"tampons" poems
Pimple popping
Lathered deodorant
Awkward tampons
Hair in unwanted places
Drunken nights
Failed hangover cures
Flunked classes
Broken hearts
First kisses and first times
Rebounds
Hookups
Hickeys
Rushes of frustration
These are all
unglamorous occasions
Of a not so florescent
Adolescence
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 3:06 PM UTC
the river is
drinking it
sequins
blankets
the river runs past
hobos
unidentified
water fowl
two trolls
taking shelter under
the bridge
there’s conversation
in another language
fiendish brains connecting
fiendish yet
beautiful
thunder
tampons
a turtle
a naked boy
on the patio
rain
definitely
rain
unmatched
and the steam
coming from the
bridge
*once there was a troll
on my face
and I swatted it
with a broom
but it came back
it came back
with you*
laughter pounds
with the rain
laughter that wears
emotion like
skin
soft
elastic
still pink
bouncing
on the river’s surface
breaking
absorbed
sustenance for
the trolls
like fiends with faces
like minds with names
these two connect
with spark
and the rain
falls
the stillness under
nature’s
machinery
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 10:26 PM UTC
Its my body, my money, its up to me what I do with it.
But everyone else is wearing it.
I cant help the way I feel.
Blonde
Red
Orange
Brown
Purple
DMs purple with pink laces
school skirt altered in the textile lab 3" shorter
hormones racing, zipping, vibrating, fizzing till the top pops
stairs made for stomping and storming
cackling laughter crackling down the telephone wire
clothes left on the bedroom floor abandoned for a girl crisis.
You cant read my mind
read my lips
read my body
read my journal sandwiched between the midriff covering cottons gran bought for Christmas and the skimpy lace thong I'd be grounded for buying
Mother's mattress sanitary towels tossed aside
for shamefully purchased tampons
instructions included
and time has passed
and masks have fallen
and I find you there in the muck and the mire
and dust you off
until
I see your face - all mothers lipstick and glittering pink eye shadow
and the smile that stores secrets in a treasure chest.
Your legs shake like Bambi's but you get to your feet
and nestle yourself into me warmly, strongly until you fall right into me
and you run and you run and you run and you run and you run
right through my veins
giggles throbbing through my pulse
pajama parties and homemade perfume radiating in my eyes
and there you are
and there I am.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
imagine five undred tousand tampons
imagine ow much moisture dey would absorb
imagine all de bajinas, imagine the smell they would make.
i love me ganga, it makes me imagine
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 10:39 AM UTC
Sweaty face bright purple and greasy
I used to hide my body between the pages
But he told me to not read any more
Itchy head heated enough to make tea
My eyes are now how the trees say my name
My eyes are now the leeches I put in empty tampons
Sweaty neck I only want some traces of lips
Sweaty palms I only want some other fingers
Sweaty thighs I only want to walk well
************ sad wrapped in plastic
Cranky child trapped in old wrinkling skin
It may well be irrational excuses
Womb nervous and not worthy
Cerebral excuses, hormonal excuses
Highly sensitive person excuses
Delayed maturity excuses
Premenstrual syndrome excuses
Premature menopause excuses
Abusive motherhood at 5
Traumatic childhood at 18
What happens in between stays in between
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 1:00 PM UTC
who needs tampons
and breath mints
and safety nets
if you're there to cradle my fall?
i'd jump out of a perfectly good airplane
from thousands of feet in the sky
without a parachute
because i know you'll be there
at the bottom
with open arms
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 4:38 PM UTC
Each sunday,
the owner's face lit up
as I popped in the neighborhood bodega
in need of paper towels, soap, toothpaste.
Occasionally, when I uttered the word “purple,”
his brown eyes glowed and he flashed me a smile
as he fetched the Trojan condoms behind the counter.
This week,
I came in on saturday,
he looked pleasantly surprised to see me,
earlier in the week.
until I reached the counter
holding tampons, desperate to stop my leaking body.
In my humanity,
I was no longer ****
not worthy of a smile.
Nor the well wishes of a nice evening.
His greetings had always had an invisible price tag,
exchanged for a glimmer of hope.
The hope that his kind words would
earn him a discount in the time it took
for me to live up
to his fantasy
one day.
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 7:43 PM UTC
don’t worry about decisions anymore.
I can think for you. Here,
buy this brand of tampons.
Watch me now. It’s more absorbent. Here, stick them in your ears. You’ll have
s o f t e r
t h o u g h t s.
Pillowy white fluuuufffyyythoughts.
You don’t need your brain anyway.
no more thinking,
I can think for you.
here, watch me now.
Look at these happy plastic
assless women
wearing delicate bras,
so beautiful.
Why don’t you buy one?
they’re uncomfortable
well you’re ugly,
unwanted,
but you wear what
you
want.
Wear this bra.
Maybe it will keep your heart from aching.
You don’t need your heart; I can feel.
I can feel for you.
So watch me. Hey, look here.
Buy these shoes. They make your legs look like celery stalks, but your husband will “do it” with you again. That’s what you want, right?
right.
Put them on. Please your man, make the food, wear the shoes. Don’t think.
Please your man, feed the kids, do the work. Wear the shoes. Don’t you dare think.
I can
Think For You.
Aptitude is overrated. Your biggest asset is
your body, bereft of a brain. Don’t think. I can think for you.
Wear this. Buy that.
Spend your husband’s money, make him happy.
Please your man,
make the food,
wear the shoes.
Now, for your anxiety,
take these pills.
Three little blue pills, one big orange pill, one little white pill.
This one makes you skinny.
This one makes your teeth white.
This one makes you dumb, this one makes you numb.
Don’t think. Don’t worry about where your husband is.
He’ll probably come home tonight.
There is no divorce on TV, so it must not exist.
Don’t think. Oh, you poor little ****** woman.
Tiny, powerless drone robot. Don’t think.
Robots don’t have brains.
Dolls don’t have brains.
****
***
*******
legs,
don’t have brains.
Close your mouth.
Don’t speak.
I can speak for you.
That bra is uncomfortable?
Shut up.
You want me to wear a ******
Shut up.
You want to be yourself, with the brain, with the ****** with the
******* with the child. You can’t have all and be free. Choose.
Don’t choose. I will choose for you.
Please your man
Make the food
wear the shoes
There will be no discussion.
There will be no negotiation.
There is no **** on TV, so it must not exist.
No thinking
no thoughts
no brain,
just **** *** ***** legs.
wear the shoes, please your man, make the food.
Eat. Sleep. Breathe. Work.
Die.
Recognize the regulations,
recognize your place.
Your /place/ is in the shoes,
those d e v i l traps
eating your sweet feet.
all the time--wear them
They are
comfortable. They are ****
don’t think
don’t cry
don’t moan
whisper
whimper
Shut up. Don’t speak.
I will
speak for you.
Clocks, computers, **** ***
You
Are
Nothing
Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 6:02 PM UTC
I know you think
I wear lipstick everyday
And my hands always
Smell like
Chai tea and raspberries
I know you think
My tongue always
Tastes like
Melted sugar
And peppermint
I know you think
I sleep in the same lace
Underwear
You find me in
On certain Sundays
In the spring
When the air is light
And my jeans
Don't stick
To my thighs
I know you think
I'm larger than life
Above chipped teeth
And bruises
And cigarette ash
And acne
I know you think
My eyes don't turn
Blood red
And poison
When I cry
I know you think
My finger nails
Are always
Freshly painted
And I always wear
A bra
That fits
I know you think
Yoga pants are
My comfy clothes,
Never gray sweat pants
With a faded red stain
Between my legs
I know you think
My calves are always
Soft, hairless, and toned
You think
I wait by the phone
With vanilla incense
Burning in a red robe
But you're wrong
And that's impossible
I won't let you in
Cause I won't be
The one
To shatter
Your whole
Pretty, little world
I'm disgusting
Sometimes
I sleep with
Way too many
Girls and guys
And sometimes I cry so much
My eyelids peel
Til I look like
Leather face
And I don't leave my house
For 8 days
And in those 8 days
I shower
Maybe twice
My skin gets rough
In the winter
Right now
I have a
Pimple on
My left shoulder
And every morning
It looks a little
Meaner
My ***** spill
Out over the top
And the sides
Of my favorite
Sport's bra
And I don't care
I smell like burnt oil
And cheap hair dye
Half of the time
I haven't washed
My sheets in a while
And they smell like
Salt water
And chlorine
You put me up on a pedestal
From which I refuse to fall
So I'll stay here,
Far,
Untouchable
You'll never love me
With sticky tampons
In my garbage can
And half drank beer bottles
On my bedroom floor
I'll stay here,
Far,
Untouchable,
Safe
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 7:45 PM UTC
survivalists in bunkers
w/ rations & guns stay
underground while up
above poets exploring
a strange, new land on
a bet, finding nothing;
searching for tampons
to barter for *** while
women's periods last
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 11:20 AM UTC
I miss being a child
Ignorance is bliss
I've never heard anything truer.
The moment a child is told not to take candy from a stranger or to insert its fingers in the outlet, it is starting to face the horrors of the world. Rapists, murderers, terrorists and thieves; people the child is going to hopefully always evade and not face. And then said child turns into a adolescent. Makeup, tampons, BO and acne. You find out boys are pigs and girls are easy if you know your way with words. You feed off of everything you read and see - the media, parents, teachers, peers and strangers. From then on you have two choices: grow and fend for yourself or keep being a sheep and depending on people to make you feel like somebody. You can educate yourself about sexism, homophobia and islamophobia or call every Muslim "terrorist", say the n words and call people f*gs or ******* Speak up for yourself. Be independent, be your own person. Don't be afraid to look stupid. Research, listen, know your facts. Take very opportunity to travel. Expand your mind. And your heart. Speaking of, do not search for love, it will come. Do not forget to love yourself before loving anyone else. Wrap yourself is self-respect like a thick blanket in the middle of winter. Blow up your self-esteem. But stay humble. Do not brag in the faces of those who have less than you and do not envy those who have more than you. Strive to be as good. So yes, ignorance is bliss but is it really worth missing out on the knowledge?
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
This is the year I'll try
to be brave
and stop running
I can't guarantee it'll work
I won't promise that I will
but I'll try
Try to let a boy in
I know it sounds cliché
but I need to let someone figure me out
A cold sore and a box of tampons
On the eve of new year's eve
Was my wake up call
a cosmic karma ***** slap if you will
A sign from the gods that there will be hell to pay
if I don't try to change my ways
Enough of the hunt and chase they say
for I've carpeted my dense forest
with all the maimed hearts from seven years
of a coquettish past
But how to change?
How does the hunter willingly become the hunted
to throw down one's crossbow and wait defenseless
I'm so good at what I do
How do I force myself to lose my self in order to stop the
vicious thing I've become
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 3:23 AM UTC
I TOOK WALK TO BULLER BEACH
I COULD NOT WALK ON THE SAND WITH MY BARE FEET
THE WAVES BROUGHT TO THE SHORE TAMPONS, CONDOMS AND PLASTIC
EVERYWHERE WAS CHAOTIC
THE SEAS HAVE BECOME A DUMPING SITE
WITH ******* PILED TO AN UNIMAGINABLE HEIGHT
MEN, WOMEN AND CHILDREN DEFECATING ON ROCKS
WITH NO SHAME
NO WONDER ITS NAME
TURTLES , DOLPHINS AND SEA BIRDS ARE DYING
THEY SWALLOW PLASTICS AND DIE FROM CHOKING
IF FISHER MEN ARE CATCHING PLASTIC TRASH
HOW CAN THEY MAKE MORE CASH?
CHANGE UR WAYS
AVOID THE TAKEAWAYS
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 8:58 AM UTC
A mere three poems you have posted
and I sense something like beauty
in your lines
Something exactly like beauty
A hint of pain,
but every indication of self-betterment
through self-reflection
and direct (non-)action
as you feel the edge
but do not press it through
which I hope you continue not to do
And although I have never
drawn my own blood
I find myself touching things
just to see how they feel;
my intent, to escape anything real
So I imagine you experience life
in a similar way
Small escapes whenever you can,
but questioning whether something's
wrong with your head
And the agony of loss;
your cells certainly remain
And your mention of tampons
brings to mind for me
that my last love's last remaining
evidence of our time
is a ****** wrapper that stayed
in my trash for months,
even survived a move
and now rests in a big bag
ready to go out.
Surely, you are still with him
somewhere in his life.
You are not disgusting,
of that I am sure
We all have our secrets
And those of us who hide them all
are the disgusting,
because you find them out
when it hurts the most
And as I bring this piece to a close,
I see you have revealed two more of your own,
further revealing your heart and its beauty,
as you give to a man who has a heart like my own
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
Her profile reads “I dance for tips,
downtown in Portland.”
Most are looking for the next pair of lips
to kiss
between their legs.
But I'd like to hold
her hands
behind her back
as she bends over
realizes I don't drip ink,
or cash,
and wimpers.
A sugar-daddy?
With tattoos? No,
you might get an insurance salesman,
or occasional sports equipment re-saler
a single father or two
to pay for your tired, old
opinions.
Or you might stop dancing,
sell real-estate
your creativity decaying inside a white,
metal box
like those bloodied
tampons janitors were
embarrassed--
ashamed-- to pick up
in junior high bathrooms.
She might move back in with her parents
and fly
like some silken night-robe flapping on a clothesline all day Friday,
all day Saturday. Until lunch on Sunday,
when she pulls it down.
Or she'll flap that way
for years, on a line in Portland.
Until one day,
one day,
that man who won't hold her
in the shadows
will
come
with money,
tattoos abounding
and watch her dance
with tears
streaming
into the sheath of her time-worn robe
in afternoon sun.
Jun 7, 2012
Jun 7, 2012 at 2:39 AM UTC
Listen here ******
Your hole is too tight
There are no fake ***** out here none made in China
I despise virgins, cause ***** don't fit
I don't appreciate blow jobs that's temporary
I prefer full time jobs
So won't you take ******* ***** as a full time job mouthy?
Won't you wind my tambourine till it weeps and sobs?
I don't like ******* that weren't ****** before
They got penises acting like tampons
I don't like being the first ****** this **** stays on girls hearts like tattoos
If we **** you are my client, we build a rapport
Growing up l had a phobia for hairy vaginas
I always told my ****** to shave because I never imagined myself dating a bushman
Nothing is an idiot like my **** I saw it growing feet and standing cause this girl in a taxi was eating banana
Growing up I had a phobia of a pointy ***** in public.
Don't hate, my ***** writing.
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 1:27 PM UTC
she was the first
to act as though
she wanted to be my beretta,
to hold a holster to my thigh
and accept the badge
of partner in crime.
she spoke without shelter.
pool days of marination
in monsters and taurus,
a kiss for pity
as i'd yet to be corrupted,
and she stole some joy
in taking what wasn't hers.
she was bigger than me.
she showed me
how shattered touch screens
can look like dried petals,
but cut like cold *******
and when you're in a field of dandelions
how they come in handy.
she wrote the book on flagellation.
she promised it was all for me;
calloused fingertips from
loving me with lighter fluid,
scratches for feral adoration,
and the damocles' above my head
or rather hers, and hers to drop on a whim.
she wrote a chapter on manipulation.
i wasn't ready the first time
she pushed passed denim
and plaid as easily
as she waived my concern,
nor the second --
nor the third.
she had daddy issues.
i still didn't know
how tampons worked,
or vaginas for that matter,
and so to be forcefully
and viscerally introduced to both
behind a tree in Henessey
****** up my brain a little.
she called it "mad week."
ear bud cables
became garrotes
around my neck
in the suspended
movement of a pulse
through my aorta;
and as every day with her,
i felt she crossed a line,
and as every day before,
i never called foul.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 2:07 AM UTC
Electricities ,a mystery to me
How a switch can just turn a lamp on,
And I always thought The Periodic Table
Was where my sisters kept their tampons.
I don't understand Higgs Boson ,
Can't fathom out that Hadron Collider,
Or , if an apple a day keeps the doctor away
Why can't fifteen pints of cider?
I was reading a book in the Science Section
And the Librarian gave me such a frown ,
It was called "The History of Helium "
And I couldn't put the f***** thing down.
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 8:26 AM UTC
advertising has changed so much
in capitalism,
it's a form of existentialism,
while the french philosophers
abstracted in coffee shops
english existentialism took to
constantly advertising people,
they're not cheese grins and tampons
and toilet product quickies...
they're literally full time adverts,
they do that thing called blogging in video...
it's a strange existentialism,
it's a plagiarism of c.c.t.v.,
the new medium of advertising requires
constant consumer surveillance with those clowns
getting gifts from companies, talking about
getting them and pushing them on...
advertisement literally became a movie picture
akin to Hollywood... the internet age
gave us advertisement actors who
advertise with so much existential angst they
have to encompass each and every day
as wroth advertising - and confuse people
with mundane issues akin to dentistry
and take-away menus that they're not doing...
what they're actually doing;
*a friend in need is a friend indeed,
a friend with **** is better,
a friend with ******* and all the rest
a friend who's dressed in leather...*
(placebo's pure morning).
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 7:54 PM UTC
Man Card
You must know that all men have one
That we use when we're in need
I would take mine out and show you
If I thought you would believe
I always have mine with me
But its hardly ever used
Unless I think I need it
When im shopping for new shoes
I will pull it out and wonder
If you will ever think its real
For you saw me walking fifi
My toy poodle with no tail
Now I know I'll have to show it
If ever I am found
Outside planting flowers
When college football comes around
My scooters not a harley
Every real man knows that sound
It wispers where's your man card
As I putter around this town
I have had it for so very long
But now my man card cant be found
I know I dont deserve it
With this pink shirt I wear now
I'm not worried I lost my man card
For there are plenty to be found
All married men have lost one
For not putting those tampons down
Carl J. Roberts
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 9:52 AM UTC
What it's like to be cold
Or how many times a punch to the gut will actually hurt.
Or what about a hamburger? How it tastes and feels.
Or french fries loaded with cheese and bacon bits.
What a summer sun can do to pale white skin or how bad a sunburn can peel. Watching a baseball game with two handfuls of popcorn you payed 50 bucks for.
What it feels like to be left alone in the minivan while your mom was in the store shopping for tampons.
What its like to hold the hand of somebody that you once loved. what it tastes like when you eat our first bowl of chicken noodle soup and how the broth feels creamy and warm running down the back of your throat.
Watching somebody escape a near death on a 3 way pile up when your father was pulling into the driveway after another one of his "nightly experiences".
This in reigns the question.....
What do angels dream about?
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 2:03 PM UTC
Black leather elf boots
Leggings
Cheetah print mini-skirt
Suede short coat
Too long in the sleeves
Someone's sweater with
A hole under the arm
One thumbprint sized bruise on my neck
Make-up frozen, clumped in the night air
Within my cone of oasis
From the halogen above
My breath mingles with the
Bile colored light
Smelling like Newports and tooth decay
I hug my self for warmth and
Shuffle foot to foot
Comforted only by the
Bulge in my boots
Representing the last few hours work
I clutch my purse tight
My toolbox
Not hammers or wrenches but
Tools of my trade
Baby wipes, sanitizer, tampons, and condoms
I hear a car slowing
Harsh redness of brake lights
Bloodies the vacant buildings
I lean toward the
Lowered window wondering
Will I continue to
Be the predator or
Fall tonight as prey
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 7:58 PM UTC
**fem·i·nist [fem-uh-nist]
adjective
1. advocating social, political, legal, and economic rights for women equal to those of men.**
I used to be afraid I'd be stuck in a training bra forever.
For awhile I didn't wear one.
My grandmother would yell at me.
I told her I was a feminist.
I didn't know what it meant.
A part of me wishes I could go back
to that time of AA's instead of DD's.
One less thing to define me.
Maybe then I could be free of the restraints.
Eyeliner seemed ridiculous.
Poking yourself in the eye with an 8 dollar glamor crayon.
Crayola sells them for 15 cents.
Always was cheap - Not the makeup - Not the crayon.
I don't leave the house without it.
I used to be afraid of tampons.
They grossed me out.
They confused me.
I didn't understand how you could stick something "up there"
and walk straight.
I'd be surprised how much it can handle.
Strength. Numbers. Endurance.
But, I still can't walk straight.
I used to be afraid of the boogeyman.
The darkness in the closet.
The monster under my bed.
I was a smart kid.
I knew they were there all along
under the comforter
beneath the sheets
next to my fragile body
stealing my sliced heart
and ******* the rest.
The monsters wear a disguise.
Rubber.
If you're lucky.
Without the water balloon and crossed fingers your stomach fills nine months times its size.
So they say.
I still like to believe it's an old wive's tale.
And I refuse to be an old wife.
I never considered thongs underwear.
I considered them floss.
Why wear one when you could just go bare *** and achieve the same result?
Now I floss regularly.
Hygiene is important.
Clean my mouth.
Well, might as well brush my teeth while I'm at it.
I used to be afraid I'd grow up and couldn't eat Popsicles anymore.
As if chasing after the icecream truck was something prescribed to a little girl in spaghetti straps
******* only her thumb.
Innocence lost.
I don't like Popsicles anymore.
Unless they're cherry flavor.
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 8:05 PM UTC
we used to be "in love".
you yank accusations
out your *** like tampons.
i throw jack daniels:
bottles at your head,
and up on the ride home.
my lawyer flirts with me.
**** you, **** you, **** you,
we're having an affair.
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 12:47 AM UTC