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chichee Oct 2018
In the searing airless midsummer-
Clockwork morning rewinds
cobalt into a bleeding orange yolk dripping across
the canvas of the world.

Sky, turn the colour of dreams. Heart, turn the colour of love-
I’m posed over a skyscraper
Because I wanted to touch the stars. Because I wanted to touch you.
There’s a beauty found in the smallest spaces
Gaps in your heartbeat, getting your toothbrush mixed with mine
Honey-lemon on my tongue

So maybe you loved me, but not in a way I comprehended
I’m thinking of your lips, your eyes
and the way you said goodbye-
The word wrapped around your tongue like a prayer.
Pink bleeds into violet and it looks like the 5 a.m. Berlin skyline
might tear itself apart, like a heart bursting or a car crash.

So it’s dawn. So I’m inconsolable.
And if the angel sun sets,
then so be it.
A prayer for the healing.
Muggle Ginger Nov 2012
I never understood “made in God’s image” until I saw her.
Anyone who’s seen her has higher expectations for what heaven looks like.

We’re both sensitive enough to know what love feels like,
and reasonable enough to know that it can be broken.

The first time you use a new toothbrush is nothing like the first time you kiss a girl,
But I still love them both.

Her laugh is a paradox; an outsider would think she either just said the cleverest thing ever or she wishes she could retract it faster than it was said.
Only I know it’s simply because it’s beautiful. It’s easily my favorite language.

I have considered wearing a wiretap so I could go back and listen to all of our conversations again. And I hope that it picked up her heartbeat. She told me, it’s beating exactly like life should sound like.

She offers to iron any wrinkled clothes. I don’t have any. But I have a wrinkled heart.
I thought it was made into origami but it’s just a wadded ball that missed the wastebasket.

The way she dances to hip-hop shows her versatility,
yet you can tell she doesn’t do this every day; but she still dances.

I’m almost too nervous to hug her - knowing it will have to end.
Whenever I let go, I feel like I made a mistake.

Her voice trails off into silence,
like an hourglass that’s trying to hold itself together.

I like that “click-clack” of her boots.
It lets me know I’m next to someone really going places.

She goes to the mini mart with me even when she doesn't want to get anything,
besides more time together.
This has always been about her.
s Feb 18
cat scratches
in the green room
a back stage
more calm than the front.
I ask about the
maroon robe
and picnic-table-cloth choker,
home made.
making my way through
the Bombay Sapphire
highs and lows
Awkward hellos,
over salty popcorn
and Bonobo.

Mc Donald's veg burger
and soft serve updates
'I earn in dollars' she says
a fly in my fries plate.
Share my toothbrush
and my bed like old times
- let us pretend
that nothing has changed.

Groggy Sunday morning
of Chilas
and Break-uppers, half way.
Mustard bed-sheet - full size -
and a nehru jacket for bae.
Peanuts in all flavours for lunch
- a craving for guava -
and always room for
frozen tender coconut.

Payment apps
and gym subscriptions
compared on the way
- a stitch fix for clothes -
monthly and bespoke.
A game of bulls
and cows,
and a reason to drink
before curfews.
quick goodbyes
with hugs to go
and a waiting black scorpio.

Hot engines,
stretchy hair caps,
dodge the lasers,
catch the light traps.
a gun called Marco
and the stench of childhoods
that are hard to let go.
pink bowling *****
and green nylon socks.
arcades smell like
sweat, ****** ale
and fries gone stale.
A catch up cigarette,
recording racing tins
before  midnight votes,
on who is to move in.
Jarret M Spiler Mar 2016
I slide in and out of my room,
closing the door ever-so-gently,
I don't come back until the break of dusk.
Sometime later.
I feel like I can't go into my own apartment,
I cannot trust myself to leave any doors open,
Or even leave my toothbrush not hidden.
I fear the creaking of the shadow in the other room.
They live with nothing.
They live with horror,
and muster up terror.
I am afraid of seeing the shadows utter in the space of our apartment.
The sun doesn't shine on our space,
it burns it.
Cordelia Copson Mar 2017
see, the thing is i don't really do this
not that often anyway
i don't keep my toothbrush in my purse
and this is the point that he,
unknowingly
invites me home
and into his bed

he laughs it off
and says it's fine
y'know, pretty girl, random guy
you probably really don't want to die?
ha
not  that i'm a serial killer i mean
ha ha
yeah, no.
that would be.
bad?

what i do do,
actually,
is fly through the stages of dying
every single week
on sunday i crawl out of your bed
and into mine. i sit down
and accept that this is my life
fall asleep and

wake up filled with rage
just don't make me
a space inside your home
cause the only me you know
is on saturday night when i'm
watching death from
the side of your bed
daring him to come get me

this is awful and unfinished
Kateasz Oct 2018
I just want someone to grab my *** and tell me I’m pretty.
Actual words I saw on instagram.
Let’s break that statement down.
Someone to grab my ***
And by that I mean
Someone to love me so much they can’t keep their hands off of me
And by that I mean
Someone to want me or at least tell me that they do
And by that I mean
Someone to make me believe that I am worth a *****
Even if that is all I am worth.
We break girls down into pretty girls and smart girls as if they are mutually exclusive.
Movies brandish the before and after of makeovers so much we can’t help
Glancing in the mirror and only ever seeing ourselves as a before.
So I will drag myself out of bed
Thirty minutes earlier
So I can paint concealer under my eyes (to hide the purple circles)
And onto my chin (to eliminate that red shine that makes it stick out)
And all over my nose (so I don’t look like rudolf when I scratch it and my sensitive skin acts up)
To coat my blonde lashes with layer after layer of ebony paint (to keep me from looking like a sick victorian child)
I will drag myself out of bed
Ten minutes earlier
To try on one outfit (But not that one, it makes my stomach look huge)
To try on two outfits (But not that one, it makes my ***** look smaller than they already are)
To try on three outfits (But not that one, six people told me it looks slutty)
To try on four outfits (Just throw on a hoodie, but that’s the only time you can wear it this week.)
And sometimes?
Three hours earlier
To cry over that assignment I can’t figure out
And to comb through the pages of my backbreaking book for an answer to a problem I’ll never need
To wonder if maybe gagging myself until bile rises in my throat
Until an empty stomach burns in my nose and the nausea hits me like a punch in the everywhere.
Would be easier than going to school
But no one sees that.
They only see me
Fixing my makeup up in bathroom mirror before lunch
And so they throw words as hard as they can
They aim for my heart, using every colorful hallway adjective they’ve heard
Or maybe the words the voice inside calls them
I’d be lying if I said that these words that didn’t haunt me
and follow me
And effect my every action
But I refuse to let them know that
I refuse to let them drag me down simply because they cannot fly
If I’m going to be an Icarus, ******* that’s a good way to go.
*******, that’s a way to be remembered.
Even if I’m a cautionary tale, at least I got to see the sun.
If  you call me a try hard I will say maybe you’re just not trying hard enough
If you call me high maintenance, I will say that it’s better than looking like you.
But when I express how much this hurts to my friend, he pulls a movie Ron Weasley and says
“Well, it’s kinda right.” and proceeds to make fun of me for doing my best
For those sleepless nights kept awake by the light of my laptop.
For shoving a toothbrush up my throat and hating myself for not being able to go through with it.
For raising my hand when the teacher holds up the tightrope I teetered along.
For trying.
I just want someone to tell me I’m pretty.
I just wish I didn’t need someone to tell me I’m pretty.
TheRhymeRenegade Aug 2018
Everyone says what's the rush
and they say what's the use
and I'm so tired so very tired
baby, you need to choose
I can't do this anymore
I just need to know
We fight, we laugh, we click, we clash
should I stay or should I go?

and every time I find myself
wanting to pull back
you smile just a bit
give me a heart attack
I feel like a fool
to hang on every word
to be wanting to believe you
ignoring what I've heard

Am I stupid?
Should I do this?
Am I foolish?
This is useless

It wasn't so long ago
my head was ******* on straight
did not believe in fate
or waste time on boring dates
Ignoring matters off the heart
remaining cold and callous
til you grabbed my hand while I could barely stand
and led me to the madness

and every time I find myself
wanting to pull back
you smile just a bit
give me a heart attack
I feel like a fool
to be hanging on every word
to be wanting to believe you
ignoring what I've heard

Am I stupid?
Should I do this?
Am I foolish?
This is useless

And it's a scary thing 'cause
I wanna meet your parents
God I love you so much
is it gross to use your toothbrush?
I guess this is what it is
I cannot pull away
at least I am a *******
and thriving in the pain
I feel so very little
so small and microscopic
but when it comes right down to it
I know I could never stop it

and every time I find myself
wanting to pull back
you smile just a bit
give me a heart attack
I feel like a fool
to be hanging on every word
to be wanting to believe you
ignoring what I've heard

Am I stupid?
Should I do this?
Am I foolish?
This is useless
I have been writing a lot of songs and poems lately and it means a lot to me the people who actually take the time to read and give feedback! I love you guys.
Rich Hues Apr 19
Only been a week.
That was fast.
Together in silence
Sharing a glass.

Leaning forward,
Heads bent,
Not a word,
But listening intent.

Their mirror image,
Slender, white, clean,
Next to some sort of ***
Of some sort of cream.

She's late for work,
An underwear rush,
Waiting by the front door,
I hand her, her toothbrush.
Patrick Austin Sep 2018
Autumn Angel, bring in fall,
see me, like me, text me, call.
Connection made is strong and now,
life comes quickly, she comes how?
Traveling vessels far and near,
planes and ferries bring us here.
Walking, waiting I grow eager,
business first before I meet her.
In the district lounge I perch,
finding me will end her search.
Her approach was my delight,
for now, we can begin our night.
Strong and vibrant she is ample,
allure and wares for me to sample.
Pints and chatter, Blue Ribbon prize,
my glare is locked into her eyes.
Her exchanges are so charming,
pleasant, light and not-alarming.
Time has come to find our way,
joined departure, plans to play?
Lodging and rides arranged by phone,
She knows her way, away from home.
5th floor shoe box, now our lair,
pajamas, toothbrush I’m prepared.
Netflix and chill is common trend,
Hulu and hold is our new friend.
I lay beside her, still not sure.
She watched her show, as I watched her.
I longed to kiss her neck and ears,
doubtful hindrance of my fears.
Surely right, it must be so,
She wants me here, and this means go.
I slowly start to kiss her lobes,
Her standing neck hairs brush my nose.
My mouth, it waters, for her kiss,
She turns to me and grants me this.
Her constellations are so bright,
Her moles like stars, I count tonight.
Her lips transport me to this place,
where there’s no time but only space.
I’d live here for a thousand moons.
sadly, departures come too soon.
Our time is short, not long enough,
I touched her face, she felt my scruff.
Constant contact, senses aflame,
I want her more, she feels the same.
Her essence sweet like summer flowers,
I found the center of her powers.
Far inside, my fingers reach,
while I explored her weeping peach.
Touching, tasting, and some teasing,
Her satisfaction, was my pleasing.
I want to give her more of me,
the part that daylight never sees.
I gave myself the best I could
& tried to make her feel so good.
My comfort lies in her content,
She understands, our needs were met.
Lying by her was so free,
I love the way she feels by me.
Alongside slumber was so grand,
snoozing blissful, hand in hand.
Several times I would awake,
was so pleased with my evenings fate.
When light began to fill the room,
we knew that we’d be going soon.
We didn’t want to leave this place,
I planted kisses on her face.
Once again we shared in pleasures,
in life, these are important treasures.
The final moment had arrived,
we packed our bags, prepared to drive.
The sun shone like no other day,
as we drove down towards the bay.
I sadly had to disembark,
but kissed her more while we were parked.
We said goodbye and rightly so,
our faces had a special glow.
This magic evening, all a blur,
more vessels take us where we were.
This poem is about my chance encounter with another traveler and our romantic evening together before we parted ways. "Hulu and hold" was an original idea that came to me during our night together.
Logan Robertson Dec 2018
I'm a poet ******
That digs through the thrash
There's cans and slops
and graffiti
A pig rolling around happy in mud
I am
Who cares about vanity
Or inhibitions
When your eyes are big
The smiles wide
The teeth brown
The other side of midnight
On a empty bed
It is what it is
A leaf
Once green
Now fallen
Tumbles along
Sentences to death
Garbage here
Garbage there
Signatures on walls
Rhymes and reasons
Wee
We take this ride
I sequel
I squeal
Another can
A bottlecap
Should I a say a toothbrush
On a good day
My hooves take to the lawn
Pigs heaven one might say
Running in circles with words
An oink here
An oink there
A pig in a blanket
I really care
What's inside a hotdog

Logan Robertson

12/29/2018
To each it's own path up the mountain. At best is the fresh air and scenery. A blossom. A flight of a lone bird.
Ive been to the dentist

She gave ma a happy pill ME a happy pill, not Ma a happy pill

Tree frogs are my favotire amphibians there so cute ya wanna buy them an ice cream but there aint no bug ice scream

Yes I’m fine than k you

Gosh this is still fun

And they gave me a new toothbrush although I use the super-golly-gee-****-quadro-toothbrush-thing-that-lights-up-and-s­tuff

Yes the pill is wearing off sure
wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Why do they all put their hands in my mouth at the same time

Lets see thats four hands

And then they yell at me to relax

But yeah I got a pill qnd I am sooooooooooooooooooo relaxed

My teeth are fine

My teeth are green no wait my teeth or clean because if they were green they wouldn’t be clean

Dr. Joyce is the best

There’s still something to be said for tree frogs

Yes I can walk to the car whoops

Yes I can opine the passenger door

Yes I can belt my seat fashion

Or somethingthis has been fun

Thank you yes six monyhsts…
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.

Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
Emmaline Jan 1
I fold. I sweep. I double down on old stains
on a favorite shirt. I make a checklist of all the important things I will do.

I organize old paid bills and buy a new toothbrush. I listen carefully to my dog snore.

I move through the house with feigned purpose, avoid old pictures and familiar songs,
look away from old toys

as each one brings me closer to the distance
between us
and measures lost time
in court ordered custodial half-lives.

Epic disappointments span galaxies in my inner universe, taking bits of me, all
over, like stardust, to dark cold places.

There, they sit, in the ether of free floating anxiety, where all my “choices” circle me like satellites who never sleep.

carbon, oxygen, nitrogen, hydrogen

gratitude, forgiveness, redemption,
love...

all taught to me by you,
in infinite measure,
my angel and my teacher

come back to me soon
and reanimate and recombine my scattered elements.
On the trials of shared parenting
tabitha Aug 23
i am a runaway

i forgot to bring my toothbrush

i left my mother
because i had to leave my father
i left my sisters
because i had to leave my brothers

i don't use toothpaste because of fluoride

i deserted my sorrows,
so i could grow new ones
i let them plant seeds
became tumbling little weeds

i forgot to floss

but they were mine
and so were you
and you
and you
until you weren't

menthol makes me nauseous

i still curse your name when there is no one around
i can still taste your stale lies
rising like sewage
lodging between the cracks in my teeth

my jaw grinds in my sleep

some people claim halitosis is not a real condition
those people don't know what it's like
to be left alone,
with a belly full of acid,
tobacco on your tongue,
and a mouthful of anger
the memory of an ex-lover is like bad breath
forgiveness for self is a thunderstorm ferocious,
cracking sounds so god awful fearful
that one questions his-her sanity,
an overage so unnatural that
only nature could create it

it is a moment momentousness
when the exhalation of exhaustion,
the winner and loser, both you,
surrender ne’er knowing
which you is which,
life’s son of *****, or just a plain jane mothering version,
either way you say to yourself got to
get past that lousy stinking
love affair
win the race to clean slate,
where the end is insight where everything replaced
in its used to be placed

goaded into melted nothingness,
goaded into believing that’s a real thing,
that when you finally get there,
enough is enough,  
get out of jail ticket will work,
but it ain’t never free,
even if you paid for it in
what you call
throwing bad after good,
monopoly money,
nope, ain’t never free

no idea what to put in the second empty closet,
who needs an attached to-the-wall-tile
toothbrush holder with one extra emptying space,
where to hide picture albums in a space
outta sight, outta mind, you still can find

why you didn’t care enough to
daily mat-wipe street shoes before
riveted in place
before entering your own! apartment and no,
you are consciously unconscious immobilized by
the missing calling out of her “don’t forget”

in the car’s ashtray,
a red kissed blotted red lipstick
tissue that needs discard-action,
but you incapable of either,
those collected records and cd’s,
her teasing your old fashion ways,
reluctance to let go

so you read
“that to forgive one self doesn’t forgive forgetting”
and it hits home, home run, score to the core,
since you wrote those words on a sun rain afternoon,
a punctuating thunderstorm day
refusing to decide
which
haunts worse

<>
Lawrence Hall Aug 2018
Kafka and his Giant Insect
                            Which Might Be a Cockroach
                                      But Maybe Not
                We Could go to Das Scloss and ask Mr. K

An insect woke up one morning and realized
He had been transformed into Gregor Samsa

From a life focused on eating hair and grease
Glue, soup, bread, paper, leather
Sewerage, butter, meat (fresh and decayed)
Makeup, cookies, sugar, toothbrush bristles
Cookies, pizza, flour, tacos, apple pie
Dead bodies, feces, and his own species

He now had to deal with the confusion
The sorrow of being Gregor Samsa
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.
“I just wanted it to be Natural” she said.
The morning I stabbed my face
with an electric toothbrush.

Cheese fries and football
I sat giggling over tequila,
wondering why my heart
felt so at home

walking down empty hallways
echoing with murmurs and
waterfalls. Crammed onto
subway cars, and running fingers
over octopi and battle scars.

The words used to fall
out of my mouth like
teeth in a dream.
But they all stopped

until you.

Now they are pouring out
like a faucet.
And I haven't enough
buckets to catch them.
Cheryl Oct 2018
Have you taken my robe from the hanger
my lotion from the bedside table
my toothbrush from the cabinet
the owl mug, things that were mine
things that remind you
have you erased me
yet
or do you remember
bodies intertwined
laughter
you sitting across from me in the hospital lobby
my hair in your hands
**** this hurts, I won't lie
Chris Slade May 24
We’re having a trial separation. It’s just in its early days.
In fact it’s actually only been a couple of hours…and I’ve been analysing my ways.
I’m still in somewhat of a haze… it’s been a bit of a rush.
And, when I left, she was descaling the toilet bowl using my new toothbrush!

Knowing someone for 50 years… is downright weird… it’s true
like she sits in the bathroom - lid down - plucking her eyebrows on the loo…
"What’s wrong with that? Trunky!… Want a bun?...How ****** dare you?"
Hard to read… Does she, don’t she?…Will she, won’t she? Always the opposite view.

When we were love’s young dream, all those years ago,
we’d start saying the same things at the same time… finishing each other’s sentences… No?
And really there’s not much difference between being totally in love and complete complacency.
Your major arguments might be what to watch and who’s got the controller for the TV!

Recently It’s been surreal. But at the time - comforting - because we always did fit so well.
But you think you read each other’s thoughts - and that creates problems - sometimes it can be hell.
“Fancy some rumpy pumpy - maybe a ****”?
“Absolutely not lover boy! Jog on!”
“In that case do you mind just lying there for a bit whilst I have one?!”

She says our relationship has been weird and only sometimes wonderful.
She says that it’s because it’s me that’s weird and her that’s wonderful.
She might spend her time up the road at the Vietnamese Nail Bar.
Whereas I could sit all day and find genuine pleasure in this fine Real Ale Bar.

These days it’s more profound - the arguments more complex - we’re apt to scream and shout…
But calm down, take a breath, count to 10 - what if  The Hokey Cokey really IS what it’s all about?
And, don’t take life too seriously, is what I’d really like to say… ‘Cos in the end nobody gets out alive anyway.

She’s blowing things out of proportion…I know that.  And I’ve had some time to think.
I’m beginning to lighten up just having had a drink…and really it’s only been just a few hours.
OK, so I’m off …And, at this time of night, do you know where I can buy some flowers?
Similarities between individuals alive or dead are totally coincidental... Of course!
Sophia I Nov 2018
He took me for a lover whilst I was on holiday in Italy. He was Italian- the married man who owned our villa.
Every night after twelve, I would creep out of the house in white lingerie and a silk slip that glowed in the moonlight. My lips became a dark, sticky flower of cherry gloss.
I knocked on the downstairs bedroom door. He would open it, and as he stood there he was silhouetted in the dim golden light of the bedside lamps.
He would be in the middle of shaving, or holding a toothbrush, to make it seem like he’d forgotten I was coming- but every night I heard him hurriedly making the bed, shouting at his wife, and pacing up and down on the leopard rug. He called me his “dolce angelo” (sweet angel) and I called him my “belo diavolo”(handsome devil). His fervent lust was punctuated by whispered vowel sounds and a dark, vampiric beauty.
In silence, we shared cigarettes and ignored his black and white wedding photograph on the dresser.
In the morning, as dawn lit the mountains and his chickens began to crow, I straddled his chest for a last stolen kiss, and knew he would watch me bathe in his pool that afternoon.
A short story
makeloveandtea Dec 2018
what?
nothing.
i have nothing
to say.
for the lack of plea
and expression,
anyway,
I wrote you
a list of quiets:
- turning of a cab
into my lane at 10:30
- stirring sugar in tea
- closing the door
behind you
- last word in a letter
- squeezing toothpaste
onto a wet toothbrush
- millisecond to realize
something's funny
- a song
from the neighbor's window
- the longest argument
- drinking cold water
- searching for the towel
- kissing against a wall
- moment of not-over-this
at the kitchen sink, washing
dishes and spoons
- walking over to a friend
- switching on the string lights
- anxiety outside a restaurant
- warm feet on cold floor
first thing in the morning
- i think,
i really think
we can make the sweetest life.
Ed,
Eddie,
Wants to fall in love.
He has plants in his kitchen.
He keeps a washcloth
On his bathroom sink
On it rests his comb,
His toothbrush,
And toothpaste,
All in a neat row.
He takes me to the lake
To look out at the water,
Because he knows
It makes me feel like I’m home.

Rob,
Wants to conquer
And tame me.
He wants
To be the one I choose
Just to win.
He kisses me
At midnight in the rain
Out in the dark
On a hidden sidewalk,
Slips his hand
Down the front of my *******
And plays with my ****.
He says it’s the danger
Of being caught.

James,
Stone,
Jamie,
Wants to sleep with me,
But also doesn’t want
To feel guilty.
So he hides my messages
From his partner
And assures me
She knows he’s polyamorous.

Me?
What do I want?
What do I need?
Peace.
Peace I won’t find
In any of them,
Only myself.
But I have to fight battle,
After battle,
To get there.
So exhausted,
I retreat into their distraction,
And I warn them all,
Of each other’s existence,
And that I don’t want anything real.

But I sing to Eddie,
As I lay on his chest.
I listen to Rob,
As I hold him in my bed.
I nurture James,
Help him cultivate his individuality.
So they think
Maybe they’re important.
And really,
They are.
I can’t help but have them be.

But I can’t handle important right now.

I can’t find comfort
In the thought of being squeezed
Into something I’m not
Again.
I won’t allow myself
To be contorted
Into a shape
That fits their desires.

Eddie wants
To fall in love.

Rob wants
To win me.

James wants
To have release.

And I...
I just want
To find me.
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