"tweeze" poems
I am a thing of many heartbeats
many walls, many minds.
and some men mark out the ways
ten by ten
by twenty-five
that I can be laid out on a plate
losing count at organelles and
organelles in the tight dry skins of
the mothership organelles.
I’m not in these pages, dearest,
flattened, candied red and blue.
but still you reach, tweeze apart bones
for tiny minds, for glowing truth in lives
crushed flat on a slide of glass
trickle acid on my cuts just to burn me more
and dearest
I thought you said you loved me before.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 1:14 PM UTC
“You’re single because you’re single. It’s not because you texted too much or too little or waited 33 minutes to respond because he took 23. It’s not because you met up with your ex that night at 5 a.m. that no one knows about, or because you kissed another boy after a date with a loser.
You’re not single because you spit food on that date or tripped coming out the the movie theatre. You’re not single because you hurt your first boyfriend really badly when you were 15 or because you have yet, to this day, to apologize. It’s not because you were secretly jealous when your friend got a boyfriend or that a guy you dated for two months now has a really cute girlfriend and looks really happy. And you’re happy for him. But still ill that he found someone before you.
You’re not single because you slept with your ex boyfriend. You’re not single because half the world found out when you didn’t even want to remember it yourself. You’re not single because you think the guy your friend wants to hook you up with is ugly or not tall enough. It’s not because you’re not willing to put up with someone who doesn’t brush their teeth on a regular basis.
You’re not single because your standards are too high. Good for you for having standards. It’s not because you didn’t like that really, really good guy who wanted to take you on a date and you just weren’t feeling it. And it’s not because you like to wear pajama pants as soon as you get home and wash all the makeup off your face. You’re not single because you didn’t learn enough from the past or would rather chill on a Friday night with your blanket and a cold beer than shower, get ready, and go out. You’re not single because something is wrong with you.
You are single because you are single. It’s really as simple as that. You haven’t made the connection with another heart yet. You can get dolled up, dress cute, cut your hair, dye your hair, tweeze your eyebrows, put on lipstick and you may still. be. single. You can go out to a bar hoping to meet the love of your life and not find a **** one in the place attractive. And it’s going to remain that way until it’s time for you to find one. Stop hoping for it. Start living the life that you do have instead of wishing for things that you don’t have. There will come a time you’ll meet a boy and you’ll have to give up some of this single freedom you currently have. Start being more thankful. Start doing that now.”
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 12:29 PM UTC
When I speak,
my eyebrows tell their own story,
filling in the details.
Even when I try my hand
at tact, striving for
porcelain politeness,
my eyebrows loiter in dark corners,
gossiping.
Living with two feral beasts
on one’s face
requires discipline
just short of a chainsaw.
In private I must
chisel & furrow,
for these miniature sculptures,
these Michelangelo topiaries.
This isn’t vanity.
This is protecting a pious public
from a lecherous, libidinous wolf.
For me, leaving the house and
participating in pleasantries,
daily interactions, is enough of a
Leviathan leech loading my back
without seditionist caterpillars
millimeters from munching my eyes out.
It’s for me that I tweeze,
for one only PLUCKS chickens,
that row of hair
which runs the length of my brow.
For me, for my comfort in
social negotiations.
I also do it for you,
if only to keep you from
flinching in fear
as my eyebrows defy
my utmost efforts
at not offending you.
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 6:59 PM UTC
Pick, tweeze, pull, pluck:
Glance in the mirror for my next tuck.
Here's a confession: it's a horrible obsession.
My beauty is no longer in my possession.
I'm manufactured; a walking billboard of cosmetics.
I'm but skin covered metal and prosthetics.
Try as I may, reality will never meet my ideal distortions.
I no longer know my natural proportions.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 12:53 AM UTC
I bathe myself in preparation
Suds of lavender & honey
lathered over my smooth summer skin
I even shave
just for you
Moroccan oil pours over my scalp
exfoliating extra well behind the ears
ah the ears
my favorite spot
Gently dry off
Making sure not to miss any spots
above the knee
where usually a stubble island lingers
make sure the *******
are like starfruit
ready for your suckling
Lather cocoa butter
on elbows and around neckline
sensual, a paradise for you
My argan oil tresses, your palm trees
drown lashes in bat black
curl them upward towards cloudy head
I pinch already flushed cheeks
nice and baby doll pink, just the way you like it
All the while staining lips vamp scarlet
so that you may think their sole purpose
on my face is for
circling around your ****
I tweeze brows into crescent moons
over a Bette Davis eye sky
And I won't dare forget to bleach each pearly tooth
picket fence white
So when I flash my counterfeit grin
a twinkle may appear
and blur the emptiness
lurking between both corners
Now for the ***** bra pairing
of course midnight lace and twin
You, my dear get to unwrap this body of mine
How will you choose what to unravel first?
******* or ****
Decisions. Decisions.
All of it for your
heartbreaking ***** machismo
I arrive,
just as those perfect hands
of your clock
strike the moment you wanted them to
You dine
licking your fingers after each dish
You breathe cigarette breathe
Your pungent odor wreaks over my body
as yours climbs aboard
Hair, greasy hamburger follicles
Skin, porous with choking chemicals
And there is nothing to unwrap
nothing for me to find
Except an empty chest
The gold had been in my pockets the whole time
I must bathe you off.
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC
Sunday afternoons
When I'm finally alone
With myself again
And I can breathe
Like a normal human being,
When I take Edgar Allan Poe
Off the shelf
And sink into his words again.
Sunday afternoons
When I stop to watch a film,
A cheesy romantic comedy
About two beautiful kids
And no one will tell me
Not to laugh so loud
Or ask me why I'm crying
Such big, heavy tears.
Sunday afternoons
When I catch up:
Tweeze my brows,
Paint my nails,
Take a bath,
Maybe sing a song or two
Like I used to when I was still young
And he called me beautiful.
Sunday afternoons
When I sit on the couch,
Stare at the ceiling,
And dream of Adam
In the perfect quietness of the house,
Knowing that any minute
You'll be back,
Angry and penniless
With the smell of beer on your clothes
And not a dollar to your name.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 1:20 AM UTC
i count to three,
before i close my eyes,
one precious second,
time goes by,
forgot the mischief and holy peer days,
i wanna live for the one,
ones who slaves,
treasured thoughts captured plots caught,
bring some sort of new
i beg for change but not in value.
in the worth of sense, since
not
c.
e.
n.
T.
its pathetic when life is seen without hollow greed. you follow fingers that only pass the need,
its only for the moment
till we please.
it grants every wish
you taunts and i tease.
go figure, my wants are nothing but dirt and wheeze.
go away little field mouse
im lion to tweeze,
little ***** no more
im paying the weeds.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 2:58 AM UTC
I'm applying foundation on my face
though my skin isn't a house it puts everything in its place
Now I'm applying eyeliner to my eyes
'cause hiding the fear isn't easy without these bold black lines
And they break and they drain down my cheek with each tear
so much for those hidden fears
Blush can't hide my un-liveliness,
Gloss alone won't give me that fatal kiss
The one that's toxic, it's toxic to a blow
but at least my lips will have a gentle glow
And I pull, and I pluck the hairs
And I apply, and I powder the tears
And I tweeze, so I can please
And I apply. And I apply.
It's just a little makeup, she said.
A little touch up never hurt anyone, did it?
You hide my face, you hide my face.
But I'm a prisoner behind this mask,
and that's all it really takes.
Now I'm applying eyeliner to my eyes..
cause I can't go on throughout my day without these bold black lines.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
Don't tell.
Don't discuss.
Don't share.
Don't make a fuss.
Let your pain in a sus,
deep inside like a pus.
Squeeze it, tweeze it,
pull it out.
Till there is
no left a doubt.
Now show your bandage
like a mettle badge
and write your story
from the scratch.
Aug 23, 2021
Aug 23, 2021 at 2:31 AM UTC
Spider Spider
on my wall
how i wonder when you’ll fall
keep on crawling up my spine
etching out
a line divine
the art of war,
you know too well
and each small tread
breaks down my shell
Spider Spider
in my ear
i know you’re here
i know you’re here
Spider Spider
in my brain
your words
they make me go insane
i’ll tweeze you out
and leave you dry
cut off your legs
and blind your eyes
i’ll pinch your nose
and get the broom
cause no more spiders
in my room.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 11:51 AM UTC
of my love it fit you like
a velvet glove, molded to your
leather hand, wrapped around
your fingers like a rubber band, cutting off
your circulation. You'd be growing
a new mutation.
If you held a drop
of my pain it crush you like
a freight train. You'd be cut off from
the wrist. Your veins hanging
into a gnarly twist.
If you held a drop
of my sweat, a tiny pearl
be a threat. It burn a hole inside
your palm as if someone dropped
an hydrogen bomb.
If you held a drop
of my tears, for all the years
I wept inside my hands you'd fill
the oceans and the seas. I’m not a pluck
of hair you can tweeze.
Jan 30, 2023
Jan 30, 2023 at 7:15 AM UTC