"reapplied" poems
I love screen protectors. They're useful, practical little ******** - and cheap, to boot - and I can't help but want one for every gadget I have. But I can't ever put them on right.
There's always a thousand little air bubbles, or dog hairs, or dust particles that make air bubbles. All I want is the added security, that little extra drop of protection that everyone wants with the kind of investment that is an iPhone. Instead, I'm rewarded with a visual reminder of my mediocrity; a dozen little bubbles, only slightly obscuring my view of Ashley's text. She says she loves me - as a friend, of course. I'm "married." And it's not easy to read, because there's an air bubble over half of the text alert window.
I tried all I could; took my US Toy card to the thing in an attempt to force retreat from some of the bigger bubble-platoons. I applied, reapplied, and reapplied again. I used the spare one that the package came with. I even looked up a video to see how someone else did it. Nothing.
Fine.
A text from a man I grew up with, asking me to hop on Metal Gear Online. I can read it. I wish I didn't have to. It looks so ugly with that air bubble trying to smother it. I can't rip my eyes from the bubbles now, sealed by the OtterBox case I bought for the phone, and living comfortably with the protector's adhesive around them. I wish the case could protect the screen sufficiently. But I wanted a screen protector. I wanted to put it on and put it on right. I wanted to smooth everything out with a card in triumph and tell myself, with a smirk, that it was worth the $2 I paid. All I got was air bubbles. Air bubbles, there to remind me that I still can't do much right.
I hate screen protectors.
Jul 20, 2011
Jul 20, 2011 at 7:57 PM UTC
I want to die
But I don’t know what that is.
No, I don’t just want things to be alright.
I’m tired of this world and life.
I want to write one more poem.
To let the story have an end.
And then leave by myself.
Which seems impossible for me, to just let everything go.
It took me everything to do everything in this life already.
Have it be ok enough to survive.
But it never really worked and it never felt alright.
So please let the story end.
Tell me where I will be free and where I’ll find my place.
A world of freedom with my old friends and feelings.
Still there but feeling good and better.
Not sick but in my power.
In love and able to rest in peace.
And fly away.
I can’t find my world in here.
Let me go soon now.
Write the end chapture here.
Let me die, let me go.
Let me find my courage to let go of everything, it’s not even working.
Ever.
Yet it’s all I really know.
I tried before to go.
Wasn’t my time.
Same right now, still things to wait for.
For people, for me.
Born suicidal, I hate this world, the life, the constant merciless days and nights.
I wanted euthanasia but in the end it was denied, trying again, reapplied.
Intensely long waiting time.
Although I know there’s more to this torturing life.
And every chapture had its own little subjects that perfectly align.
But now I need to die!
I want to, I have to.
Let me say goodbye, tell you “This is the end”.
For once and for all.
In this life for me finally.
Goodbye, goodbye.
The end.
Apr 22, 2022
Apr 22, 2022 at 12:36 AM UTC
It’s better to be fake
Than real.
Yeah, you lose your self,
Your identity,
Your independence,
Your individuality,
But hefty trades,
Sacrifices,
need
To be made
Sometimes.
Because
Code can be rewritten,
Metal can be taken apart
And soldered back together,
Bolts and screws can be
Reattached,
Makeup can be reapplied,
Lies can be retold,
Cheating can be made up for.
It’s much easier to fix
A mistake that
you
Yourself made.
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 10:53 PM UTC
I will be a good girl, my parents say I should.
A passerby subtly clutched her *****
I heaved a sigh.
I will be a good girl, my teachers say I should
A boss held her *****
I perfected my mascara.
I will be a good girl, my aunt say I should
A man forced a kiss.
I reapplied my lipstick.
I will be a good girl, my neighbors say I should
A husband fired violent words.
I closed my eyes bowed my head.
I will be a good girl, my friends say I should
A rapper *****
I cried tears of blood.
I will be a good girl, my society says I should
A woman was bled to death.
I stood emotionless.
They said be a good girl…
Good is tears, Good is blood.
Good is sudor, Good is action.
Good is sacrifice, Good is revenge.
Good is joy, Good is deaths.
One day Goodness will be re-defined,
When inside these women, is born Keres.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 11:02 AM UTC
If we were young men,
if we were strong
If we had fresh words,
to add to our song
If we were soldiers,
with war in our veins
If we were poets,
our voices reclaimed
If we were lovers,
of women that cried
If we went wandering,
our heart’s reapplied
If we were statesmen,
the world in our grasp
If we were sailors,
the wind at our backs
If we were farmers,
with meadows so green
If we were actors,
on stages supreme
If we were hunters,
new wolf on the prowl
If we were dreamers,
all wishes allowed
If we were young men,
still facing the sun
But alas, we are old
—and darkness has come
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 9:56 PM UTC
You are the devil in the face of my broken watch- your eyes reveal a shear glint of the moon's light. Your tear ducts make mine heavy. It's been 7 years since I felt you. You feel wonderful. I kept my promise. To you I keep all my promises. I fought the demons you protected me from, but I had to fight them on my own terms. Talk about rotten boyfriend material. I wish I could have been able to move to you, into you, closer to you, maybe even do some of that weird parkour jumping dancing Magic Mike Jordan twisting dancing type things. You after all are our Pieta.
You are the brilliant amulets of mirth and unbroken pathways. I feel the fur of your carpet between my toes. And I still haven't reapplied your nose. Please don't drown without me.
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 9:09 AM UTC
Why are you settling for me? tumbled the rocks. All gathered up in a pile were they, now fallen all over the ground in a seemingly terrible pattern or even no pattern at all.
There was silence.
Why are you waiting for me? Sprouted the vines as its stems grew round the side that had saw no light. Saw no nourishment. No survival. And soon those arms withered and sagged and littered the ground.
Only a soft breeze caused a leaf to move and a light scrape was heard. Then. Nothing.
Why do you continue to stand with me? Creaked the fence. Wooden and withered. Partially stained and patches of white. My innocence is gone and so is your patience. I am splintering into a thousand pieces that only seem to harm you. The sealant wears off after a single storm. The paint is sun bleached within a week and cracks are appearing revealing the crumbling wood inside. I'm infested with feelings of instability as termites devour the fiber of my being. I remain a skeleton. A crumbling memory.
So why?
A slight tap. Tap. TAP. as the rocks were picked up one by one and placed back into an organized pile.
Why?
A slight rustle. Rustle. RUSTLE. as the dead litter was swept away and arms of vines were redirected towards the sunny side.
WHY?
A slight schwick. Schwick. SCHWICK. as the lacker was applied and reapplied followed by a layer of paint, topped with a weather proof sealant guaranteed to only slightly crack
Why do you love me? Cried the girl.
And he gathered her up in his arms like he did with the rocks.
And he reoriented her face toward his like the vines to the sun.
And he stared into her and gave her what she needed to be strong (and like the layers he applied to the fence he's rebuilding her).
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 4:24 AM UTC
My only shining armor
Is wearing no brands across my chest
My battle calls are telling them
That I don't go to rest.
My metal shaped from experience
Swords fashioned in the fire
Drums fitted, screaming the harshest words
To **** your hateful admirers.
Uniforms made of the sharpest silver
Chains clinking, dragging along
Galloping horses through the fields
As we screech the freedom song.
"Break my heart, you will no more!
My deepest enemies and fiends-
You brought out the darkest monster
When you took out other queens!"
Bayonets line up to shoot
And all our eyes look deadly
You're lucky I banded everyone up
Or you'd be dead already.
Instead I built you my army
We wear mascara instead of masks
The same mascara we reapplied
Before we took up arms and axes.
I fix my piercings up my ears
Make sure my shirt's in place
Before I call my girls to start
They make sure you know our grace.
"How dare you take another out!
That queen has slept with many!
I bet you couldn't pay her enough!
Bet she only asked a penny!"
"Called me names, guess what, my dear?
You cannot speak anymore!
For when I am all finished with you,
You won't be able to utter 'whore'!"
Standing afar, my troops take back
All feeling they have lost
So next time you try to hurt one of us,
Remember just who's boss.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 3:09 PM UTC
She intertwined her thick fingers
behind both shelves of the medicine
cabinet and embraced them clamorously
into the sink.
I.
Maybelline, Rimmel, and Revlon
now spotted with flakes of dried toothpaste
and ****** hair.
Just.
Her hands dove wrist deep into the pool
of glamor and acceptance before her
and emerged with scarlet lipstick.
Want.
She uncapped and carefully ran it across
her stiffened lips, accidentally coloring
her skin and the corners of her open mouth.
To.
She mashed a makeup brush into a jar
of powdered blush and swept it over
her cheekbones like a blood red sunset
overtaking a mountain.
Be.
With black tears running down her face
and staining her white shirt,
she reapplied her mascara.
Beautiful.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
i only wash my hair every four days
and i never shave my legs unless i'm going somewhere that requires a dress-
or no clothes at all.
and i never remember to put on deodorant in the morning.
i only ever brushed my hair after practice
and reapplied makeup
and made sure to douse myself in the perfume you like so much so
you could run your fingers through something more than steam,
you could let your eyes roam without hesitation,
you could call me at two in the morning and tell me your clothes
still
smelt
like
me.
i only ever did anything
for you.
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 11:33 PM UTC
Fourteen years old,
Story untold
I fell in love with Charlie,
And he nerded
As never before
I still make coffee
For two,
Watching quietly
From every door frame
Grumpy olf soundman---
Needs to love too,
Strange namr,
Transparent shame,
Instant fame
Sold belongings
Become Itinerant
Poetry librarian,
Semi colons;
I use them to excess
Supported the sublime
With uncurbed---
Enthusiasms
Changing mind postponed
Demise by decades,
Later-life serendipity
Led to Authorland
I was born some assembly
Required,
Anything's possible with---
An extension cord
Cried,
Defied, denied,
Sighed,
Died,
Reapplied,
Mistakenly kills kitten,
Fears anything delicate
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 10:17 AM UTC
As it is now,
As it was before,
As it will be,
They come to see,
To touch,
All of them the same to you.
With scorn or love you take them,
Your gifts allow the choice.
Gifts honored before honor to the Cross,
Before the word reached us
Your gifts called and we came to you
In suspension of belief.
I see you looking in the glass.
No, do not turn to find me.
By chance your powers I can ignore.
Take no alarm: I only wish to observe
To report, as it were, on woman served,
The human made whole at birth by chance.
By chance, as on a train
You saw in passing
A girl and boy by darken woods kiss.
No comfort could beauty offer then,
For in those woods something moved;
Something came as if to call.
A tossing of your hair, a crossing of your legs,
Lipstick reapplied, a man’s flirtatious eye.
The first embrace, you hear and feel him sigh
As the darken woods slide by.
The girl and boy you pretend never meet again;
The thing in the woods blessed beauty avoids again.
Now know what you avoid comes to all
To transform, to move, to mitigate.
Yesterday it held a woman plain of form, of face.
It touched her here, it touched her there.
She laughed and sent it away to seek fairer form, fairer face.
Age to her seemed no disgrace.
She spoke to me of the poets she had read –
They warn of beauty’s trap, she said.
Beauty conquers all; beauty fades fastest of all.
Simple of form and face, lovers few – even young, she endured.
Balanced now – where desire lies she finds her place;
With love for one she surrenders nakedly.
Such grace she showed.
Can beauty compare?
Or at my touch will she cringe
As if a polished blade caressed her flawless skin.
Come beauty, come –
With age let us see what haughty beauty does.
© 2016
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 3:05 PM UTC
If we were young men
if we were strong
If we had fresh words
to add to our song
If we were soldiers
with war in our veins
If we were poets
our voices reclaimed
If we were lovers
of women that cried
If we went wandering
our heart’s reapplied
If we were statesmen
the world in our grasp
If we were sailors
the wind at our backs
If we were farmers
with meadows so green
If we were actors
on stages supreme
If we were hunters
new wolf on the prowl
If we were dreamers
all wishes allowed
If we were young men
still facing the sun
But alas, we are old
—and darkness has come
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 3:28 PM UTC
I smiled so wide my molars got jealous.
Everyone said I looked stunning.
I said thank you in the voice I reserve for customer service and playing dumb.
That’s the closest I’ve come to a scream
this week.
I wore the dress that says: I’m over it.
(It lies.)
I walked like a question mark
straightened out with rage.
There was a man in the corner
making balloon animals.
He asked what I wanted.
I said surprise me.
He handed me a noose
shaped like a swan.
No one noticed.
Or maybe that’s just what I tell myself
to feel interesting.
Later, someone told a joke
I didn’t get.
I laughed like I was being watched.
The punchline wasn’t funny.
It just echoed
like something I would’ve said
before I got careful.
I stood in the kitchen
with a paper plate of olives and nothing,
holding it like proof
I was doing fine.
Someone spilled wine on the couch.
I said I’ve ruined better things.
Everyone laughed
like I meant it to be charming.
(I didn’t.)
A girl in white heels asked me
how I knew the host.
I said same way I know most people—
by accident,
and with the kind of premonition that wears perfume.
The bathroom mirror was cracked.
I counted the breaks like confessions
and chose not to atone.
The soap smelled like fruit
that only exists in dreams
you wake up crying from.
I reapplied my lip stain
like armor,
like alibi,
like an exit strategy.
Then I left without saying goodbye
because I couldn’t figure out
how to do it quietly
and still be missed.
Apr 6, 2025
Apr 6, 2025 at 10:21 AM UTC
Today I have showered
Five times.
I have brushed my teeth
Twice for every shower.
And I reapplied my makeup
When my mouth was clean.
A simple routine
That keeps you out of my mind.
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 10:45 PM UTC
What if we as women quit the
“what if’s” and “but when’s” and “except he’s”
and left him the first time we felt a rock drop in our bellies?
I whipped the trash bag into its receptacle today,
worthlessness disguised as anger, and
reapplied my make up three times because
being late is the same as saying you don’t want me
Or I’m not good enough to race against the type of woman
you’re used to.
I think of the ways I used to shame myself when this happened before, when a boy I loved didn’t mind enough
to love me back the same way,
or at all,
but this time, I don’t reach for a blade
I sip a drink -- a daughter takes after her father.
I use essential oils with scents of
emotions I pray to feel --
scents like “uplifting” and “serene” and “relax”
Is there an essential oil the flavor of ****** off”?
Because that seems to be the only way I feel lately –
roiling and ready for a fight,
jaw clenched tight
against the taste of your name.
Oct 4, 2019
Oct 4, 2019 at 6:19 PM UTC