"overbite" poems
somehow sweet in his want of no trouble, the unwashed man takes the door from your father and there they go hand in hand to the backyard where they wrestle as if hurts were people keeping them apart. your father’s jaw comes loose, the man’s ear seems held by too small a magnet. at window you a sickly child with overbite and a scarecrow’s pipe stroke the puppet corn hair of a sister’s doll and walk it cloud to defrosted cloud. amidst this bartering of vanished weight your mother is being made to balance on her bare stomach a glass of lemonade.
in three days the man will come back; your father a bit healed, your mother less angry about straws.
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 9:31 AM UTC
there's a hole in my head
where the gamma gets in
tickles my brain
giggles my skin
turns my insides
to outside in
throws all my cares
into the wind
curls my hair
into corn rows
florescent's the jam
between my toes
spittles the spine
blows its own nose
grabs tightly my gizzard
then let's it go
adds purple highlights
to the hair on my face
takes my overbite
and sets it in place
makes me want to run
although there's no race
all through the hole in my head
filled by these gamma rays
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 8:54 PM UTC
Oh hail toothbrush, haven’t seen you since last night
I’ve returned again to cleanse an overbite
Spread the paste thick and minty across your bristled skin
Over the lips and on the culprits, 007 of oral hygiene going in
**** it feels good-
Morning scrubs do away with yesterday’s store appetizer samples
Clinging and eroding the ceramic protection of my enamels
Its poor thin concealing of my porcelain I must protect
Just a little more push and pull- haven’t even eaten breakfast yet
Foaming at the mouth, rabid plague of plaque I’m getting rid of
What extra harm for today’s meals I should have considered
But it’s alright-
My dentist smiles and offers a primary root canal adjustment
But the filling he’s drilling in won’t do too much for my budget
One hand to my jaw could cause my little car to swerve
Unbearable agony from the glass casing encasing that vital nerve
One hole’s enough for today-
Make it home, disgusted jaw line of cotton by the mirror
Spit soaked clouds are temporary relief for bearer
Grab the blender, toss it up, eggs and bacon with my juice
It’s no use- my straw’s stuck with gunk and nothing’s coming loose.
But what about this canker sore?
© 2008
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 10:20 AM UTC
You can't erase your face.
You can't retrace or displace
the lines you dislike.
Some people try. Why?
At best it makes a mess.
Why am I upset by a little extra bone?
The external effects of my natural testosterone?
How can a bit of unwanted hair excite despair?
Why do I care?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*I pointlessly worry
about silly points
like the size of my shoulders
or my knee and thumb joints.
My hairline, my brow ridge,
the shape of my nose,
my masculine pelvis,
my crooked man toes...*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My eyes are fine --
My only feature I like.
My shy smile is alright
but not too wide
'cause of my overbite --
-- the size of those incisors!
Now, some would say that I'm just vain,
so self-obsessed I've gone insane.
But I would say that's how we're trained,
At least in this day and age.
Others might paint me like Dorian Gray
praying to Satan for youth to stay,
but I just wish it hadn't gone this way.
Why would you keep your looks immutable
if you were never to begin with beautiful?
Feb 28, 2022
Feb 28, 2022 at 12:07 PM UTC
The warm light of afternoon
brings a blur to our harsh wrinkles.
Like a line drawing drafted over and over
after several mistakes.
The blemishes of us bleed and clot like brush strokes
on the painting of a landscape
Fleeting blues, searing orange,
the vista of our bends and breaks.
We sit together, as close as we can,
my nose in the cavity of your neck.
My surplus in the caves you carry,
your tears, lakes in my overbite.
I'll hold your hand holding mine holding yours,
breathe in your breath out.
If nobody is whole you can be my left foot,
and I can be your right.
May 18, 2024
May 18, 2024 at 10:08 PM UTC
Watch out! They're coming everybody beware
they walk around real life,
from our nightmares.
Through the town their creeping
to get the things they want;
they come with a password
to each house they haunt.
From a pirouette forms Draculla
as he comes to full height,
he draws his cape to his chin
to hide his overbite.
Against a full moons light
hangs a witches shape
all year shes been waiting
for this very night to escape.
The wolfman howls through the distance
and sprouts coarse red hair.
As ghosts and goblins frenzy
through the cool nights air.
Two lights are yellow glowing
above a toothless grin
on an old Jack-o-lantern
born from a pumpkin.
Into the light comes creeping
a cat as black as coal,
from out of hiding places
upon the night to stroll.
Out of the closets rattle
old Mr. Bones,
and from the tombs rumble
a mommie moans.
Outside they all gather
monsters of every size;
from huge Frankensteins
down to the little guys.
Here they come, be quiet,
wait for a knock to be heard.
There it is get ready
for the password.
"Trick-or-treat's" the password
then comes the trade,
for the small price of a treat
no tricks will be played.
"Happy Halloween!"
before they all turn and disappear,
back into their hiding places
I'm safe again till next year...
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 9:17 PM UTC
We shot the movie
in chrome-based Black and White
Thinking we were '80's hipsters
with a sharp postmodern overbite
And three days later
we were cracking up
in the editing room
over a three-way monologue
on horrible lighting
in midday TV living rooms
Well that was July
and now August is ******* us off
My fashionably long hair is turning mulleted
and I've picked up
an off-season cough
And now you're somewhere in Brooklyn
trying to catch a break
Your hair's been cut
into a schoolboy's bob
and your new friends all
look like fakes
I'd never thought it'd be you
when I'm staring at a screen
it's funny how later in life
we focus
on what we once thought
were inbetweens
Our old friend is working like a robot
trying to make the weekend fit
I guess he supposes it's better
to be lit up just for christmas
than for the constant party graveyard shift
And I guess I'm supposed to believe you
when you tell me
"it's all still pretty fun"
eating beans for breakfast and supper
and spending Saturday nights on your own
But maybe I'm just jealous
there's probably a lot of truth in that
I suppose i'm just getting nostalgic
for the days when I was the only boy
who could make you laugh
The three of us never cut it off too severely
so I'm banking on that long weekend
were we'll meet up in some ex-undergrad hangout
and pretend we're all still best friends
"If we were born five years earlier"
Remember, I used to tell you
"We all won't be so cursed
I guess you were right in saying,
"our lives are going to take on the plot
of Metropolis, but in reverse"
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 8:50 AM UTC
I have been at war with my brain for as long as I can remember. A perpetual massacre, crimson annihilation, whatever sounds best bleeding from your tongue. No matter how many casualties you can find staining my fingers, there is no tragedy here. Words are what the carnage always leaves behind.
I have always had words, too many of them-- always left hiding behind my overbite in fear of crowding the world. It is a torturous thing, to be a writer in a world where people are not made of paper, where transparence is sacrificed for conversation.
I think in different shades of contradiction.
I want to talk to you but my brain keeps telling me to pretend my phone is ringing so I don’t have to talk to you anymore. There always seems to be an escape plan I cannot help but map out. I want to speak my mind, to watch my opinions soar into morning skies, but my brain gathers all of my words into paper boats drifting into shark-infested waters. I am full of synonyms and definitions, of pretty cursive words inked on skin. Perhaps it is hard to see this. I am, in fact, too busy picking my eyelashes out to realize that you are speaking to me. My heartbeats have cold feet when they try to serenade my thoughts.
Forgive me, for the paradox of my friendship. I am listening. It is just that sometimes, I am a telephone line with both ends in my hands.
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 8:58 PM UTC
I will always remember your face
in an orange hue
from streetlights, scattered
all down your hazel eyes,
and a slight overbite
exposing your skinny teeth.
I've loved you better than the rest:
longer and deeper than any great canyon,
and farther, until the edge of doom.
In a humid summer shade,
surrounded by creaking swing sets
and shredded wood chips
you told me, "I'll never stop loving you."
Street lights and park benches our cathedrals,
the hood of a beaten down Honda our tower of stone,
where I came to love you most.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 3:22 AM UTC
Sleek dark hair
Highlights of auburn, color of fall
Stern lips
A look of austerity in the dark russet eye
Skin lighter than my own
The smaller wrist
Large eyes
Faint deepening crow's feet
Nursing knowledge
Small, short, slight, petite, and strong
Maternal vanguard
Matriarchal
Beautiful and earthly
Scorpionic elusiveness
Her unused canvas
Frequent Homegoods purchased
Shifts decor in the livingroom like a Feng Shui practitioner
Laughs at the absurdity of modern horror movies
Smells like bath wash and too much perfume
Smells of my childhood
Smells of my innocence
Paperbacks of Hugo and Austen in boxes in the basement
Paperbacks of The Symposium and a biography of Marx in the basement
Secretly likes to cook
Culinary explorer
Gastronomically open
Culinary door opener
Very little circle of friends
Outspoken
Austerity on the small mouth
Austerity in the small mouth
Conviction in her voice
Soft graphite in her voice
Has a lisp sometimes
The slight overbite(?)
Immigrant parent
Unnaturalized citizen
Reminds me of fall
Reminds me of everything
Reminds me of very little at once
Life-teacher, one of many
Protective
Over-protective
Pushy
The way her hand moves on her tablet
The way her voice sounded during a lecture when I was a child
The way she used to hug
Closet full of shoes and clothes she rummages through when she's going out
Meticulous cleaner
The way her voice sounded when she tried to make sense of me
The way her voice sounds
...
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 5:23 AM UTC
In the halls of my first school
I passed bulletin boards
trapped in locked glass cases.
They reflected my bony shoulders
and awkward overbite.
I passed those mirrors every day
to judge the way I walked
and carried my books
about Heaven and Hell.
I wondered how to make myself perfect:
Maybe if I changed, they would have stayed.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 1:06 AM UTC
I am happy!
But then a little voice comes along
Today is such a
Fat
What?
Ugly
But I'm happy
Ew do you have acne
But I'm hap
Gross your thighs touch
But I'm ha
She didn't shave!
But I'm
Your clothes are so cheap
But
Do you have an overbite?
Hey
Wait. Where did you go?
I'm not good enough.
Then another little voice comes along.
Yes you are
I'm not good
Wow I love your hair
I'm not goo
You a perfect smile
I'm not
I love your shirt
I'm not
Yes you are. We all are good enough.
I'm good enough and happy.
Take that society
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 9:56 AM UTC
She's got dreamy blue eyes that shine bright, scruffy cheeks and an overbite. She's so strong at heart but feels a continuing sense of defeat. If you listen closely, you can hear her fast heartbeat through the body of a boy set on repeat.
I'm not who think. I'm not who see but you'll never see me as the person I was meant to be.
When the mirror is your greatest enemy. When you're the only person you can't stand to see, it becomes hard to get a grip on your sanity. All along, tried to hide it, tried to fight it but always knew what was wrong with me.
This is a mistake. I can't go on like this I'm an imposter, I'm a fake. I've lost all control and I don't know how much more this girl can take.
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 10:16 AM UTC
Me, on my way to clock out,
He, croaking wooden breaths, a
Splintering throat, crooked as an oar's overbite
Glinting with some
Unbelievably bared promise.
I looked past him, echoed the anxious knots
Of its hollowed brow, scooped and spotted
From overuse, I frowned past him, though he followed.
I spent as long as I could not talking to him,
But forced to deny myself silence
I heard his two part speech
And paid some token focus
To what he had to say
What little I heard, in his hope filled groans
Had nothing of his contented purpose, for
Varnished words are slippery
When we went to the pub he
Leant on the wooden counter and
His roots set, he
Sprouted drunken fruit and
I don't think he's moved since
Jan 1, 2018
Jan 1, 2018 at 10:57 AM UTC
I miss your little paws
Your coal black nose
The way you used to twitch
Whenever you would doze
I miss your floppy ears
Your dorky overbite
The cute way you would growl
While in a play-fight
I miss the positions
In which you would fall asleep
I would snap a silly pic
For memories to keep
I miss those bright eyes
Your boundless energy
When we would go on walks
You would run circles around me.
I miss your soft fur
Your unique smell
How your warm tongue felt
I remember too well
I miss your bark
You were a noisy guy
Every sound set you off
We never knew why
I miss my stoner dog
You would try to eat ***
I would give you my stems
We would get high a lot
I miss your eyebrows
Your quick brown tail
If i needed a friend
You were there without fail
I miss sleeping with you
Right by my side
Curled under blankets
Beneath covers you would hide
I miss the bounce in your step
You had a favorite toy
We would play around the clock
You were a good boy
What I miss most of all
What brings me this heartache
I miss the memories
We never got to make
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 11:13 PM UTC
Overbite underfed 15 seconds
took 15 years overnight
A short flight
not plain
A small percentage of forever is infinity
Therefor it’s not much you have to give to me
Pay attention
Thoughts are in-sight
It’s NOT not tangible
It’s not applicable
It doesn’t check out
outside the box
perception is depth
You see it’s out of reach for you
So the questions come next
What finally ensues
An unearthing text from the moon
While cloud gazing clout chasing
**** remunerating
Chasing cash I’m chasing ratings
Another idiot made famous
I’ll work for you to know me
Opposed to your normal occupations
Since my bodies my temple
This is Gentrification
I’m braking ground tomorrow
Stomping flawed information
Constructing a knew build
A mind shield a timed skill
Protecting mine
Perfecting design
don’t tread on me
Imma minefield
Intellectual property is vacant
Up for sale a boat load of air
Ear head air bnb for the staycation
Never ending wasteland
I just purchased my own head
From a real estate agent
John hancocked blank papers
Words have it
I’m in debt for ages...
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 2:35 PM UTC
I had a thing for wizards and needed something to direct my toys. I had a corrected overbite and a mold of my teeth. many were tortured and some were swallowed. I left my tools behind when I was born. what passed through my parents came first through me. if I was the word they loved, I was the context they opposed.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 12:15 AM UTC
Big nose,
droopy eyes,
overbite,
big sigh.
Too fat,
too flat,
skin dry,
I wanna cry.
Sep 20, 2022
Sep 20, 2022 at 3:57 PM UTC
most nights
I lie awake and degrade all the extra space in my bed
spaces you'd fill and warm
only exist in my head
I long for that smell
that pulls on my chest
bring it back to me
I'm begging you
so I can finally get some rest
like swallowing a bowl of tacks
push pinned into my ribs
ribs no longer ticklish
these ribs were once a kid's
now turned into a cage of bones
so old
hardened to stone
home to this weak beating heart
but it's the only one I'll own
So i'll try to do what's right tonight
and forget about your head
forget about your overbite
i'll forget about your legs
I try my best
to pretend I can
forget about your hands
i'll push out all of your silly sounds
i'll forget we took a chance
but suddenly I realize
and
I'm just forcing myself to forget you
when all I really, really want
is you back inside my bedroom
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 1:18 AM UTC
there's a hole in my head
where the gamma gets in
tickles my brain
giggles my skin
turns my insides
to outside in
throws all my cares
into the wind
curls my hair
into corn rows
florescent's the jam
between my toes
spittles the spine
blows its own nose
grabs tightly my gizzard
then let's it go
adds purple highlights
to the hair on my face
takes my overbite
and sets it in place
makes me want to run
although there's no race
all through the hole in my head
filled by these gamma rays
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 6:24 PM UTC