"tacs" poems
teacher sent me to the doctor's office
teacher sent me home
teacher sent me to the place
where all the foul things roam
teacher gave me tic-tacs
to swallow when i'm sad
teacher said the chemicals
will make me sorta mad
teacher dries my eyes up
with platitudes enough
to even console all the kids who
are made of smarter stuff
teacher says confusion
is not a cause for shame
i'm not quite sure what teacher means
but i listen all the same
teacher treading tip-toed
lowering the tone:
"i'll help you with the theory here
but you'll practice on your own."
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 6:29 AM UTC
**** this coffee's really sour
I've been drinking it for half an hour
Wanna hear a poem
Wanna hear a poem
Wanna hear a poem about a cauliflower
[Cauliflower's foolish
It doesn't fit the theme
I'm sick of all your nonsense
I'm tired of your memes]
Woman selling knickknacks
I'm not eating tic-tacs™
Your words were put in brackets
Check out my rhyming tactics
I see that you're not one for fun
Your a cloudy day, I'm the shining sun
My absurdity
Is the key
To happy for eternity
[You're clearly deeply broken
And only you can cure
Your fundamental problems
But really I'm not sure
The only one who conquers
Is one who really tries
So stop with the gorillas
Since everything will die]
Maybe you don't understand
My foolishness goes hand in hand
With making things that are the best
Like giant squids and turnip fests
Order, chaos, streets and bogs
Them, White, Color, Talking Frog
Odd on top but clear below
From ash and fire life will grow
Then again I see it's true
I am right and so are you
Maybe we both have a claim
In this crazy poet game
**
Okay]
That didn't rhyme!
[It doesn't have to]
I love you
[Mmm hmm]
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 5:46 PM UTC
she's a jumping bean,
bouncing off walls,
breaking in her velvet muscles.
a princess crown encompasses her cranium,
eyelashes like butterfly wings,
fluttering in a breeze.
wearing tic-tacs for teeth,
a smile designed by blind men's hands,
construction of a masterpiece.
eyes aglow with eagerness,
bleeding aquamarine,
flooding my pupils with luminosity.
giggles like dandelion seedtips,
a supplementary appendage,
attached to my forearm.
she blankets me in gentle bear hugs,
curling around like pink yarn,
frayed at the edges.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 3:16 PM UTC
Prozac and Tic Tacs
That's what keeps me sane
One keeps my mouth clean
The other Scrubs my brain
These small sweet little pills I pop
One
now two
now four
I wonder what would happen if I took a couple more
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
Elaborate a little on the empty space.
canvas
Fill it with spills.
It all seems so accidental, did you bring your credentials?
Passwords linger throughout the discussions,
reason & recognize
Act with the valor of lightning and they will stumble like thunder... Timber.
Down falls another point on the pop chart.
Playing tic tac toe till the the tacs tic down by the toe, action falls into a drifting memory and crumples at the custodial hour.
Feet pounding time on the tiles
Repititions, turning inches to miles... Progress??
Does the diety of a paragraph outshine the novel drifter??
I mean, both read only one line at a time...
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 12:25 PM UTC
In my childhood bedroom closet
There's a little white ledge
And I kept on the edge
A collection of the trophies I'd won.
The trophy most prized
Was a small rubber guy
That sits atop of a pencil.
Graham booth was the boy
Who gave me the toy
As he smiled a goofy smile.
He looked like a 10 year old Backstreet Boy
Not a Howie - but a Kevin. Or a Brian.
My other trophies include
- I wouldn't want to exclude -
A small piece of rock
That I got
At the Bytown Museum
In grade 4.
Ms. Lewis' class.
Graham Booth was there
(With his boy band hair)
And he told me the rock was
Quote "neat"
End quote.
Sweeeeet.
My beloved knickknacks
(Oh! And a box of tic-tacs)
Weren't the only things hidden in there.
Under the front right corner
Of the soft white rug in my closet
I kept
My soiled underwear.
There were 2 pairs of underwear
Hidden in there,
One purple and the other ones blue.
The blue ones -
Well they weren't great.
Was it something I ate?
Couldn't put them in the laundry basket
In any case.
Couldn't tell my mom
For the look on her face.
She'd wish "Could another child
Take this one's place?!
She's ruined her ******
What a big disgrace.
Those beautiful ******
One purple, one blue!"
So I'd let no one see it:
My closet of secrets.
Some treasures
And some other ones
...Poo.
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 4:21 PM UTC
I miss the little girl you used to be,
you're now just a shell of who I used to see.
Your eyes used to twinkle as you found something funny,
but now they are dead and you barely smile, honey.
You used to dream the impossible and had hope in your heart,
but I've seen the way the world broke you - now destruction is your art.
You couldn't be protected from the evil presence,
so you escape reality with the drugs that give you pleasance.
You used to cry when you grazed your knees on the floor,
but now you don't even flinch when you cut your wrists to the core.
You used to ask why people would want to die,
but now you understand all too well as you lay in bed and cry.
You used to pretend tic tacs were medicine as you popped them on your tongue,
but now you sit with hundreds of pills in your hand wondering whether life is worth it; you're only young.
You used to be full of life and enjoyed most of your days,
but now you're dead behind your mask and you're always in a daze.
He may have won the last eleven battles as you tried to end your life,
but I am telling you that you will win this war this time and above him you shall rise.
I miss the little girl you used to be,
you're now just a shell of who I used to see.
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 3:58 PM UTC
Eloise in a Christmas tree,
swinging a straight razor
at the children below.
Never held enough
as a baby.
Never in love
just a maybe.
Eloise's father
in the living room,
drinking the news.
Those *******
******* and *****
he screams.
Never held enough
as a baby.
His mother smelled of
a late night and
pineapple blend *****
Eloise popping Prozac
like Tic-Tacs.
Fantasizing about
shooting the school body.
You sonuvabitch,
her father screamed.
He penetrated--
She screamed
and writhed.
Wrists held.
Body pressed.
Beans and toast
for dinner.
Mom left dad because dad
isn't big enough
or makes enough money.
Enough. Enough. Enough.
Eloise was supposed to be
a miscarriage.
Her dad lost some toes
when he missed a log.
Chop, the axe said.
The world is a swinging place.
Whispering in the dark.
A hushed frenzy.
Mix and **** out,
her gun let out a shout.
Eloise, queen of the
student mass grave.
Eloise's father turns on
the news.
He drinks liquor instead.
Eloise on the t-v.
Oh, woe is me.
He went to the shed
and blew his head
clean off.
The world is a swinging place.
The world in a frenzy.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 1:16 AM UTC
I wake up every morning
To stare in the face of death
I love my wife with all my heart
But not her morning breath
I put tic tacs under her pillow
And even a bottle of scope
But do you think she'll ever take a hint
Well I'm guessing probably nope
I'd swear that woman eats road ****
Or something crawled in her mouth and died
When she puckers her lips to give me a kiss
I look for a place to hide
The dog won't lick his **** anymore
He licks her mouth instead
Don't ever tell her I wrote this
If you do I'm as good as dead
Okay, you know I'm only kidding
I'm not really being mean
But you know what I got her for Christmas
Yep, a bottle of listerine
Oct 7, 2010
Oct 7, 2010 at 6:08 AM UTC
Today
When I see you in front of me
You run through a thousand words and bits
Of
Bits
Of lives you know
I am part-werewolf part-pop reference
Part great archetype part lover
I am never whole I am never me
There is no insight
Today
when
The blue of your eyes
Is only as vivid as the paintings I’ve seen
They are not your eyes
you have taken them from the blue of time
you’ve dressed your self and yourself
from cruelty in factories
and the love of the cloth
today
I am losing it
You are millions of people
A shaky picture of a picture
It must always be like this
There is no insight
Today
When you unravel the things in your purse
With gumpacks tic tacs god and a weapon
I don’t know which one you are
Who have you stolen you from?
Say existential crisis again
And I’ll disappear into the walls
There is no inside-out insight
There is no in side-out in sight
There is no in side out in sight
May 1, 2011
May 1, 2011 at 10:20 AM UTC
It was a sliding scale,
and its not,
we arent,
we love in fear,
or play out the jaded concept,
of what love is,
we avoid emotional intimacy,
like a ****** transmitted disease,
we bathe ourselves in,
and we are scared,
we chose the empties,
so desperately afraid of something whole.
we are the generation popping pills,
like the tic tacs of choice,
we numb ourselves to the point of loss,
BUT ITS OUR RIGHT! ITS OUR CHOICE.
and we lose consciousness while breathing in,
worrying about what we once were,
and what is now,
afraid of the dark, we try and bathe ourselves in flourecent light.
shackeled to the shame
of the emptuiness of our years,
pretend we dont hurt, push the feelings aside,
just to belong,
we love in fear,
to escape the consequence of decisions,
but we are forever deciding,
and indecision is a choice even though its still deciding,
lovers lost in a war,
fighting a battle of selective memory,
and we drink amnesia like it's the cure
(it isn't the cure)
and we give ourselves away,
without dictation of the currency,
in which we exchange,
and we'd be lying even if we handed out the quotes,
and please dont tell the truth to slander my life of lies
because it could ****** well **** me,
it becomes a ticking time bomb making changes i really cant commit too,
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 9:03 PM UTC
This balance is unsteady.
I am no wanderer.
This is no conquest.
“Would you rather have this moment?
Or that one?”
Othering myself into eternity.
Plop that in your goblet
And drink it up.
Huge, cool gulps of consciousness,
Whirled creation.
I spend my freest time
Dancing in the stuff that spills out of me
When I’m just too full,
My soul confetti,
The lumpy fungus that grows
While I’m not looking.
Undulating in the ins and outs.
Roll in it, rip it up, squish it together,
Choke it down,
The sticky glaze of “I don’t know”
Getting my fingers *****
I sleep in an acid washed dreams
Inhaling and exhaling every part of
This constant spin cycle
That stirs my existence
And shakes me like a cocktail.
Rest easily, cradled in the fluff
Of all of the possibilities.
Eat them like Tic-Tacs
Smell the minty pleasure of it
On my breath
When I splatter my being against the walls.
My life is a lemonade summer
I dream in sweet bits
That sting my throat like sour candy
Back into reality.
From there,
I daydream to car keys
knocking the dashboard
Sing to my own chaos
And laugh to my drumbeat.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
The day begins before it should,
and every minute is squandered,
before I jump into the car,
spilling hot coffee in my haste.
Then the rushing wind blows past me,
running through my hair in the dark;
headlights keep up with the sharp turns,
and the thumping stereo lifts me.
Parking, on time, walking briskly
to ensure the grandest entrance
to give a formal impression.
My echoed greeting meets my ears.
Hello, goodbye, I take over,
holding my vigilant station
as I toast bagels with butter
and wait for them to call me up.
"Ashley!" comes the petulant cry
and I manage to answer her.
"Coming!" And I take a slow sip
before heading up creaky stairs.
They want me to pick out their clothes.
They want me to help them get dressed.
I say, "You can do that yourself,
I'm here to do hard things, like cook."
Teasing, admonishing, waiting
for children to do what I asked;
I take one more sip of coffee
and the cup is gone far too soon.
Soon, they are eating their breakfast,
and I'm prepping backpacks and coats.
Something spills, and I clean it up;
then she says she forgot her shoes.
I tell her sister to get them,
but she won't go up there alone.
So we three climb the creaky stairs,
and come back with their socks and shoes.
We run out the door, lock the garage,
and jump in my car for a ride.
"Seatbelts?" I ask before leaving,
and they both ask me for tic-tacs.
A minute away, and I park.
They jump out and both wave goodbye.
I smile and wait for the school bus.
I drive to my next job, next door.
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 1:28 PM UTC
I moved on her
I failed
I did try and **** her
That’s huge news there
I moved on her very heavily
I took her out furniture shopping
She wanted to get some furniture
I said I’ll show you where to get some nice furniture
I moved on her like a *****
I couldn’t get there
And she was married
And all of a sudden she’s got these big phoney ****
She’s totally changed her look
Woah – woah
Yeah the Donald has scored
I’m gonna use some tic tacs in case I start kissing her
Im automatically attracted
And when you’re a star they let you do it
You can do anything
Grab’em by the *****
Hello how are you?
You know Billy Bush?
We’re ready -
Make me a soap star
Melania said this was ok
Come on Billy don’t be shy
Get over here Billy
It’s hard to walk next to a guy like Donald.
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 7:55 PM UTC
Last night, all the teeth fell out of my head.
You said it was a common dream,
but I wore away my gums with the bristles all the same,
and swallowed the mouthwash just to make sure
my insides were clean enough.
But then again,
perhaps my organs are not the correct organs
and the mouthwash is now dissolving the walls of
my simulacrum stomach.
Plasma will drip from my gaping, toothless maw,
the color of pea soup.
Grandma hated pea soup.
She said it was too opaque to see
the glass shards at the bottom of your spoon.
They would slice up your tongue
and you wouldn’t be able to call 911.
My tongue feels too big, overflowing onto my molars.
I chew, scraping off the taste buds,
whittling down the swollen muscle,
so I don’t swallow it in the witching hour:
your sleeping ears deaf to my wet choking.
I am eating saltines without soup when you come home,
in the puddle of mouthwash and blood my stomach spit back.
Your mouth runs over with **** your own teeth like rows of tic tacs.
I worry they’ll fall out soon, white and small against the linoleum.
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 11:18 PM UTC
When we **** I shout: s. o. s. la vida
‘Cause our bed is more like a corrida
But when I stare at my ring with a pearl
I ask myself again, am I that girl?
When I take Mexican tic tacs with Corey
I feel like Christ is sending me that glory
But when I’m on the ground and start to curl
I whisper to myself, am I that girl?
And when I’m dancing ******* on a bar
I feel like killer **** movie star
I finish twenty lemon drops and swirl
While crying to myself, am I that girl?!
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 2:07 PM UTC
like candy,
we wanna taste the sweetness
without the consequence
there's a nagging sugar rush
trying to explain something
to me in this frenzied manner
like if I don't grasp it fast enough
I just may
..........crash.........
tic tacs clacking down the path to somewhere
and I've only just dipped into my candy stash
tomorrow's agenda promises Hershey kisses and snickering calories
because everything so good
is essentially somewhat bad
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 12:22 AM UTC
well I guess
that's the thing
about darkness,
it's not just part
of our surroundings
at midnight
on a tuesday
in the summer
or at 6 a.m
on a wednesday
in the winter.
it's more than that,
we can feel it
and sometimes it crawls
into bed with us
while we're staring
at the white walls
that cling to
old photographs
hung with tacs
of people who never
bother to call anymore
but then sometimes
it comes spiraling
toward us,
to knock the air
out of our lungs
and the wine glass
out of our hands
at 11:08 on a saturday
that's when it's hard,
when there are twenty
people smiling in a busy
room filled to the brim
with music and stories
and suddenly
all we can think to do is
stare down at our feet
and hope it'll leave us be
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 8:09 AM UTC
I read some writing advice once
It said "Writing isn't a competition"
well I'm sorry to tell you buddy
but you can go right to hell
because If you're words are published
yeah I'd congratulate you
and then I'd be write at my typewriter
notebook or laptop
sharp scrawling and tic tacs
because I love the bottom rungs
of unpublished writers
throwing their entirety against a brick wall
over and over again until it starts to crack
and fall apart brick by brick
until we see that beautiful view behind it
and everybody who makes it
is just another grain of sand in the hour glass
making me nervous and restless
impatient
so everybody who makes it
is about ten new poems
and I'm not rue if I will make it
but I'm going to try
it's all I've got
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 8:47 AM UTC
I always used to wonder why you were so cold. I wondered why you never left your room and why you could never be seen. I remember the night I listened into your room and you spoke so lightly. It had been months since I heard your voice so clear. You said "take me I'm ready"
I asked God why he made you so sad. I asked God why he let this man do this to me. I asked God why you held that rope so tightly.
I remember the first time I ever cut my wrists, it was crimson and bliss. I asked God why he let me do it. I asked God why he let you do it.
I remember watching you pop them like tic tacs. I watched how fast you could clean the house. How fast you moved, talked, and how loud you screamed.
I asked God why you didn't want me. A man answered back with a hand. I asked God why I deserved that. I asked him to not let you go.
I remember when I sat outside your door asking for a hair dryer. I knocked for 10 minutes. When you finally came out I saw the look on your face. I asked God why you wanted to die. I asked God why I did too.
I remember when you got taken away and I eventually stopped asking God such things.
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 1:52 AM UTC
Little white lights and little white pills,
Hoping they both do something for the memories sloshing around in my head,
**** them like bacteria?
Little bit of alcohol,
Shrivel them up with that bitter bitter,
***** ‘em out with my head under water,
Voice out far,
I’ll put on a show,
Strutting around on that hardwood floor,
Emerge stage right, through a prop door,
Blow a kiss to the crowd
At the end of the show,
If I pretend hard enough,
They’ll never know.
But won’t they,
If they find the empty, orange vials,
While I’m caking on stage makeup,
All the colors of denial,
And they know those aren’t tic tacs in my bathroom sink,
And it’s not apple juice
In my iced down drink,
But I can stand up, dress up, and play with the rest of them,
Run with the best of them,
Binding my panic in,
Tangled up in mic wires
And hair pins
As long as I medicate
Don’t communicate
And wrap it all up
Wind it all in
Nice and tight,
Not a hair out of place,
Big smile on my face,
That’s it,
Maybe that’ll do it,
Maybe I’ll get better this time.
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 10:41 AM UTC
sometimes I feel like my brain is melting and likely to ooze out my ears at any second but sometimes I feel like my brain is swelling and the pressure is too much for my fragile skull and my head will explode and it will be hell to clean up.
sometimes I feel like my skin is too tight and one wrong move will cause it to split open and reveal bones and blood and gore but sometimes I feel like my skin isn't really /my skin/ like I'm slapping €10 moisturizer on some strange mask that looks like skin and feels almost like skin but just doesn't feel quite right on my body.
sometimes I feel like drinking ***** like its water or swallowing xanax like they're tic tacs and washing everything down with cookies and maybe a bottle of €4 wine but sometimes I feel like drinking peppermint tea and eating sweet red apples and the only constant is that I never feel like nourishing myself properly whether because I don't deserve it or because I'm too exhausted all the time I'm not sure.
sometimes I feel like I haven't earned the love and trust and intimacy I crave and that's why I don't ******* have it and sometimes I feel like **** for thinking that because I know realistically I have family and friends and blah blah blah but the idea of speaking completely openly to anyone terrifies me to the point of xanax ***** rinse repeat and I think maybe that's what I want
that being someone who definitely will not leave or want to or be disappointed no matter what I do and maybe that's another reason why I can't talk to the people I have because I can't bear the guilt
my shoulders are so knotted and tired they can't carry the disappointed faces too.
sometimes I feel like the biggest hypocrite alive because I tell myself one thing and my brain fights me on it and I can never tell who's winning only that there's a mess now because I didn't listen to the facts and sometimes I feel like this mess is exactly what I need because I don't know who I am without it.
sometimes I feel so much my toes buzz and my eyes black over and I can't breathe or stop sobbing but sometimes I feel nothing at all and I think I know which one I prefer and I think I know it's the wrong one.
what is it like to feel steady.
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 4:54 PM UTC
we stole things. it was a game we played. just a stupid game between a good girl and a good boy trying too hard to impress one another.
you slipped a packet of tic tacs from the display at the register of the grocery store into my hands, and as a reward i kissed you out in the parking lot, love and laughter falling from my lips. it didn’t matter that i don’t like tic tacs.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 7:14 AM UTC