"straightener" poems
I once sold a hair straightener to a woman going through keemo
I once sold a a weight loss supplement to a girl struggling with anoerexia.
I once sold female libido enhancers to a forty year old man.
Sold a car to a Parapalegic
Sold a telephone to a deff woman.
I once sold a child an imaginary friend.
And a Vaccuum for their sandbox.
I once sold a soul to a telemarketing company.
They paid me in biweekly installments.
And they got a hell of a deal.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 1:05 AM UTC
baby got back.
baby got
sleeping problem
baby got
too-much-ice-cream-not-enough-vegetables-problem
baby got
bad case of the mean reds
baby got
curly hair problem
baby got
stepped-on-her-hair-straightener-problem
baby got
cat trouble
baby got
unattractive-boy problem
baby got
sore guitar fingers
baby got
too lazy to do laundry problem
baby got
smile-problem
baby got
elliot-problem
baby got
stress problem
baby got
anxiety problem
baby gonna
need help
they say
baby's in trouble
they say
baby needs a shovel
baby needs a backhoe
baby needs a drill
but baby's a girl,
so what baby really needs
is a man
to do the work
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 1:41 AM UTC
I apologize for the stains on the pillow case,
I could not hold it in again.
The black that seeps into the flowers on the edge,
Are just from my eyes,
A little makeup remover should do the job.
The clothes missing from the closet are all mine, I swear.
I left your jerseys on the dresser, folded under the picture of us.
Please forgive the mess in the kitchen,
I began to make pancakes, but found myself in a heap on the floor,
While the batter bubbled under the stove.
I was sobbing because I am going to miss everything about this house.
That is no reason to stay here, I know that now.
I will miss Sundays, the smell of brunch from the hall,
And the glow of the tv when you fall asleep.
I found you countless times on the couch,
But never thought to move you to the bed.
The bathroom should be in good order,
The hair straightener will finally be out of your way.
I cleaned up the hair that I shed all over the house,
Because I know how much you hate it.
I began to vacuum the carpets, but I kept crying on them,
The hot tears would dry under the vacuum,
But I couldn't find the energy to keep going.
I know you won't understand why I am leaving,
Which is why this letter is for you,
And why I can't be here when you come home.
Your blue eyes would just drag me back to bed,
Like they have a hundred times.
I couldn't handle the grayness of your love anymore,
The way you couldn't commit to the distant future,
Or even to tomorrow.
We shared a house for ***** sake.
I hope you find the one you need,
I hope she cleans better than me,
I'm sorry that I am hurting you.
But I am happy that this is for me.
Sincerely,
Me
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 12:02 PM UTC
Moment,
A suicide letter I write in 8th grade.
I heat metal chains
with my straightener.
Press.
Watch as sink holes
begin to expand in my hand.
Maybe,
A list of considerations.
Starting to see the crimson crust,
the weeping sores,
furrowed skin,
the combust of myself as beautiful.
Mimic,
I think I am copying my mother.
She sinks into her sheets,
a mess soaking into a towel.
Us only speaking when she finds
something to yell about.
Maniac,
The day I forgot to wear long sleeves.
My mother takes my straightener,
metal chains, scissors, “You’re crazy”
Pens curler, pencils, I’m Crazy.
Maternal,
I try to find a mother in a therapist.
Scar cream fills the sink holes.
The left over sores only remind
me of the depressed image of ill bed sheets.
Moral,
Learning that misshaping myself
would never fix the sick in her voice.
Watching as my hand
Extinguished the charcoaled
Sores with new skin.
Memory,
Looking at my left hand
and the scars that have
become only small ashes
of a fire.
Only a moment.
©DelaneyMiller
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 9:37 PM UTC
i want to stop
checking my body,
wiggling the door ****
counting the fatalities,
searching my symptoms,
and asking for reassurance.
i want to be able to leave,
not doubting
that i turned the straightener off,
that i shut the toilet lid,
that i locked the door.
i want to be able to sleep at night
without tapping
the doorknob
to make sure it's locked,
or else someone will break in.
i don't want to
be scared
when i see the number 13,
or be unable to
wear a certain sweater
without the fear of being sick.
but instead of staying habitual
i have become avoidant.
Jun 25, 2020
Jun 25, 2020 at 12:18 AM UTC
I'm in my bed half warm with the other half as cold as this solemnity you've left me in
I have one leg wrapped around the sheets where you formally lied and the other hanging like the pieces of my mangled heart
Struggling to maintain equilibrium or tumble past sheets of broken lies into the crevice of my untold truths right under my bed
The rain pours as if forcing itself down my rib cage to remind me that I'm alive despite my mangled body in it's contorted position without it's straightener of you
The rain it pours yet I can't hear it
I hear the silence
And I feel you once again feeling my skin from hip bone to the depth of the rivers inside me
Running your fingers on my African canvas with your Southern confederate rakes and flags etching yourself onto me
Leaving me scarred
Until every time I look down at me, I see you
Oh the irony
The tale of white man leaves his African prey once again.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 12:22 PM UTC
Each dull wheeze
— half-glass-filling lungs, tarred —
records my moments
like reel-to-reel tape
And the heart is a quivering branch
If not a paperweight
Pinning will and testament to the
desk
That plastic wine “glass”
turned out
to be
glass after all
My woman throws me punches
with the gentle touch
— all the virility —
of a little, lonely, old man
feeding bread
to ducks
Then goes to work on the meat of her hand
with the glass
Damages the nerves in her thumb
tussle ensues
My arms are covered in blood
That two-penny copper smell
sister’s fella has anger issues
and wants a straightener
Tells me I need a job —
Is this not work?
If I had Molly’s blessing
I’d go to work on this son of a *****
But she’s crying
And begs me not to
Begs him to calm down
I wanted to widow her
Her
And my bleeding wife
Jan 17, 2021
Jan 17, 2021 at 9:29 AM UTC
in sixth grade,
she hands me
one eyeliner pencil
and a thing of mascara
and says good luck.
in seventh grade,
i ask for a hair straightener.
we buy one the cheapest one
and i teach her how to use it.
at 16 years old,
i ask her to braid my wet hair.
she combs over my ears
and pulls too far to the left.
i’m 19, staring into a mirror
at a painted face that looks
far from my own, hair i did myself.
i smile because it is my work of art.
i cry because she never taught me a thing.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 2:37 AM UTC
Never forget to turn your straightener off
Always thank your teachers
Buy your clothes because you feel pretty in them, not because it's what everyone is wearing now
Don't give yourself up to the wrong guy, even if he seems like the right guy
Eat your vegetables and finish your dinner
Take off the makeup, you don't need it
No, you don't look fat in that dress
Always pray before bed, it helps trust me
Appreciate your first kiss and tell me before you tell your dad
Don't be selfish, share everything that you can
Be with the guy who makes you laugh
Go to every game and school dance offered
Appreciate the weekend bonfires
Get a job and save your money
Always carry sunglasses in your purse
Pick the college you want to go to, not because it's closer to your boyfriend
Don't sleep in your makeup, you'll ruin the pillows
Set more than one alarm
Go to church even when you have lost your faith
Call me if you got yourself into trouble, and no I will not get mad
Keep a blanket and gloves in your car at all times
Kiss me and your father goodbye every time you leave
Call your grandparents more often
Do it today, don't wait until tomorrow
Appreciate the small things like Sunday morning coffee and hammocks
Take lots of pictures
And always love yourself first
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 7:32 PM UTC
*********
i woke up this morning
rejoicing
in the strength with which
i slammed the door
in your face
and i was entirely fine
i even almost slept
ok
last night
didn't have to puzzle
over all the useless words
you ever said to me
(...maybe they weren't useless...)
and of course
i ***** myself once again
i managed to forget
to remove all the songs
we sang together
from my playlist
and as i stand here,
a hair-straightener tangled
in my hair
'smile' comes on
**** you
uncle
kracker
i
smiled
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 2:34 PM UTC
How do you do it?
Sit in bed with the poster
Of Ariel I colored
And labeled
'to my Disney princess'
I wonder if you looked at it
And hated it and tore it down.
How do you look at your bed
And see my blanket I gave you
Saying "relax"?
I wonder if you laughed a little
At that word, because
You couldn't relax to save your life.
How do you go in your bathroom
And see my pink hair straightener?
I wonder if it made you cry
Because memories of me straightening
Your hair for you and
Getting distracted and kissing you
Were too much to handle...
How do you do it?
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 4:30 AM UTC
my laughing river
banks the shivering pebbles
into silence—a hot, holy
moon that splits and crumbles,
rushes and spills into
a space vacu-ata and serene
loss of meaning
I never thought I’d miss you this much—
red, toiled, and soaked to the bone,
letters and numbers jumbled to bake
in hot mouths, hot atmosphere
a shimmer
a shimmy
a bottle
and nurse a wound burnt with
a hair straightener ten years ago
dear friend,
I wear you on my shoulders everyday
and you are heavy,
sore to the touch,
cradled and band aid-ed cross
until
there you are
dreaming like you always did
in the back of my mind
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 11:58 AM UTC
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Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 10:56 PM UTC
The ambivalence
trickles down my throat,
I feel it settling
inside of my stomach.
Indecision makes it's way into
every part of me.
I'm whimpering
from the devastation.
Painstakingly
stagnant.
Taking the necessary
measure so I can breathe.
Still it sits
like acid
inside of my stomach.
Awaiting the moment
I regurgitate it all back to you.
Memorizing the pain
like warning signs-
sketchy shadows
in a parking lot
so I kept my doors locked.
Turned the radio down
so I could prepare
for anything that would
make me afraid again.
You are the locked door
and the anxiety
of not remembering
if I took the right
precautions this time.
Maybe I didn't
check my rear view
close enough
and I have no idea
a car has been
following me for miles-
checking my progress
watching as I switch lanes
making sure I'm aware
of the imminent threat
it poses towards my future.
You are the stove
I can't remember if I left on.
You are the straightener
that burned a hole
through my carpet.
I was unaware
of the heat-
or the consequences
I just wanted to feel full-
to feel pretty.
I'm always looking backwards
at the damage
that has been made of me.
Seems I'm always
looking over my shoulder
expecting for you
to be standing there
reminding me why
there is nothing left of me.
The pieces I have
taped together have
your initials outlined
in the remains.
I can't rid of you-
Or the inhibition
or the hindrance
left inside of my bones.
I am a weak, frail
skeleton of a person.
Now I always,
keep my doors locked.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 11:46 AM UTC
I'm still young and I'm still learning.
Still learning how to go 25 in a neighborhood.
don't wanna **** no body, don't wanna **** time.
I got places to be. still haven't learned the quickest way home, or the longest way for when you're in the passenger seat, because talking to you feels a lot like opening my front door and being greeted by the smell of a warm welcome.
I'm still learning how to decorate my room, but I've put the dead flowers in jars and I'm down to one floral pillowcase now so I guess you can call that progress.
I haven't quite discovered enough large words with large meaning or enough small words with large meaning or anything above, below, or in between.
I still burn my wet hair in my straightener since I don't have a clue how to manage time, still undercook pasta, and fill the blender too full.
can't get my eyebrows even the first time, but **** I'm not a miracle worker. I'm still learning.
trying to grasp the idea of being outgoing. trying to act like I totally didn't cry trying to order Wendy's chicken nuggets one time because normal people can talk to other normal people without feeling like someone's tuggin' at their throat.
still learning how to eat cheetos puffs without looking like I stuffed my hand into well, cheetos puffs.
I read up on government and politics but to be real I don't give a **** so we'll skip it.
I'm still learning how to trust, how to hold your hand tight enough, how to kiss you with enough force but not too much. how to look at you without showin' what i'm thinkin'. how to look at you when you look at me like you're about to say that you're in love with me.
I'm still learning how to love so you gotta **** some time. go 25 like I'm a neighborhood children are playing in. darling, let's take this slow.
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 12:29 PM UTC
I woke up today.
Wow I'm proud!
Texts "goodmorning, I hope you had a good sleep and have a good day"
I stretch my body to the point where I hope every bone breaks out of place and ligaments do not bounce back
With failure, I step forward, put on my best skirt and shirt, wishwashing my hair around in the mirror until I realize I need to tame my mane
I gather my tools and proceed groggily to plug the straightener into the outlet
Hoping an electric shock may find me spasming on the ground
With failure, I brush my hair, parting ways through the sea where Israel could pass through but Pharoah would perish
I watch as the numbers rise to the temperature I like to bake brownies at
As it reaches the high, I hope for a malfunction which will set me on the bathroom floor, fried as if someone forgot the brownies in the oven
With failure, I begin to make straight my crookedness
I watch as with each pass I burn my hands searching for hiding waves
I slowly run through piece after piece hoping for the cord to strangle and burn me around the neck so I am left for empty
With failure, I look in the mirror and smile, isn't she beautiful!
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 9:19 AM UTC
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Dec 4, 2015
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Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 1:19 AM UTC