"removes" poems
***** ***** I **** *****
***** get ****** when I **** *****
No ifs, ands, and/or buts!
I **** ***** I **** *****
Nice girls are nice, but no good for nut-sucking.
They'll need a serene night to green-light a butt-fucking,
but that'll be easy with ****** ol' slut-fucking!
Boo to the nice girls! Praise be to slut-fucking!
I have a list. A list? Yes, a list of all the ***** I've missed.
I've never ****** or ****** these ***** and thus my nuts are ******* ******
So when I **** the lucky **** my nut removes her from the list---
another dumb cumbucket struck from my nut-sucking,
**** it, **** slut-fucking bucket list.
***** can be white, brown, pink, or almond.
They can be skinny with big **** or skinny with small ones.
***** can be perky, preppy, or posh,
with their brains and their clothes all shrunk from the wash.
But other ***** are pretty and funny and smart.
They can lift your thoughts from your **** to your heart.
They can talk about science, music, or art.
They can put you together or pull you apart.
But don't trust these ***** Don't! Don't you dare!
They'll force you to trust them and love them and care.
And then they'll be gone and then you'll be aware
of that hole in your heart that that dumb **** left there.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
Once it was garbage, refuse, trash.
A jumble of foul-smelling detritus hauled to the curb
And removed by sinewy men
Contributing a harder day's work
Than anyone else in the city.
Our energy now removes its entropy.
Sorted and classified into coloured bins,
We add order to our rejected matter.
Specialized trucks arrive to collect
The date-synchronized bins
Emptying them into functionally compatible mechanisms.
Most desolate is the black box of paper and cardboard.
Brochures and flyers, old magazines and letters.
Annual reports and cereal boxes.
Once these were enameled with crafted sentences,
Painstakingly typed, edited and debated,
On the monitors of copywriters.
Now they are just millions of words printed on flattened fibre substrates,
Jumbled into the bruised and scarred black box,
Entering into the recycling stream.
The nouns and adjectives,
Prepositions and gerunds,
All jumble together.
Fragments of precisely-crafted sentences and paragraphs
Are gradually broken, shredded and pulped.
Incomplete thoughts, broken phrases
Like those of a rejected stranger
In an lonely, unknown country.
Then words without context.
Then just disparate letters
Are all that remain.
Their M ea N inG
G r a Du all y
is re mov
e d
.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 10:26 AM UTC
Depression is not sadness
Depression leaves a hole in your chest
Depression ***** everything out of you
Depression is not having a bad day. A bad day, a bad week, even a bad few months.
Depression lingers for years. There are no good moments. Moments of feeling "better" do not ever exist. Depression does not leave.
Depression will become your best friend
Depression will always be there for you
Depression is the tunnel with no light at the end
(Or at least, the point of view is)
Depression is not hope
Depression is not sadness.
Anxiety is not nervousness.
Anxiety is the sweat that bubbles to the surface of your palms
Anxiety is the clenching of your jaw
Anxiety is the shaking of your hands
Anxiety is not a few butterflies in your stomach
Anxiety removes your stomach
Anxiety makes you feel like it is not there. Food is out of the question.
Anxiety is dark circles under your eyes for months on end.
Anxiety is being over tired. Exhausted. But not being able to sleep.
Anxiety builds an Olympic racetrack around every part of your mind.
Anxiety then holds the next races there. Day races, night races, races that do not stop.
Anxiety is not one panic attack. Or even two.
Anxiety is not nervousness.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
My heart is a cave,
a home...
For animals who live in shadows,
my pathos,
which once shined upon,
removes all doubt,
glowing as a ghost-white sun.
Remove this light of your love,
and these shadows crawl back into their hole,
the caverns within the cave of my heart,
where there lives my long lost soul.
If you continue with the light,
that emits from your charitable love,
you can hold my hand through this fight.
Lead me through this maze,
into resurrection,
implode my heart,
devouring itself.
Yet I am reborn from the ashes of my past,
like a phoenix in the sky,
with you as my guide,
I fly with my wings spread vast,
a redeeming cry,
and you by my side.
And nothing could be better.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC
V.B. Wigglesworth wakes at noon,
Washes, shaves and very soon
Is at the lab; he reads his mail,
Swings a tadpole by the tail,
Undoes his coat, removes his hat,
Dips a spider in a vat
Of alkaline, phones the press,
Tells them he is F.R.S.,
Subdivides six protocells,
Kills a rat by ringing bells,
Writes a treatise, edits two
Symposia on "Will man do?,"
Gives a lecture, audits three,
Has the ***** club in for tea,
Pensions off an ageing spore,
Cracks a test tube, takes some pure
Science and applies it, finds,
His hat, adjusts it, pulls the blinds,
Instructs the jellyfish to spawn,
And, by one o'clock, is gone.
8.5k
I
I feel a darkness in me
that is not worthy of love
and is not capable anyways.
It is selfish and will hurt you.
But there is a bright light as well
and it has also caused you pain.
For the noble light removes me
out of belief it will stop you from hurting.
And when I want to love you
I know that I must not.
It is an inner turmoil that has accomplished nothing.
Your pain and confusion was meant to be spared.
I am a curse.
You have felt pain whether my intentions were pure or not.
II
A piece of my heart flew away
everytime I dissappointed myself.
A piece of my heart melted
everytime someone I trusted walked away.
A piece of my heart passed away
with each loved one lost.
Pieces of my heart have been broken
by the careless hands of others.
I feared there was nothing left
but in unknown, brief moments
I feel a slight spark in my chest
And I am reminded that there is still one person who can make me feel like there is no darkness in the world.
III
I think
I love you.
It seems clearer now
for some reason.
But this abrupt
clarity
is exactly what keeps me from knowing...
Why now?
Why did it take so long?
Just when my frustrations had peaked,
I found your name within my heart again.
IV
How I do love thee
I love thee with what heart I possess
but I'm afraid not much lies within this chest
And I fear you an injustice
If only part of a heart you request
Then I offer it as my best
For I do not know the tests
I may face in this life
nor the next.
If we should be but friends
I would embrace you as my best
for you have given me memories
that will forever be cherished
One day at a time it will show
One day we will know
But with you i'd rather grow
Than to have lost it and be unsure.
Made with Love
Jan 31, 2011
Jan 31, 2011 at 12:59 PM UTC
"You know, I used to be good at math,"
He says,
A cigarette cradled in his fingers,
Spilling ash on his blue jeans.
He rearranges himself, removes his jacket -
It's much too hot for leather now -
And reveals a Dean t-shirt.
Too cool for school, I suppose.
"The rules just got too crazy, too specific.
Too dependent and tangled.
Well, too much so for the effort I was willing to exert."
He's frank, I'll give him that.
How does he make utter sloth seem so innocent?
Too cool for school, I suppose.
He calls himself a Methodist.
Not like that, though.
He says he's just figured life out.
He means the hows, not the whys.
The stops along the tour of personal success.
A Methodist.
Too cool for school, I suppose.
Aug 11, 2010
Aug 11, 2010 at 1:10 PM UTC
I looked on, ******* gone,
watching her thick hips sway,
I can't look away.
Slowly she removes her clothes,
My desire grew ten folds.
The scent of her sweet *****
tickles my nose.
She is aroused,
so I arouse.
Feb 11, 2022
Feb 11, 2022 at 7:31 PM UTC
Enid removes her glasses
wipes them
on the hem
of her skirt
tries to clean off
the smeariness
she breathes on them
they cloud up
she wipes them again
I watch her
near the wall
of the playground
after lunch
waiting for her
are they better now?
she asks me
I look through them
the view is magnified
a million times
one big blur to me
yes that's better
I say
giving them
back to her
and watching
as she puts them
back on
pushes the wire arms
over her ears
then pulls the hair
over her ears again
is it all right now?
she asks me
sure I can see your eyes
clear as day
she nods
and looks
at the playground
and the other kids at play
why do some boys
call me four eyes?
or ugly bucket?
she asks
some kids are just finks
ignore them
I tell her
I can't help it
if I have to wear glasses
or am ugly
she says
intelligent people
wear glasses
and hey you're not ugly
I think you are
quite a pretty girl
as they go
she looks at me doubtfully
and then at the kids
and look Mrs M
wears glasses
and she's a teacher
and bright
Enid sighs and sits
on the steps
leading down
into the playground
even my dad thinks
I'm ugly
she says softly
you're old man
wouldn't know prettiness
if it came up
and introduced itself
I say
she smiles
do you think
I'm ugly?
I frown and peer at her
look I'm no expert
being a 9 year old kid
like you
but you can be
my Maid Marion
to my Robin Hood any day
could I?
she says
sure you could
she smiles wider
and says
thank you Benny
and walks down
into the playground
and goes play skip rope
with a couple of girls
by a wall
and I walk
down into
the playground
feeling six feet tall.
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 3:53 AM UTC
by Danny Smith
The old man rises from his chair
gently cursing the ache that crept into his bones
when he wasn't looking
His slippered feet scuff the carpet
making a journey they know without him
to the window
He watches down on the cars
as they flash through the rain on an urgent journey
somewhere
Leaning forward to rest his forehead
on the cool damp pane that shields him from it all
his prison wall
The cars seem to softly merge
as fragments like a broken mirror
tease and torment
A lifetime of dreams and tomorrows
that somehow became painful yesterdays
much too fast
Squeezing his eyes tightly closed
he remembers her face and the soft scar on her cheek
a perfect imperfection
The laughter and cries of children
running to him with chocolate smeared mouths
grown now, gone now
All of them to different worlds
ones where he was afraid to travel to
out there
Plenty of time to make it through
but the nights seem to skip the sunshine days
sentenced
he shuffles back to the chair
lowering himself with limbs that can't be his
removes his slippers
Reaches for the polished shoes
years old but hardly worn and still uncreased
laces them
Moves slowly through the house
turning of lights, collecting a wallet
a pack of cigarettes, a photograph
pocketing them
The old man stands at the open door
just a fragment of someone elses memory, as he walks
into the rain
©Danny Smith
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 2:01 PM UTC
With black leaves and black clocks,
I fall and drift as the time I forgot
Spirals beneath me,
A whirlpool dragging me
Down, down, down.
It dirties my soul with every turn,
Blackens the lessons that I learn,
Removes my life that means nothing now.
Away I travel.
Exploring the world with a sense of unknown,
Pitter-pattering on the edge of reason.
My doom is inevitable.
It is imminent.
It is lonely.
Alone, alone I press on.
I take back the black of the leaves and the clocks,
And slow the seconds in the time I forgot.
It is now.
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 5:05 PM UTC
*Nothing is permanent
Everything is ever-changing
Change is inevitable*
The dark shadowy clouds of Sorrow
linger over the horizon of our Mind
only to usher the rain of Happiness
And then a Sunlit sky to find
With Moon and the Stars as a guiding light
comes Night after a Day
Only to call upon the Sun
Illuminating the world, to keep darkness at bay
The shower that gushes through Mountain springs
flowing as a River it merrily sings
becomes one with the Ocean, a depth to attain
then evaporates into Clouds, to usher the Rain
The Flower that blossomed is meant to wither
the Pupa is meant to become a Butterfly
That what Arises is meant to Cease
That which is Born is meant to Die
Pain and Suffering is there but to pass
Delight is not going to forever last
One follows the other in Circle of Life
like a rhythmic pattern in Vitality vast
Matter is made up of tiny atoms
we are but merely Nature's vibration
An entire Universe resonates inside us
Realisation of which will lead us to Wisdom
Time, the bird of change, has taught
impermanent in itself it always flies
Things as they really are should be known
without craving or hating the feelings that arise
Ignorance, Conceit, False Hopes and Self Deception
are the very causes of Human Suffering
Consciousness of it all removes the Passion for Existence
in it alone lies the secret of our Well-being
Desire gives birth to Sorrow
nothing else can be so true
because after all "*You only Lose
what You really Cling to! "*
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 7:41 AM UTC
I find myself
Visualizing your glasses
When he removes his.
I imagine his crooked tooth
When I see yours
Impeccably aligned.
I learned a new word today,
Cafuné,
Translates
To the act of tenderly running one's finger through someone's hair.
I grew fond of the act
Long before
Getting hold of the word.
I know not whose I prefer
Now his I adore
But as much as I do yours.
This is a *********
Torn by emotions
We have history, we share chemistry
I love you
Though I love him too
Cannot think of him
Without thinking of you
This is a *********
I have come to loathe
But the truth is
I belong to both.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 7:47 AM UTC
coca cola is nice as it goes to my belly
and made my tongue feel like a bowl full of jelly
you see athena says coke is a medicine
which removes the stress out of my body
you see as i was walking down the streets
trying to do what the doctors tell me, it’s making me dwell
saying i believe coke can cure you
and i also believe it can make you happy
because in this life you will die one day
you see dying is like entering another party be happy as you drink coca cola
medicine of the gods
you see i want my stress to completely disappear
cause, dudes i try to be a low stressed person
you see i will never get the job i want
because the employer wants me to be perfect
you see, dudes, i believe in being happy
and not feeling sad
so please leave me alone ya dead old hag
if you want a great medicine, try coca cola
for coca cola is the best medicine, dudes
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 7:12 AM UTC
My brother finds comfort in calculators.
He assigns every number a name.
He believes that they add up to certainty and he is upset with fractions that remain.
So I examine these maps with my eyes, and at best I can trace with my finger
all the way to that town where she went in an attempt to forget the cracks and the lines of my face.
So Jetsabel cleaned out the closets for me and she piled up the boxes in the hall.
Tomorrow when she wakes she'll come take them away and they'll never haunt me again;
but it is still hard to sleep with the moon's heavy beams.
I run barefoot to the backyard, just to freeze in my place by the rod iron gate;
too afraid and ashamed to advance.
Today I walked through the snow and found a field of headstones.
They were in rows like the weeks in calendars where each box is a day you can never escape
without pills or the poison of sleep.
These memories leak from these faucets that weep.
Hot tears splash against the shower floor and I stand in the steam as if inside a dream--
I can see her again by the sink.
From behind the bathroom mirror she pulls a thermometer and places it under my tongue.
She said, "You're as pale as a sheet. You look awful, my sweet. Lay down and wait for the sun."
So I stayed in that bed. She brought me water and read each night from a volume out loud.
She whispered soft poetry. Her favorite was Anabel Lee.
And those words, like these drugs, comforted me.
But the clocks kept waving their hands
and she couldn't understand why temperature would never drop.
And though she promised with tears that she would always be here,
I heard truth like the sounding sea.
I said, "My Arienette, how soon you forget this house will never be your home,
and you will leave in the fall when the trees become graves and their colors lie dead in the grass."
Gold and green torture me like the lies I believe too easily.
Oh my Jetsabel, look at this hell that I have made.
If you want, maybe drop by sometime-- put some flowers on my grave
so that I will look beautiful in my silent sepulchre.
Yeah, that's fine. Throw some dresses away. I don't want anything of hers.
For the moon never shines and the stars never rise without bringing me dreams,
haunted by the ghosts of those bright eyes.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 5:03 PM UTC
Behaviour of Writing
In psychology pre- uni.
Case study of a mental man.
Or crazy lady on a play day.
Remarked on mental cases.
Exhibiting strange behaviour.
Writing so was stated.
A subtle gentleman perhaps.
Lady chilling in the evenings.
Picks up pen and writes.
Why I asked,
Oh why,
Oh why is writing thought strange.
We writers we,
we are not deranged.
Write because we wish to .
Scrawl to save our souls.
Scribbled wishes in verses.
Cathartic.
Words drawn because we want to.
Words drawn because we can.
Removes the daily curses.
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 6:59 PM UTC
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Though glass, it is rimmed with gold
around the cup, handle and even the
saucer. Skilfully painted chrysanthemums
of various shades; the vermilion horizon,
Spring's honey, songbird's magenta,
sangria's fine wine, a parakeet's breast
and the Aegean sea.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
And then, there are three sightly tea
caddies with lacquered wooden bodies;
one rosewood with red dancing fans,
one burr-oak with golden mountainous
landscape and one maple wood with
green bamboo. Ainhana gently removes
each of their lids by using the cloth, and
presents the pearls that were wrapped
in sun-kissed foil.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
She first lifts the rosewood caddy towards
me. I close my eyes and focus on the scent.
Without peeling back the foil, I know. It takes
me to the far distant Province of Yunnan,
past the snow-kissed mountains and rice
terraces to a very still lake. I noticed that
it began to bubble before a large splash
rose.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
At that moment, I meet the lake's Guardian,
the Imperial Wingless Dragon of legend.
With its wet emerald-kissed scales drinking
the sunlight. It's great body now entwined
in a wispy clouds as it stares at me with
eyes of liquid moons. Its tail crowned
with a peacock feathered eye-spot whips
around in the air, leaving an iridescent
trail of colours.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
With a great leap, he soars through
the air, trumpeting his great roar
that rattles the skies. Just as quickly
as he rose, he descends down with
a Pearl Moon in his brown claw. By
the stroke of its sienna-brown whisker,
the small Moon cracks, presenting me
it's contents, a long kept secret.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
The pearls are the colour of seaweed
with streaks of yellow and burnt umber.
With earthy notes whirls around my
nose, along with some floral sweetness,
burnt caramel licks, dragon spice and
a wisp of apricot. Ah, so I see! One great
guarded secret that he reveals to me!
His best pearls ferment in the womb
of the Moons! Purified by the Star
Virtues of Elysia's Harmony!
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
'Wonderfully rich Pu-erh Pearls,'
I say, my eyes now open.
'My Lady's nose is as sharp as ever!'
'I just know my tea,' I chuckle, 'it's
very unique in smell and taste. I will
save such fine broth for another day.'
Ainhana nods, places on the tray and
lift the burr-oak caddy. I close my
eyes once again and my mind
wanders yet again.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:20 AM UTC
When the wordly things get all the glory
You tend to live a life that's unholy.
Facing the life's painful reality.
Fight againt wicked principalities
Losing your sense of morality.
As you are procrastinating about Learning your biblical A...B...C's
You are counting up your salary
When you should be counting all of God's promises like 1...2...3..
Thats when it begins to Spread like an deadly ****** transmitted Disease
First its sniffle and a sneeze
Next is a cough and a wheeze
Then you'll Barely be able to breathe
Knocking you to your knees
Begging God, "Please Heal Me"
Praying desperately For His Mercy
Then the STD forcefully will begin to tightly squeeze.
Till it becomes an Infection that attacks your every function flowing like a virus.
This sickness removes the color from life and leave you like eyes with damaged to the nerves, pupil and Iris.
This happens when you Subtract Christ from your life like a math equation involving minus.
Being sticken with this ailment will deprives us, If we dont let Christ take the wheel to Drive and guide us.
This Infirmity is very cancerous
It will impact your 6 senses Just like the Symbol for The Eye Of Horous.
Because we are individuals who are like sponges, filled with holes, absorbant and yet very porous.
Beneath the fleshly being lies a spirit
Crying out for help can you hear it?
This deficiency will leave you Shivering from the Chill of it's swift wind's cold breeze
The very thought of this illness makes the soul freeze
Once it realizes it has a contracted a Spiritually Transmitted Disease.
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 3:49 PM UTC
the moving shadows of
the men gathering
flicker in my vision
cause me to ponder the moment
in a way i had not seen before
cause me to fracture the vision
to decode the meanings in
each mans motion
each mans meaning
her long black hair entangles my head
as dose her deep long looking
her neat clean eyes frighten me
with their possibilitys
with their depth
with their hot beauty
it is not my place to find
a place in this womans life
i am but a distraction to her
somthing to occupy the moment
to phish for lost keys
in sections of some dreadlock music
she erased poems to fit onto the kindle
she removes her shirt
to rinse out the sweat
in the tidal pool
a young woman nearby stops
and stares
smiles when they meet eyes
and i am surfing my beach bike alone
walking it
home?
where am I
where am i going?
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 12:03 PM UTC
Our houses, spitting-distance close
Feet propped on railing
cold beer with fresh lime
watching robins flung in flocks
to the failing of August
Too close-- Really?
John, on his cell
is fu_king the world again
from his garage
Why not-- squeeze in pool or a dog
Lawn mowers and **** whips tune in to whine
late Friday afternoon 'bout dinner time
Clinking silver, scrapes of plates
Running water for suds
through open windows to the thunk of pots
Doors bang behind on pathway to garbage
or joint in the woods
wafting over all
wordless squeals of delight from autistic child
Meanwhile, the odor of nail polish removes
all doubts of--
--Gawd!
lodging low and toxic
as the sun dissolves orange
in its acetone setting
Kids playing Man Hunt as darkness falls
Leaping hedges, slamming gates
No yards can contain these kinetics
restless legs, furtive minds
Muttering wind chimes
from four different porches
above the drone of highway
a half mile yawns
Pieces of talk
flipping the crickets
over--
Why or who or at what time?
Other-worldly glow from The Mall
dims stars
outlines mountains
brightens the horizon behind
Mosquitoes coming in for a landing
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 5:20 PM UTC
She stood tall,
Slender,
Flamboyant as she swirls,
Encapsulating dreams while dancing,
In a come-die ballet, from times evaporation,
Playing hysterics in magical fire dance of ritual celebrations,
Playing games of passion creations,
Such beauty in an aura of pleasure and pain,
In rigaudon she pastes her grace,
For she is not a dancer,
For she is my quill,
The dancing pen removes my ills.
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 3:04 AM UTC
The lizard is alone.
The lizard is small,
insignificant,
looked down upon.
By some.
But...
the lizard is unafraid.
The lizard leaves her comfort zone.
She leaves it all behind.
An enemy comes.
And removes her tail.
She does not struggle
to hold on to it.
She leaves it behind.
The lizard is...
despised.
Alone.
Looked down upon.
But the lizard is unafraid.
She leaves her comfort zone.
And enters the King's palace.
To dwell in the Presence of the King.
She is small and wise,
and lives in the King's palace.
I am like the lizard.
Alone.
Small.
Insignificant.
Looked down upon.
By some.
But...
I am afraid.
To leave my comfort zone.
Yet...
I will,
I must,
leave it all behind.
I will leave the tail
of my past sins and regrets behind.
If that is what it takes.
If that is what it costs me.
To enter the King's palace.
And dwell in the Presence.
Of my King.
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 11:58 PM UTC
~~~
The unsung heroes
They work every day
Without complaint
At a job with low pay.
There are not many are out there
Who place their laurels
On the person who's right
But ends a quarrel.
It takes a person
Internally strong
To accept a defeat
And say they were wrong!
Those little things matter!
But don't get much ink
Like the husband who shaves
And cleans up the sink!
The mother who picks up
The toys from the stairs
The wife who cleans drains
And removes the hair.
The child who sees
That grandma is old
And therefore replaces
The toilet roll!
The boyfriend who remembers
The day of first date
A girl who pays dutch
To help out her mate.
Remember that you
Are needed and wanted!
So many small tasks
Are taken for granted.
At last the bell
Is taken and rung
For the persons who do this...
... the heroes unsung.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 11:37 AM UTC
Kiss me like the world depends on it.
Kiss me like your heart might break.
Kiss me like it'll start a riot.
Kiss me like the ground might shake.
Kiss me while the sky is falling.
Kiss me while the world is ending.
Kiss me while my heart starts stalling.
Kiss me while our minds are blending.
Kiss me at the peak of a mountain.
Kiss me at the ocean shore.
Kiss me at the drinking fountain.
Kiss me at the prison door.
Kiss me everywhere,
In any place,
Kiss me anywhere,
Not just my face.
Kiss me now,
Or kiss me tomorrow,
I don't care how,
It removes all sorrow.
Just kiss me here,
And kiss me forever.
I need you dear,
To kiss me however.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
She sits at the dinner table
Flattened lips
Tightly-fisted hands
Neutral face
She is disgusted
As she lifts the spoon to her mouth
Immediate remorse fills her body as the taste buds get the first feel of the warm food
She is disgusted
As she continues to eat, she can see the food turning into fat traveling to her cheeks
and to her jaw and to her arms and to her shoulders and to her chest and to her stomach
covering the bones that she wants to pierce through her skin
She can see it travel to her thighs, largening in size, making them touch, covering the huge gap that she wants situated in the middle
She is disgusted
She gets paler and paler with every chew and every swallow
And so to escape this torture, she lies and tells her uncle and aunt that her stomach is upset
and she feels sick
But she wasn't lying
Because her stomach was truly upset because it did not want to be filled
It wanted to stay tiny
It wanted to stay beautiful
It wanted to be more beautiful
She goes straight to the bathroom and locks the door
Washes her hands before sticking two fingers down her throat
Removes them once she feels the disgust rising through her esophagus
Closes her eyes as her upset stomach throws away everything unwanted
She is disgusted
She secures the lock in her bedroom
Thinking maybe it will keep the demons away
Or at least long enough for a second of sanity
But they are too gruesomely evil because the disgust that was once in her throat has now traveled to her wrists
She criticizes how her wrist bone isn't showing enough
Disgust travels to her chest
how her ribs aren't piercing enough
Disgust travels to her hips
how her hip bones aren't showing enough
Disgust travels to her thighs
how the space between isn't big enough
Disgust travels to her fingertips
Tension building up in her palms
The demons' silence turn into screams
She gives in
Picks up the knife
and writes an new poem on her body
I
am
disgusted
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 6:37 AM UTC