tried to drown waterbugs
my cheek pressed against the tiles of a kitchen floor, hand perched languidly as my fingers make circles in the tiny swamp i made in the middle of the room
but i forget laying there until i hear my own soul walk in with bare feet addressing the elephant in the room, the one that hasn't left since i was sick with bronchitis that winter years ago
and i want to tell her to come here, to come back inside myself so it doesn't feel so cold this season of frost but she brushes me off with the temperament of a child
"i don't exist, i never did" the words dawdle back and forth from her back molars to her incisors  
and i remember when i felt like i was dying when i hopped from one state to the next but realizing a little to late that if i were to go back my dread would jump on the back of my shoulders and force me to look it into it's shiny face and show me the mild nuisance of what it means to be alive
so my soul closes the door and i hear the keys rattle and i myself sink into the warm arms of someone i spent my entire life with
a small note on the existence of what it means to have a soul in a universe that is obsessed with facts and evidence
anna houghton Apr 2017
spit on molars

It was something my gran had said
and had always stuck with me
how she didn't care for love
and made it very clear
I just think she never knew it
a frail woman
whose dog preference was large
in order to exert authority
over an entity
more powerful than her own
she told me of how
she would push any man out of her bed
never sleeping a night in arms
yet here I am
clutching your body
tight to mine
in a hope we may
morph together like plastercine
the bed but a plinth
for us to lie
as people look upon our final form
and as you step
onto the train from the platform
our limbs form strings
as we are dismembered
like spit on molars
M Vega Feb 2011
They called you a dog
Its teeth were yellow
Rotting, cigarette and
Stink breath,

Gnarled skin around
The mouth
Laugh lines never existing
Only frowns fault.

Tar and wax and
Gunk, how else can
I say it-
- Your mouth, a treasure.

Riotous screaming
And bleak moans
Of let me go
I did, I held loosely

Canines with tartar
Can you imagine
The dentist?
He cried when he picked at

It rotted black now,
Gone beyond just
The absence of a
Smile forelorn,

Two surgeries and
Gauze and chunks
of gums, you
Wired yourself shut.

They yelled at you.
In the office, in
The school yard
Laughing, pointing

With a hand over your
Mouth you didn't
Bother to grin
Anymore, they did you in.

No operations could
Save that precious,
The innocence, you being
A victim.
Katie Mora Sep 2011
mom says we should buy an axe.
she shapes her gum into a moon,
craters and canines and molars,
like a fake suicide on national tv,
the passing of the torch,
the running of the bulls,
the macy’s day parade.
ashtrays don’t lie, but ashes do,
they’ve got their canines and molars
and tongues tuned to calamity,
slick as sunsets as they chop away.
and this fortnight is something you can read,
go ahead, turn the pages,
one to fourteen and you’re caught unaware,
what the **** were you doing,
counting casualties, coming closer to the yellow sky,
it’s petroleum sliding down your throat now.
the human body is 70% *******
and you may meet your quota but you’ll never meet your end,
racing through the stucco in the room your girlfriend rents,
the ridiculous ambivalence seeping through your pores,
staining the sheets you haven’t washed since february,
turning off the tv you were never watching anyway,
letting bulls run and torches light
like that little corner of your eye that twitches when you touch,
like that interrogation manual you can’t read anymore,
the door shuts in your face and your books crush your bones.
and you and mom buy the axe and leave it by the fridge with the broom,
and the more you scratch the rustier the blood.
Christine Jun 2010
Excess molars fill my swollen mouth
My jaw cannot take it
Saliva seps out of my guns
Hoping for some
Soothing salvation...
My teeth grow as I type
Until my tongue and gums are absorbed
And turn to fire to match
All that I'd left is
Far roo many
Massive molars
I kneel before you though you are no God
I give you my shame, lonliness, hopelessness and pain
You take it all with no argument, no hesitation and no judgement

When I kneel before you I feel the world staring down upon me; disappointed and accusitory
What would they say if they saw me in these moments?
The world, friends, family.......what would they say?
I can't stop spending time with you though I have tried

Unfortunately, it only takes a thought
It use to be harder to give it all to you
Forcing myself to bare those things to use to be so hard
Now it is easy! And I hate myself for it.

To keep myself sane, to keep it all inside, I run my tongue across my gums to feel the missing molars, the hole in the bicuspid, the degraded bicuspid and think in my head......
"Fight the urge. Fight the urge. Fight the urge to kneel and purge."

I go silent. I go numb.
I beat it, I hope, at least for today
But, I see you and feel the need to give it all to you
And in that moment I am beautiful, or, at least I hope to be

I made the mistake of listening to society
They told me to be the way they dictate on tv, in magazines, on billboards, and bus signs and newspapers and the radio
I tried because they said it wasn't ok to be me
To just be me
I wasn't enough
Why can't I be enough?

Thoughts. Thoughts. Thoughts! It's too easy!

I kneel before you though you are no God
I give you my shame, lonliness, hopelessness and pain
You take it all with no arguments no hesitation and no judgement

"Fight the urge. Fight the urge. Fight the urge to kneel and purge."

                                                        ­                      FLUSH!!!!!!!
Tim Knight Aug 2013
From a platform, he was pushed
down onto the ground.

There he landed with a great cry, a lonesome sound,
where the beasts took him with teeth;

molars and canines in the form of sticks and swords for sheaths,
beat him till his lungs gave in, until they no longer heaved for a breath.

Collapsed sacks of skin in a broken body
on a broken roof
somewhere without a name,
just a news channel hook
and gambit,
theme tune and a corpse laying bare on a video screen,
shield your eyes, place a blanket over the body and boy.
for those who have perished.

K Balachandran Jan 2016
One of his sick molars
was jarring, crying foul,
the root canal treatment
she did, the first, on him
made it quiet,it touched
exactly the love nerve.

Love sprouted,got rooted between
the curvy dentist and him
in exactly five sittings;
the soil was fertile.
The  romantic dentist seized
his pining heart too quick,
the causes and effects of
that pain, she whispered, was similar
to what she felt , when he whimpered
leaning his head on her full *******.

No reason he had, not to surmise
she didn't do everything she should,
to make his ailing tooth perfect.
Coochiecooing to her, he even
called her" the tooth fairy's baby girl"
overwhelmed she gifted him a smooch.

Each  sitting fallowed
soliciting  that rare,tender dental care,
on her cozy swiveling chair,
brought them closer to bouts of  necking
and things more adventurous,
(may the medical ethics, pardon the pair!)

Vigorous  narratives she breathlessly
reeled off,  on the state of his each tooth
brought her more closer to the chair
than what professionally was expected,
her perfumed warm presence
brought aches, not necessarily dental.

A stinging pain on a root repaired
at a time his 'root canal sweet heart' was away
compels him to explore for a new chair.
The horror of horrors, it was revealed
here, a piece of broken iron implement
his sweet heart, has left within the root;
a  cover up as she couldn't retrieve it
with her skills inept,
it did aggravate, caused the pain!
Isn't the  betrayal of the kids,
in the name of tooth fairy,non existent  
far less heinous, than a cheating like this!

could any one blame him for this,
to escape a bad tooth future,  he did
the best one could; the comely tooth fairy
that found the fault and mended it
shows him his place in the
swivel chair of her heart these days!
"Poetry is a form of story telling, and we are born to tell stories"
Tara Skurtu(Poet,Translator, Fulbright lecturer)
(1/25/2016  Huffington Post)
And many stories in poetry reflect true life..
Oh, ponder, friend, the porcupine;
  Refresh your recollection,
And sit a moment, to define
  His means of self-protection.

How truly fortified is he!
  Where is the beast his double
In forethought of emergency
  And readiness for trouble?

Recall his figure, and his shade--
  How deftly planned and clearly
For slithering through the dappled glade
  Unseen, or pretty nearly.

Yet should an alien eye discern
  His presence in the woodland,
How little has he left to learn
  Of self-defense! My good land!

For he can run, as swift as sound,
  To where his goose may hang high--
Or ****** his head against the ground
  And tunnel half to Shanghai;

Or he can climb the dizziest bough--
  Unhesitant, mechanic--
And, resting, dash from off his brow
  The bitter beads of panic;

Or should pursuers press him hot,
  One scarcely needs to mention
His quick and cruel barbs, that got
  Shakespearean attention;

Or driven to his final ditch,
  To his extremest thicket,
He'll fight with claws and molars (which
  Is not considered cricket).

How amply armored, he, to fend
  The fear of chase that haunts him!
How well prepared our little friend!--
  And who the devil wants him?
Words run down rutty cheeks and phrases pour out of ears and snotty clauses pool on a top lip. A sleeping lizard with tough skin fills the mouth with a little bit of space for the foot propped up against the molars in the back. Some magnificent ******* can part their jaws to let cascades of magnificent sense pass from them. This unfortunate individual, however, cannot stream any quips out of the correct orifice. If some promising witticism manages to squeeze past the big fat iguana under that palate then the bitter thing would flick at the uvula with its tail and the witty remark would be gagged out in the most broken form it could possibly take. The lie it cultivates is that everything inside is at least a little embarrassing.  Desperately romanticising about growing a soft, lizard-less mouth must somehow cure the hard working mute someday. Because what the hell else is there to do when one needs to be undaunted and well-spoken?
Not a legitimate poem, really. Anyone for a bit of prose, though?
Amariah Clift Oct 2015
Aluminum foil teeth
Enamel taste bud bayonets
Molars initiate waging war
On the soft pink left cheek
Gnawing away radiated flesh
Sawing off fat
Eating through layers of rotten blood
Metal dentures cut gums
Tonguing out iron spit
ehhhh stream of thought
Leah Rae Jul 2012
The Scalding Openness Of An Open Palm. Cradling The Broken Syllabubs Of A First Name, Between Flesh And Bone, Between Thumb And Forefinger, The 'E' And The 'A' Estranged Lovers. The 'L' And The 'H' A Mangled Broken Record Of "I'm Sorry"s. The Letters Falling Apart As If  They Are Afraid, Embarrassed Almost To Be Seen Together. Someone Closes The Fist, And Silences Them.

I Am Sure They Weren't Aware That The Anciently Intimate Lines Of My Mother's Face Had Pulled A Loud Smile Across Her Lips, Traced Fingertip To Wrist Across The Swollen Plains Of Her Stomach And Imagined This Name, Written In Silver, Traced Across My Flesh Like A Second Skin. I Am Sure They Hadn't Known This When They Held My Name In The Palm Of Their Hand, Opened Up To Its Delicate Petals, Something So Easy To Slaughter, Hello My Dear Hero.

It's The Sick Stick Of Death On Your Tongue Before You Even Have The Chance To Speak It, Removing Each Individual Petal, Plucking Them Their Center

One The Absence Of Any Hue In My Skin, Dark Enough To Add An Identity That My Clawed Fingertips Could Hold On To, Although Guilt Has Turned Me Several Shades Of Scarlet Once Before.

Two The Brittle Backwash Of Rocks Against The Bared Molars Of My Back Teeth. How Do You Say It Again? Where Does It Come From? What Human Vessel Carried It, Clinging To His Chest For Me To Wear Like Both A Battle Scar, And A Metal Of Honor? This Unpronounceable Character Building Beauty Laces My Fingers With Regret, So That I May Whisper One Day "I Am So Sorry For Not Knowing Your Name" When I Do Finally Meet Him.

Three The Crucible Of Color Found Behind Closed Eyelids, Like A War Was Happening Inside Myself Before I Even Had The Opportunity To Open My Eyes

Four The Way The Word Poet Seems Too Open To Me, Like A ***** Word In Different Language, Yet To Be Defined, I Want It To Be Mine, But I Know That It Can't Be.

Five My Father Will Tell You That When I Was Little I Talked A Lot. He Says That I Liked To Fix Things. But These Days I Spend My Time Mending Things That Don't Consider Themselves Broken Until After I Am Through With Them.

Six I Cried When They Cut Down The Tree In Our Backyard. Watched It's Bowed Limbs, Hit The Ground, Like Dream Catchers, Felt The Trunk Of Its Spine Splinter, Under The Weight Of A Thousand Gravity's. The Earth Quaked, As If Saying Goodbye To An Old Friend. She Tells Me That I Am Overly, And Excessively Attached To Strange Things.

Seven The Primal Wet Hot Heat Between Bone And Brain At The Base Of My Skull, Whispering That The Sweet Siren Call To Depravity Is Not Too Far Behind. Meant To Bring You To Bowed Knees, Step One Foot Closer. There Is A Ten Story Drop Between Me, And Heaven. And Tonight I Think I Willing To Take It.

Eight I Hold A Hundred Years Of Waged Weaponry Between My Ribs. Built A Body Out Of Bullet Shells And Have Learned That It's About The Honesty, And The Warmth Of Human Connection. Because We Are Solar Systems, And Grains Of Sand, Revolving Around One Another Like The Two Sides Of A Coin, Ready To Be Kissed By A Shoreline, And Pulled Back Out To Sea To Begin Again.

Nine Tonight I Will Be A Classic Work, Like Edgar Allen Poe. So For This One Moment I Will Worthy Of Literary Merit,  Of Scholars, And That Place In The Center Of My Chest Will Be Glowing. Throbbing At All Hours Of The Morning, So This Once I Will Be Enough To Be Quoted, Worthy Enough To Be Remembered.

Ten It's Voice Is So Weak. Tender Almost, It's Name Has Been Carved Into The Meadow Of It's Velvet Valley. I Pull Down The Collar Of My Shirt, To Press The Petal To My Bare Skin. It Speaks Half English, And Half God. It Tells Me That I Am Weeping To Be Made Real. It Says That I Am A Fragile, Starry Eyed, Empty Handed, Soft Spoken Work Of Art. It Whispers That I Have Sunsets In My Skeleton, And That The Molecules Of My Form Had Never Before Existed Before This Moment. The Curve Of My Spine, The Updraft Of My Eyelashes, The ***** Of My Cheek Bone, It Says "Close Your Eyes, Love, You Are Swelling And Swallowing Yourself Whole, You Are Immortal, And You Aren't Going Anywhere."
Evynne Mar 2013
a love like the way the ocean feels
a heart like that day you treasure with every bit of your beating heart
a face that makes you want to kiss every single freckle
a body warm like the sand under the rays of the beating sun
arms like the ocean’s waves, strong and inviting
a home like the way your bed feels in the morning

the pain that is left inside each cigarette she smokes
eyes that stare off and reveal her deep-seated loneliness
the cold and stale secrets she releases as she blows smoke out of her mouth and then inhales it back into her nose

never fully loved, she aches when she is touched
you think of all of the secrets that rest inside of her
she needs time with her hands so she can do all of the things that keep her youth

dealing with another’s touch is more of a blessing to her than it is a curse
her long and waving brown and reddish hair emits a warmth and shines bright in the light
every day she prays someone might remember her existence
forced with a beauty and flesh that is seen easier by others is difficult for her to accept and become accustomed to
the deep luster that sparkles in her perfect eyes that turn green in the sun

her head laying lightly on her pillow, she is broken and things are hard for her
she tastes times of despair in her mouth as she searches for her quiet voice
you notice how beautiful she really is not only on the outside, but more so on the inside which makes you consider falling for the gold rings wrapped tightly around her piercing pupils
but you know she won’t let you in
her eyes when she smiles remind you of a warm cup of coffee first thing in the morning
her lips are a curse in the darkest comfort of life and look as if they taste like bliss

but she doesn’t how how to picture forever and all you want to do is hold her hand as the two of you get lost in some form of nature
you feel weak as you think of her mind and all of the ideas that stay hidden in its deepest parts
you think of all of the people she has exhaled and all of the promises that endlessly resemble relentless stolen time and all of her inviting smiles that are ultimately never-ending
you can tell how beat-up but peaceful her heart is as she reaches out to no avail
you want to give her gifts and take photos of her face in frustration as her mind jumps in every single direction
you want to swear to her that you will provide endless embraces and chase her alluring irises with kisses
you want to promise her mornings of early alarms and warm company

you start to think of the sunshine that is instantly ruined with the apparent glints and bent pleasure of her daringly beautiful crescent-shaped smile
you see her as a drain, rare and spiraling, with acidic-like thoughts and emotions that disappear with the presence of a healing and loving touch
the extreme to which her deadly looks are stronger and more alluring than any flower and any paradise

you imagine her self-portrait and what she looked like with the pressure on her shoulders as she dug deep down and forced herself to acknowledge her looks and her charm
you wonder how she deals with being so tense as she tirelessly searches for reason and understanding

the stronger she puffs her cigarette the more desired are the intervals between each breath as she tries to find the right sentences and forget about how unbearable everything is
she is quiet and her face emits freckles that pop out at you as you gaze in awe at her beauty
she sits and thinks of the six prior people that have threatened her strength and ultimately left her heart broken and aching
there are newborn, salty tears that radiate on her cheeks as she mutters something under her breath in the doorway, she dreams of another dimension

her insides are constantly churning and you ache to know her habits and you ache to know how her molars taste with your tongue inside of her mouth
she is quite the commodity and you desperately want to blurt out everything to her
but her trust has been demolished and her heart has been metamorphosed and she wouldn’t know what to do as she would emptily reply “i am so sorry.”

you think of her as an enchantment and how she is really an inconvenience to your peace of mind
you rant on and on about all of the feelings that reside, and are upheld, secretly in the plethora of your thoughts that are diffident of being spoken aloud
her lifestyle baffles you as you try to contain your amazement and admiration of how disciplined she really is
and your heart aches and you feel worthless as you look in the mirror and stare at your eyes that faintly reveal exhaustion, appearing to be both passionately and tirelessly struggling to find some form of sanity residing deep within you

it is getting harder as she is loyal to what she needs out of life and what she needs out of other people
and it hurts as you think of all of the remaining endings for this eighteen year old ocean of beauty and difficulty and all of the interrupted conversations and the tingling sensation that a saturday morning brings
she is alluring as her body defines the sun’s rotting reflections that pry at her insides and the canals of her heart, possessing a revealed and evicted magnitude that could keep you in raw amazement for days
the thought of her lips, always faintly quivering, is like a weapon, as you watch her wandering about, never changing the perplexed look that rests perfectly on her face
you want to run up to her and beg her to stay
but the thought of the stress it would cause keeps you away
you try to delete her from your thoughts but that is starting to seem more and more pointless

you notice she has fallen and all of the feelings and words swell up inside of you and the thought of holding her hand causes you to run to her
but the world is mean and your teeth shatter under the pressure as you try to imagine the years you have spent without her
your heart emits a familiar warning and the sun seems dead and older and the tears start to form

you finally muster up enough courage to wrap your arms around her as you resist the urge to kiss her nose
you can feel how lonely she is and you hope to god you will be able to accept that later
you grasp her tighter as you listen to the despair that flows from the tips of her fingers that burn when she writes
her skin is smooth and her entire body is light with love but heavy with the vast amounts of pain and years of hurt that are imbedded into her skin and into her bones

you imagine her as the sea, apart from everything, but one with it at the same time
she is friendly, even as she remembers the forgotten hours of anger that used to torment her
you caress her soft cheeks and softly tell her to shut off the bad thoughts and forget those who have left her
you turn to reach into your pocket and you catch a glimpse of the moon
you feel your stomach fall as it reminds you of her; sometimes lost, part of her always hidden away, but full of strength and light and beauty
you had forgotten how much it resembles her until you look at both of them in the presence of the other

you look back down at her and notice how her lips long to be kissed and then comes the poem you will write in order to remind you of this night
you feel as though you are in the middle of a war and that you really need to sleep and everything around you is abnormally quiet, like there are blockades of passion built up and around you
you stand there, trying to look alive and say, with every piece of strength you contain, “i love you,” softly but assuredly

she looks at you like you are human and then she looks at the surrounding landscape and takes what seems to be a week, to say, “but why?”
you wrap your hand tightly around her palm and try to explain but your voice shakes and cracks and you can’t seem to find the words when suddenly a tree of courage and unadultered passion grows inside of you and you say,
“because you are beautiful and you are broken but you are trying. because you are human and you are one person and two hands and one heart. because i want nothing more than to clean your burns and bruises and make the wanderer in you build a home and stay. because looking at you feels like nothing i have ever felt and because you deserve to be loved, you deserve to be shown that another person’s love won’t turn into knives and anxiety and pain in your heart. you deserve to be healed and to be whole. i love you because you are you and there is no better way to describe you other than that. i love you because you are beautiful on the inside, no matter how many times you have been hurt. i love you because you light my insides on fire and because you never leave my mind. i love you because i can feel you, in my heart and in my bones and in every fiber of my being. i love you. i love you. i LOVE you. and i could go on and on telling you WHY but the desire to kiss your lips is so strong i feel as though my legs could give out at any second!”
you are breathing heavily as you realize her eyes have risen up to catch yours and she leans toward you
she looks golden under the moon light and the surface of her eyes are rapt with a soothing flare that burns into you as you gaze at the reflection of the moon in the circles of her eyeballs
you gaze at the beautiful curve of her body in your arms as her eyelids blink open and shut slowly as she quietly moves her lips as close to yours as they can get without touching, slightly moves away, almost like she is trying to prove something, then breaks your gaze as she closes her eyes and kisses you like you are something she has wanted and longed for her entire life

it is at this moment, as you feel her poking ribcage under the warmth of your hand and feel your body collapse, that you realize how certain and profound your love for her is
kissing her, you feel the ghosts that live inside of her, moving around as she clenches you tighter
you can smell the hurt that swells like water inside of her
there is a strong and longing presence about it and you can hear her heartbeat coming from inside of her chest, hidden underneath all of the sadness she has felt the entire duration of her life

kissing her makes you feel like you are kissing the universe, like it is a once in a lifetime chance
she pulls away and looks into your eyes and touches your face with her thumb so softly and so effortlessly that it feels as if you two have been doing this for your whole lives, loving each other
you can feel her wandering away from you so you grab her tighter and she snaps out of it and looks at you and says, “when i wasn’t there, you actually searched until you found me. no one has ever done that before. thank you.”

you can tell she is trying to forget old poisons as you read the expression on her face
she never said it back but that is okay because you know how terrifying those three words are to her and you know she will say it once she is ready

you let out a long sigh with the admittance of such a huge confession and everything is okay

you close your eyes and whisper, “finally.”
I went on a writing rampage last night and scribbled out ten handwritten pages. It was very strange  because I didn't know what I had written until I went back and read it. I just wrote until my hand stopped and it turned out to be a very interesting poem, or story, or whatever you want to call it. I'm not sure who the people in it are, maybe it is me and someone I know, I'm not sure. Maybe my sub-conscience or unconscious is trying to tell me something. I just thought I would share it. Enjoy.
Fah Jul 2013
Dearest Victoria ,

you enquired so, we have:

Listing the problems from her front teeth to the back molars, Winston sat with her back to the mirror

She had bad eyesight so couldn’t really see the contours of her face but was comforted by the fact that there was another person in the room ,

Down stairs Q was making cakes ,

the outfit she wore had enough diamonds to drown a drag queen , some ended up in the cake , along with the usual ingredients : ***** , fluff from under the stairs , a pinch of cremation dust from her Pa’s last fake funeral , the end of a shoelace that had begun to fray and very good quality butter Hard to find in these parts, Most the butter was mixed in with genetically modified jaguar pelt,

modified to grow their pelt as butter, the farmers would attach buckets to their bodies and collect as they malted

This was the latest trend, Q despised it , she made cakes for the café up the road , a dingy old shack with only four stools and one type of coffee, sludge

Out in the garden Sarah Whitely grew her carrots, alongside her parsnips and next to that stood an oak tree who rained down her wisdom onto the veg ,

this made sure that everyone in the house was stocked up with their daily doses of Wisdom ,

Otherwise they were sure to get sick without it ,

I believe in your world , you’d call it something a bit like vitamins ,

Only as one ate the carrots their eyesight into other universes would develop

And the parsnips helped them with their imagination,

I like eating mine with thai tea caramel sauce, shipped in from the faraway land of JAUL , there I hear they don’t need to eat anything but pastries and pizza to keep up their health , they live in amongst wise trees with wise people and wise mountains , thus their capacity for wise is already overflowing, they keep it in jars under the stairs and gift their visitors with at least 3 jars before they depart ,

From across the valley I can see the Snarls house, they are friendly enough and pretty decent fellows but quite honestly they must learn to be a little more understanding and a little less demanding ,

they keep on borrowing all of our rolling pins and never give any back , and the ones they do give back are the ones I don’t really mind them having , it’s that silver one with the flecks of gold dust I really want to use, the gold flakes onto the pastry , that

my dear friend, is the secret to a good quiche, gold dust

The market is 19 kl away , john the Baptist is often the first up , so he goes out there on the solar bike ,

his name isn’t really john the Baptist but ever since he had that motorbike accident he , firstly , switched to solar bikes , and secondly decided that he wouldn’t live any more of his precious life being called Barry McWetsulf ,

anyway, so John does all the shopping but seems to almost always forget the washing powder that doesn’t foam , ergh , the foaming ones contain maggot eggs that burrow into your clothes and before you know it , the foam is all maggots and you’ve got to buy a new cloak ,

that’s a pain you know ,

they aren’t easy to come by anymore Since the hobbits passed through and bought all of he stockpiles up ,

no one thought to make any more

We heard they were dead


supply and demand eh?

Who am i? Ah I forgot, I am the local fortune teller ( that’s what is written on my business card ) but I really I trained in mechanics and have a knack for fixing jumbo jets , sadly the last one I fixed did crash into the Indian Ocean ,

killing all passengers but the dog survived, turns out I had left the last piece of the engine at home, I thought we just didn’t need it anymore

but ya live and ya learn old chap!

So dear, you didn’t put a return address on your letter asking who I was and where I live , so I wrote you one anyway , we do have signal boosters here , maybe I’ll catch you on the airwaves?

Your Friend , Trustee , Peaceful Neighbour , World dweller , Life consumer , time creator , music maker , nebula fornicator

Sydney Ranson Mar 2014
I would crack it open over the sink.
I would split
               first, the stiff, waxy skin
               then the inner membrane, papery and white and fleshy
and reveal a thousand rubies, nestled in their pulp.
And as my hands glossed, sticky and scarlet,
I would press my index finger to the center of my tongue
and **** the sharp juice with such ardency
that you would become
               the pink in my spit
               and the thick in my mouth.
I would take careful notice not to lose a single jewel,
but to fully consume.
I would not mind your seeds
lodged between my molars.
Perhaps I would even keep them there as long as I could
               because you are my favorite flavor.
And perhaps after your juice has spilled and painted maps on my arms
and dripped from my elbows,
I would piece the shell back together,
tuck it in your chest behind your ribs, and close you up.
And perhaps then,
               when I had licked its walls clean
               when I had emptied its insides,
then there would be room for me.
Sarina Nov 2012
fragile earth
tarnish its pulp
in my molars, adult

and a sheen that
lays paper

kites flying inside
gum nerves &

the brass touches

you give me
cavities, my love
our life is so sweet

i feel your words
before they
are said

the homeostasis
as you speak

Joseph Childress Oct 2010
"....***** stories make front pages,
Massacres and killings,
Mayhem and ****** ,
A mad man is dealing,
This masked man antics
Is masking the city ,
The mind behind the gore
Is on 30th floor,
In a dormitory with no door,
Only a window,
With which
The nocturnal tenant tends to
Look over.
The overnight onlookers
Night walkers,
Alley cats,
And boulevard hookers..."

"....My eyes lay
On a prominent, candidate
For cannibalistic practices,
My dominant traits
Widows peak,
Vampirical feats,
Long, hollow teeth,
With massive molars,
Used to chewing meat,
Which sit beside my
Sharp Canines.
But my sizable incisors
Scissor inside the side of my
Silent victim
Select venom in him
Bereft of vocalism
Vocal cords torn
I violently vanquish
His speech.
He’s paralyzed from his
Neck to his feet
I throw him over
My shoulder,
Escape the obscene scene
Before I am seen..."
Ottar Mar 2014
pieces of flotsam
soak and float on the paper,
jetsam thrown to lighten
the load,
or goad,
the alligator, away
the guttural noises, sound like harsh
commentary the closer the
is allowed to get,
not wanting to look over the shoulder,
but stop in for biting remarks,
the gator's teeth are so large and famous
they have names and voices;
"punctuation or punctures, I can help"

"point of view tch, tch, tch"
"your grammar needs work"

"doubt you will finish"

"no one will read IT"

"you will never find the right word"

"is your audience a six year old"


"what a croc"

"are you enjoying what you are doing?"

"successful writers are all published"

"you call that a sentence, keep it up and it will be a death sentence "

"how many tenses can you misuse in a paragraph"

and these are the names of some of the smaller teeth,
the molars, are more than a mouthful,
have polar names, that would leave anyone cold,
                                                      even the bold,
and shall not be put in print,
they bring out the PTSD,
imprinted for eternity, by
the gator which
comes at the sounds
of splashing, flailing, and failing,
as the pounding of the heart,
the deepened breathing,
as the ink from
the pen, unfiltered,
leaves nerves and veins exposed,
while leaving to find home, a safe haven, a storybook ending,
away from the gator's keen sense of
overt criticism, intended to gut,
and eviscerate, cutting remarks,
putdowns to hold down and under,
the piece that IT is trying to tear off
while spinning or shaking the head
side to side, which is both NO!
and to bash the will, the self-esteem, into little pieces
of me...
            and my worst enemy,
                                                my internal, infernal editor,
                                                         ­                                     with the voracious appetite for self-def**eating
Meet My Internal Editor - ddaarrrreellll Alli the Gator,
why the double letters,
double duty - writer and editor,
double talk -
double the amount of time to getting anything done,
doubly mean spirited
Dallas Phoenix Mar 2015
The beast cobbler somber suited to putrid minions,
And picked apart the whiskers of death and scribed a diction,
"He hath no fury than an arcade weapon scorn"
Tis I blasted through virtual vitriol levels with life unborn,
Licking the literature scriptures and propagandizing dilemma,
I trained Cerberus into a vicious *******,
Biting heathens with the molars demons fear to run from,
Too **** farmer to sail away from my problems,
I reaped too many seeds to bleed,
So all your fuming won't do absolute **** to me,
I'm a dark stepchild of instability and fertility,
Shallow stocking delinquent seeking fire with an angel match cracking humility,
I'm a typhoon buffoon with Hanna-Babara tendencies,
**** with me and get a lethal dose of dynamite and Trojan Horse remedies,
SamBee Jan 2013
I find myself hidden beneath the moss infested trees of the forest that chatters
Noisily in the air behind my house.
Sunlight mockingly sings on my legs:
Dances between my bloating, crooked knuckles.
I am compelled by its glow,
As well as a low rumble that quakes my whole body with hunger,
To suddenly grasp at its illumination.
I shall catch the very speed of light,
Pop it on my tongue
And swallow its jellied consistency:
Fleshy fruited sweetness
Down my gullet,
Allowing it to marinate in the oceans of acids of my gut
Festering in the tender walls
Of the chambers of my stomach,
Fighting against decay and erosion -

Causing my brow to sweat,
My hands to tremble
Mmm-my ss
sss peech to stut-
tt t
A-and my belly to ache with agony,
Oh, this agony!
Throbbing beneath the seams, stitches,
Threads of my clothing
Drawing blood away from my heart
Toward my stomach, pulsing and pumping
Pulsing and pumping -

I feel as if I have reached my limit:
B e  n
-----  d
      |  i
      | n
    | o
     | v
   | e
    | r,
                  \  Re
        g   \         \      c
         n  \        /   o
       i    _   /i
in defense
Cringing and crinkling my eyes
Scrunching my nose
Lips pursed in vile disgust
Begging, pleading for a speck * of relief;
For an ailment for this hideous torment!

I feel as if I may perish on this very spot
Below the trees that birthed this demonic,
Deceivingly attractive sphere of heat
That I so daringly consumed.

I feel it now,
Inching its way up the tunnels,
Reaching the depths of my throat,
Rolling its way past my molars.
My jaw feels as if it may erupt from this
Ignited stick of dynamite that is lodge under my tongue.
My eyes are tearing-
My claws tearing-
My face sneering-
My moth searing-

And who knew something once claimed so divine,
So pure
Could cause such a build up of anger
And distressful disease in the pit of my being?
And I blame it all on you.
Ahhh, love. Hahaha
Phoebe Seraphine Jan 2015
I’m hungry and I want you
to murmur on the nape of my neck,
hypnic words sticking like beads of honey.

Your breath, so warm,
I feel it fastened to my throat.

I want to taste the roast of your hair,
as it drips from French pressed lips,
even if I don’t know how you take your coffee.

Your insatiable mouth, I swear I can see
the language of lust shining off your molars.

I want you to peel away everything until

       the skin
                    the skin

slowly, then all at once.

Your hands will quill my curves, gathering
groves that line my hips in vineyards.

I want our bodies as citrus, the scent
of our naked rind on dewy sheets.

Sugared trophies, supple tangerines.
Tori Parham Aug 2010
pouring the Milk of Human Kindness
into another white Russian I
push a mantra through the stale the odor
and shamelessly sip

in reality I'm just
getting drunk and seeing the bookcases
giggle in my peripheral
in reality I'm just making

Admittedly, the Milk's a little sour

But darling, this isn't Film Noir
- this isn't even film!
and yet, this cigarette is Gretta Garbo,
stroking my failures with a lonesome satin hand

is it not enough to be a raging narcissist
feeling each of my molars with the tip of my tongue
or fantasizing the contents of my nasal cavity?

Ekart Tole said my self is poisoning me
And I agree. I agree. Agree.

perhaps I should poison myself

Quite frankly, I do nothing but
steep in miserable pleasure
Now isn't a moment, it is simply I. I. I. I. I can't
escape it

typically I'm filling in

the spaces, watching the cat watch the spider
scale the door because I is secretly
perhaps I could rip up my soul like a piece of loose-leaf
and the pieces could ride the air currents
until they are a part of something real.
Vincent JFA Dec 2013
Like you were a first trip to NYC,
or a perfect view of the cosmos
from that clearing on Sylvan Avenue,
I was agape and fawning while you sauntered
out from your double doors, to the end of your driveway,
to where I rocked on my heels eagerly
on Allen Dr. at 6:23

Come 7:15, we bedecked your body
with stripped and frayed Armani
in tribute to the Walkers we've seen;
cool-white fluorescence drew emphasis
on the harmony between your ivory simper
and each cobalt marble that rolled
and flicked beneath your tuckered eyelids
by some sort of beatnik artistry.

Frankly, my chest swelled with fever
when I noted the scrunch of your nose
askance to liquid-latex applications,
or the way black cherry sap wept
from the corners of your mouth
while dislodging the blood-capsule
in-between your molars
and your stately, hollow cheek at 7:50

And I noticed around 8:00,
when I had slowed you to a halt
near the crosswalk on Montauk
between Coastal and Le Soir
to fix the scar-tissue on your chin,
that if I ever knew there to be one,
you made a most stunning zombie
with my Tom & Jerry cap lining your scalp;

Which made the stain left by the makeup
worth the trade of my hat
in exchange for your company,
as we picked up a twelve-pack
at the 7-11 just down the street
before we returned to the party.
Thank you so much for taking the time to check "Zombies in Snapbacks" out! This is the first poem I've written (and completed) since high school.

"Zombies in Snapbacks" reflects a moment of eagerness and the secret realization of fondness I have for this friend of mine before a Halloween party in October when him & I went on a stroll for beer.

I love ZiS enough to want to make revisions where it can make the most of them, so I am always open to constructive feedback! Thanks again, I hope you enjoyed "Zombies in Snapbacks!"

Note: Disregard any capitalization/punctuation errors, they are intentional.

Two revisions have been made:
1. Added to first stanza.
2. Two stanzas added between the first stanza and (now) fourth stanza.
Ashley Feb 2015
"it's nasty," she says,
the words dripping
dancing acidic ballerinas
tumbling from her lips
pirouetting between
decayed yellowed molars
and exhaled
like tasty, toxic, treacherous

nasty? how?

nasty like the way it tastes
when you roll my flaws
around like a toothpick
and pick me apart like a corpse
on the side of the road?

nasty like shoe polish medicine
slipping down your esophagus
just to ease the guilt for a night,
dragging you away to a restless
rem cycle where your troubles
melt away?

nasty like your childhood and the
scars on your shrunken skin,
like the memories that smell distinctly
of top shelf gin;
like the echoes of the places
you used to haunt, the denial of
what happened there hollowed out
and gaunt?

nasty like denying yourself freedom
in the most euphoric way
because you never learned how to ask,
command, what would please you
if only you had stayed?

nasty like the marriage
you stay in every day,
a dead end since you met,
fated to be a prison cell to whom
you're confined?

or nasty like the way
you can't look at yourself
in the mirror
without finding something that
you wish you could change?
"Please lay down with me for just five minutes"

"It will never be just five minutes"

"Yes, it will be, I promise"

"Okay, fine."

Home alone with thunderstorms make you feel so all alone
So that when you forget trivial things
Like retainers in people's cars
They become a necessity
So I call and you drive over a nine o clock in a monsoon
To give me a piece of plastic that fits around my molars
I did actually need it, but I wanted your company instead
So I got excited when I saw your lights outside
And greeted you at the door in my pajamas
You handed me my retainer and a bag of clothes from over the weekend

"You look cute"

"Haha! Thanks, I'm in my pajamas except for one thing..."

I slipped my bra off and could see you intrigued
It was not to ****** you, because I normally don't wear it at bedtime
But you took the initiative and slid your hands up my shirt
And then removed it all together
I was thinking to myself
Wow, I have never not had a shirt on in my own kitchen before
But I tried not to talk because I heard that it ruins the moment

Before I knew it, you were touching me, kissing me, caressing me
And you removed my shorts as well, then sat me on my kitchen counter
Then I thought,
******! I will have to wipe this off after we are done because I am sitting on it! And this is not a sanitary environment to prepare food in... But at the moment I really don't care because it feels good and his **** looks bigger than the last time I saw it

And thought,
Wow, my hair is almost long enough to cover my *******. If I grew it out all the way down to my waist, I could look like Lady Godiva riding the horse naked! But who would ever want to ride a horse naked?

And thought,
I really hope that my parents didn't lie to me about where they were on their way home. Because if they walk in through the door at this exact moment, I would be so *******. And then they would see me almost naked, which would be bad too

And thought,
What if my neighbors can see me standing ******* in my kitchen? Why don't we have curtains in here or something?

We never had ***, but we could have.
We could do a lot of things, but we don't
But we do know how to make the most of our time
And now that we had an hour, it seemed so long
We finished rather quickly... or... well... he finished rather quickly
In a matter of twenty minutes    
He finished like most guys do
I was just left unfinished like most girls are
At least he is kind enough to tap out before he **** in my mouth

But after we get it out of our systems, it starts to settle in
The instinctual desire to be held after a ****** encounter on the counter
So that led me to say...

"Please lay down with me for just five minutes"

"It will never be just five minutes"

"Yes, it will be, I promise"

"Okay, fine."

And you followed me up the staircase that was half-illuminated with sparks of lightning
We both crawled into my bed, I turned out the light, and we just laid there
It was the most perfect moment
And I could not keep my impulsive thoughts quiet anymore
So, while I was wrapped around him, I said,

"You know, if I could spend a night with you on the condition that I would not be able to do ****** things with you, but be able to just sleep next to you, I would"

And that seemed to make sense to him
Even though I feel like I am confusing, he gets me
He just smiled and said

*"Me too"
Amber S Jan 2014
it is not butterflies you placed in my tummy,
but large ferocious birds,
with wingspans fluttering against the inners of my
beaks prodding my intestine,  
their necks snarling with my esophagus.
their caws pulsate in and out my pores,
and these birds want to fly, fly, fly
towards you.
but i bite with anxious molars, and their blood tastes like
choking up red soaked feathers,
i wonder if you have birds
Alaia Sep 2012
Bills in my wallet folded into wads, unsorted in their random cacophony
Smiles on the faces of those ignorant enough to ignore suffering
Cuts on her feet like symbols in the stars
From her voice I was told the taste of kiwis and ginger root
From her kiss I was sharing nicotine and half exhaled cigarette smoke
And from our silence there is an overlapping ambience of dead noise
From our comprehension we realize our ignorance
From our comprehension we realize out insignificance
It is reassuring to know that you are a compilation of subatomic structures
It is comforting to know your matter is just recycled stardust
From a smile between crooked teeth and chipped molars I find comfort
In knowing that your heart is like a sponge absorbing all my poison
And somehow you exhale such radiance, a phenomenon
I marvel from my spot in the yard, watching sparrows chase
Storygiver Jun 2017
They said they wanted to take the molars of
Those fleeing danger that they had escaped
By the skin of
Then leave the reward of sanctuary beneath their pillow whilst they slept
As if they weren't having trouble enough already
With where to rest their weary heads

They said the rewards were many
And wanted to make completely certain
They weren’t being too generous
Because giving gifts gives rise to greed
So they decided to take the teeth
And ensure those safety seekers
Knew exactly what being bitten means

And those who sought for something more?
Those bitten by these charitable actions as much by war
Their wounds didn't heal
And they found sores on weary feet
To find they had grown hungry mouths there too
The shoes that ate the distance beneath their step
Yielding bite marks as footprints and yet

They stored safety as a promise
In between records and held up blue plaques aloft
That said "I was not born here on this date
But I belong here" and I've history and a home to make
But for all the shiny pennies that they saved up in a jar
The princess dentists could still feel each
Generous donation, milky beneath their mattress

And each asylum seeker kept them up
And we clean teethed few, who always knew to brush
For three minutes before bed
Lucky by grace of birth, seas and a few miles more
Looked at these dentists questioning
but they shook their head
Warned us of the toothache of their seeming sweetness
So tell us about dental hygiene
how to floss lies from our gums
or else wait for all our teeth to fall out
Have them taken from beneath our pillows
Where  we had gracefully saved them like we were told to
Constructed into fortresses
Utilized the tooth extraction cotton buds
as comforting ear plugs and pulled  the wool over our eyes

Let’s wait until our retirement
Till we realise the Toothfairy wants our bones
Not just our molars
and we pushed away those who only needed
The chance of rest and the chance of somewhere
new and safe to show us how to smile
So brush your teeth tonight
And be thankful
you will never know that those who turn away from you
Will do so, because your breath
Still stinks of all the **** you so readily eat.
This is in response to the immigration crisis and the image of Alan Kurdi, the young Syrian boy who was washed up on the shore in Turkey in 2015 as well as the image of the Conservative party of Britain as these scheming, ****** up terrifying fey creature that we all kind of expect a helping hand from.
Ivie May 2013
Coral evening sky casting a warm glow, in this lightening claimed dusky sky
Your shy smile bursting into a fit of giggles as I tickle you, my fingertips pressed to your belly, lingering
Starry eyes mirroring this evident desire,
                                                         ­            A melancholy lullaby crackling into a fire laced ballad
My lips meet yours, and here we are lost in this fragile moment, like a flitting darting bird
Savoring it, tongues dancing across the shorelines of my molars, like this is the first and the last time
You pull the curtain, unbuttoning, yanking the shirt off my body; solace is your only quest
Your lips licking my earlobe, whispering verses of ******* addicted musicians, but you prefer ecstasy
Your fingers tracing the raven tattooed on the nape of neck, trailing down needy kisses along my spine
Your trying to blur it all out, I’m trying to save you darling, from yourself,
                                                       ­        I need this too more than you know, but I love you more
Disasters have a tendency to reside in your ribs for a longtime, striking often-
                 Causing violent tremors
                   Leading to noxious EARTHQUAKES.
Your cat stopped breathing 6 months ago, she had punctured her lungs
I remember you screaming, trashing all the memories so that it stops hurting,you repressed it all.
You loved that furry little brat more than you hate fate.
Your grandfather expired last month, his led zeppelin, bon jovi records drown in loneliness now
Wrinkly smiles told stories of cosmos, aliens, he was a crazy man. The best nonetheless.
Chemotherapy drained out all the money and smiles, leaving your brittle heart suffering from paroxysm.
When he died, you kept shouting for hours straight, they had to sedate you.  You blanked out.                 I know you are sinking in the abyss of hopelessness and you’re trying to escape, escape this AMNESIA,
                                                        ­                                                                 ­         that is running after you.
But love, let me in, I know you’re afraid, but I vow, I’ll prove to be sempiternal.
And I swear I’ll be there cupping these rare innocent moments and preserving, holding you close, kissing you even when the rainfall doesn’t seem to stop.

— The End —