"unbrushed" poems
Genderless with scraped knees and
A lipstick crush on one who bore the same name as me
Uncut brown hair untouched by bleach and
Stealing kisses from my best friend while my parents lied asleep
Lying in the grass with a picture book on faeries
Listening to the wind whistle through our dying trees
Jumping on the bed with my ***** and my bubby
Giggling hand over mouth when my mother called him "hubby"
Daisy chains and he loves me nots
Unbrushed teeth beginning to rot
***** shoes and ***** shoelaces
Visiting imagined places
Pink striped socks and a skirt to mismatch
Waiting for robins eggs to fall or to hatch
O, to be a child and to live within a dream
To lie awake at ten past eight, imagination like a stream
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 9:31 AM UTC
Hippie song circles,
Twist and turn your fate
Show me what's beyond the eye
Taste the absinth and watch the illusions.
Mold me to this earth
And soak me in,
I want to be whole,
I want to be whole again.
Close your eyes and we'll place daisies
In your unbrushed, long blonde hair
LSD, LSD, oh, sweet drugs
Drink my soul and breathe me out as smoke
Dellusions, illusions
Take me back in time
I don't feel right.
Keep me in these guitar kissed
Hippie song circles forever.
May 29, 2012
May 29, 2012 at 5:47 AM UTC
maple-cured, smoked, rawhide hands,
tarantula hands bulldozing rice onto
tines like an icebreaker ramming through
glacial bergs, Holly
Golightly on the tv, on
mute, and oh those hips,
that figure, in that black dress,
banana hands cracking Alaskan king
crablegs and ******* the juice and eating
the meat, legs spindly and hairy
and soaked in butter, dripping,
liver cooking, roasting, sloshed on gin,
cribbage board patinaed
in dust, he eats his liver, downs
another gin, cracks another leg, crab
hair caught in his teeth, Holly talking about
getting the mean reds but he can’t
hear it, his luck run out,
his luck a prize from a box of ******* Jack,
and the snarling throb in his head,
cinderblock face, cinderblock house,
3-day-stubble, has he had enough (to drink)?
not by the stubble of his
chinny-chin-chin,
liver is gone, crab is gone,
so he eats the eyes,
dowsing his ******* Jacks
in gin, yesterday wine-in-a-box
and Cheez-Whiz, sprayed right into his
unbrushed maw, a one-person wine-
and-cheese fête classy as it gets,
he’s Mister High Society,
Cheez-Whiz crust in his stubble,
and a cinderblock CRASHES to the floor and it’s
lights out, and Holly, still no one
to hear her, saying
she’ll never let anyone put her in a cage.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 4:25 PM UTC
Her fingers were covered in corn.
the corn after chewing, broken
pierced, churned- it could spread as butter
thick on stale toast, if needed
"it's fine, don't you worry, we'll get you all cleaned up"
she stared indifferently
Strings dangled from her mouth, unswept
full of necessary greens ---"mhm there there, this will give
you so much energy" --- drags of breath,
half inhale half choke. nothing to look forward to,
not the next soaking glob, not the cursing woman
in the bathroom, not the spill of light to her eyes
Where are the ladles, Did you check on it? The key? Just moved, most the suitcases aren't there yet. Remember to bring the Did you check on it? pay attention. Have you seen my grand kids?
who are you?
Sunday's are for the active ones
The games down the hall are too far. Why worry with legs, if she could just adjust to the left
the world could sag into an ongoing dream- No demands, no games, no movement.
The nurses hair net had more presence than the splotch of gray against her peeling itchy scalp. Drool leaked from leather lips, dampening the collar of her two month sticky blouse. Arms curled and locked,displaying under the wax skin cranberry patches-
she never wiped them off. Always the soft murmer of
a snore, always the smell of unbrushed teeth and hampers.
"Did you touch those where don't touch me scott scott scott leave my things alone thevenin I need a stop lying I want to go scott, scott? scott. I can't remember any"
I said my name four times before she heard me, knew me
I fixed her pillow and my sister marked off the day on the calendar.
We told her about school, the marching band, each word
filled with forced enthusiasm. She bobbed her head in circles, lazily
rolling her eyes, the curtain shading the empty space. We spent 30 minutes precisely.
She was more than I realized.
I never knew she had horseback riding, violin playing days. She traveled and hiked. We could have been close. Unraveling with the mystery, I felt the lateness of my curiosity.
It was 30 minutes precisely, always.
We acted as strangers, reciting routine and wishing each other a happy day and a quiet love you
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 5:21 PM UTC
Ingrid sports a black eye;
she looks like a panda.
She said she walked
into a door;
she doesn't lie
convincingly.
I know her old man;
I passed him
on the stairs of the flats;
his beady eyes
drinking me in,
giving me the cold glare,
the cold shoulder.
We walk through the Square,
off to the shops.
What happened to your eye?
I ask again,
studying the black
and slightly green;
walking beside her,
passing the milkman
and his horse drawn cart,
the horse wearing
a nosebag of food,
ignoring us.
I walked into
the bedroom door,
she says,
knowing I don't
believe her,
looking sheepish,
knowing
I guess the truth.
What have you got
to get at the shops?
I ask.
She shows me a list
on a scrap of paper,
pencil scribbled,
in her small right hand
a handful of coins.
I passed your old man
on the stairs yesterday,
I tell her,
gave him my
Wyatt Earp stare,
I say, he didn't care.
I note her hair
is unbrushed,
her green patterned dress
unwashed.
We cross Rockingham Street
into Harper Road.
I talked too much,
Dad said,
she confesses,
he said I yak and yak.
We pass the paper shop
and go on
to the grocer shop.
I say,
if I had your old man
in the sights
of my six-shooter gun
I'd fire a cap
up his ***
she sniggers;
people stare at us
as we pass.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 1:06 AM UTC
I know myself better than you.
In my heart there is a banshee waiting to drown themselves on the shores of a beach covered in discarded glass.
Her body ragged, bruised, and gaunt in every view.
She’s sharp and harsh with every cut that may pass.
Her hair obscures her eyes with a taupe wash of strands.
She pierces into the tiny drums with a venom only meant to break my spirit and erode past the bones.
Into my soul she will cut with those talons on her hands.
I can’t progress without her because she is my cornerstone.
My foundation would collapse without her haunting inside.
She’s seen my cracks and my missing parts.
Instead of leaving me numb she waters my plants.
Together we craft love and we create art.
She raised the goblin in my head to laugh and dance.
He leads us through her pain.
It’s something that helps me smile no matter how heavy the rain.
He swallows the flames we light each day or eliminates the obstacles in our way.
His skin so full and flushed;
It contrasts so greatly with her hair unbrushed.
His eyes so clear, bright, and colorful.
I can feel the joy radiate so extensively.
What he gives so soft like the silky breeze she echoes back with a call so guttural.
I always valued him more so selfishly.
There would be no him without her.
There would be no parts in me without the parts I don’t prefer.
So before you tell me that I’m intense or too much;
I hope you see how important they both are inside.
They are more than the things you can see or touch.
They are every laugh that I’ve had or every tear that I’ve cried.
I don’t need you to believe that I am the right amount between too much and just enough for you.
I believe in my own beauty and wholeness; we all do.
Aug 9, 2022
Aug 9, 2022 at 8:29 PM UTC
With my unbrushed hair and mismatched shoes,
I’m not exactly tolerable.
With my sideways thoughts and panic attacks
I’m not what you might call
tolerable.
I’ll laugh
And smile
And cry at you
Admire,
Insult,
And defend you.
Some days I'll be the death of you.
And I'll always ask for you to take it, all,
or leave me.
The only choice is to love me, all,
or leave me.
Jul 2, 2011
Jul 2, 2011 at 8:16 PM UTC
Pale heave of heavy *****
with each blossom of panting
breath--blue
roads of veins line the
tops of tender *******
the hair on the head
a straw-colored pigeon's
nest unbrushed and dull--
the eyes are sunken and darkened
like Cleopatra and Isis
beneath light and gentle brow--
the lips soft and pink
like the skin of a babe and
the light of the Crucifixion--
rosebuds, rosebuds, darling rosebuds!
Reach out into empty silent air
spread out on the velvet sheets
to become scarlet and inflamed.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
I tried to be a girl today
Painted my nails red and blue so I’d stop biting them
Tried to be pretty
With unbrushed hair and acne and calloused fingers
The nailpolish chipped off and I peeled it away
My hands wrecking the paint in place, colors end up beyond the lines of my hand, its everywhere, its ugly, Its suffocating, I take it off.
I want to say its a metaphor,
Something about how I cant cover up what I am with pretty colors and shiny surfaces.
It’s got to be indicative of future and past behavior about how I mess up preconceived ideas or something about how I break the molds that others try to put me in,
It happens every time.
It smudges, curve of fingers, grooves imprinting the paint with traces that I am there
Breaking the construct of beauty
I feel I cant say its anything more than smudged paint, despite how true the metaphors would be
Nothing more honest than the disfigured coverup and what lies beneath
I tried to be human today
Felt alien in my own skin
Wounded as I fought the judgement of a species I dont feel I belong to.
According to my mother I am an enemy of God for finding a temporary yet more beautiful love with her than I’ve found with a man.
I tried to be who you wanted, it never worked then, dont expect it to work now.
The mold that was casted does not, has not ever fit me.
I’d apologize for failing your expecations but theres no apologizing for finding solace amidst the storm.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 8:22 AM UTC
Oh my love,
You are the three day old milkshake to my fuzzy green polyp,
You are the scummy rotten pizza to my mold,
The intestine to my tape worminess,
Undoubtedly the toes to my carnivorous fungi,
The grungy wet towels to my mildew,
The unbrushed gums to my pus filled canker,
The ancient decaying wood to my deadly black sludge,
The inflamed skin to my oozing pustule,
The cone shape to my keratoacanthoma...
Without you; I would cease to exist.
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 4:34 PM UTC
Christine sat
on the edge
of her bed
her white
dressing gown
wrapped about her
her hair unbrushed
she swung her legs
back and forth
like a child waiting
to play games
you sat
on the bed opposite
your borrowed
dressing gown
dark blue
you held tight
with your hands
as the nurses
had taken away
your belt and laces
in the locked ward
when I first had ECT
she said
they took me in that room
back there and laid me
on that black couch
and said it won’t hurt
it will help
she looked at you
her eyes focused
making sure
you were listening
she brushed hair
out of her face
it’s like being a ******
before ***
you don’t know
what to expect
she added
her voice quieter
she looked around
at the ward
others were elsewhere
or in their beds
or taking a shower
and that bit
when they put
the electrodes
each side of your head
and put that thing
to bite on
yes
you said
made me feel like
I was in a dentist’s chair
back as a kid
with the smell of gas
only there isn’t gas
no gas
she said interrupting
that’s right
just feels like it
she took a deep intake
of breath
you watched her
her fingers held
the dressing gown
to her neck
the ring on her finger
she wouldn’t remove
even if the guy
didn’t show
for the wedding
she’d keep the ring
stuck there
like waiting to die
you said
and then they give you
the injection in the hand
a little *****
and the wave of nothingness
sweeps over you
and you blank out
and it’s all dark
and empty
she nodded her head
her eyes still glued
to you
then you wake
with a headache
like a huge hangover
without the *****
she said
looking away from you
her profile adding
to her beauty
and it didn’t work for me
she added
as a nurse went by
carrying blankets
me neither
you said
just the dreaded numbness
and the busted head
she got off the bed
and walked to the window
and you followed
standing beside her
looking out
at the trees
and fields
covered in snow
a tractor across the way
with gulls and rooks
following behind
and she touched
your hand with hers
the blind
leading the blind.
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 2:42 AM UTC
Lydia
sat on the
red tiled door
step of the
ground floor flat
looking out
at the Square
one morning
one Sunday
her father
was in bed
her mother
preparing
Sunday lunch
listening
to music
on the old
radio
her 15
year old big
sister was
asleep with
her boyfriend
her brother
Hem was out
looking for
spiders
to pull off
their legs
one by one
the man with
his boxer
dog walked by
then she saw
Benedict
in tee shirt
and blue jeans
armed with his
6 shooters
in holsters
wearing a
cowboy hat
where abouts
you going?
She asked him
clean up Dodge
he replied
why? is it
***** then?
She called out
sitting there
in her green
flowered dress
Benedict
walked over
to where she
was sitting
you ok?
He asked her
pushing back
on his head
the black hat
no I'm bored
and fed up
she replied
come with me
we can both
clean up Dodge
Benedict
said to her
so where's Dodge?
She asked him
on the big
bomb site off
Meadow Row
can I have
one of your
6 shooters?
Sure you can
have to tell
my mum where
I'm going
Lydia said
Benedict
nodded his
head and said
best not to
mention Dodge
or she may
not let you
go with me
so she went
indoors and
asked her mum
where will you
be? she asked
we're going
to clean up
Dodge City
who are we?
Benedict
and just me
her mother
stared at her
o I see
mother said
be careful
of the roads
and that was
all she said
carrying
on with the
preparing
of the lunch
Lydia
went off with
Benedict
borrowing
one of his
6 shooters
tucked in the
green bow of
her green dress
her eyes bright
her straight hair
unbrushed
and
quite a mess.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 3:20 AM UTC
You see me
I'm perfect
Perfect Jawline
Perfect Hair
Perfect Grades
Perfect Persona
Do you see me?
My flaws
My tear stained Face
My unbrushed hair
My struggling work
My sorrows
You see me
Do you see me?
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 4:14 PM UTC
it was only meant to keep me alive.
I see how you did that
I see how you grew your fingernails long enough to wrap them around yourself
tasting cruelty on your unbrushed teeth? is it there yet?
you'll bite your lip to seem kind
: secretly let it bleed out to seem pained
you are so small
your biggest actions fit beneath my tongue better than a honey lemon
cough drop
the words said themselves,
I didn't have to put them in front of you,
you simply held out your plate and asked for more.
what more did you want?
it is too often that you hear yourself through a megaphone
mute it mute it, stop it
everything you want is hiding in your eye sockets
this moment is too microscopic you complain
it's too scary to see what's behind you
so I stand before you
mirror
hit me
look at yourself
hit me
there's nothing in my hands
nothing in my pockets
I'm not tricking you, and I never was.
Feb 13, 2011
Feb 13, 2011 at 7:59 PM UTC
I didn't mind her bushy eye brows
I didn't mind her unbrushed hair
I didn't mind her mismatched shoes
I didn't mind that she never looked nice
Because she wasn't meant to look nice
She was made to make me feel something
She was art
Art wasn't supposed to be "nice"
Art is supposed to make you feel something
Something new and extraordinary
And I knew from the moment I laid eyes on her
She was meant for me
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 2:51 PM UTC
The sun was out strong
and there were ducks
and swans on the water
in the park
and Julie
was there with you
clothed
in her hippy dress
and her hair let loose
and unbrushed
in sandaled feet
beside you
on the park bench
she had her legs
out straight
in front of her
as if she were making sure
they were still there
need a fix
she said
need it
like hell
you took in her eyes
lightless as if someone
had switched off
the bulbs in the rooms
of her head
can’t they give you stuff
back at the hospital?
you asked
they’ve no idea
they’re stuff shirts
and narrow heads
she said
that ward sister
doesn’t no ****
you sat
and looked away
some kid
was feeding ducks
at the fence
enjoying the excitement
of the feeding process
lost on the less innocent
it’s all if you do this
such and such will result
and if you take
such and such
this may go away
she said bitterly
how about an ice cream
up there on the rise
of the hill?
you said
she pushed her hands
between her legs
as if to push back
the fix hunger
as if that will solve
the fix ****
she said
didn’t say it would
but it sure tastes good
you said gently
seeing the kid
clap her hands
for more bread
Julie got up
and walked away
and you followed
watching her hips sway
unsteadily
like a ship buffeted
by rough seas
she spoke over
her shoulder
said words about
her parents
the rich
middle class
suckers
about the do-gooders
who came
to the ward
with their bright eyes
and second hand faith
you just listened
walking beside her
her hands going up
and down by her sides
as if out of control
how about that ice cream?
you said
watching her eyes
staring ahead
I know what you’re after
she bellowed
either my soul
to save
or a quickie in bed
an old woman
on a park bench
gazed at her passing by
with that
o dear me look
in her ancient eye
you asked about
maybe take
in the art gallery
look at the Moderns
you had neared
the ice cream van
and she stood there
looking with her eyes
on the menu
on the side
hands motionless
and still
what are you having?
you asked
a fix if I could
but that ice cream
with chocolate flakes
and sauce
will do for now
she said
and so you bought two
from the Italian looking guy
and gave her one
and kept one yourself
and walked on back
by the water
and bridge
she quiet
slow walking
you eating and *******
no thought of ***
or her fix
or side room
*******
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 3:56 AM UTC
Sitting
Watching the rain fall down
The soft cushions I sit on absorb me
My eyes track the glistening drops that
Race down the glass in front of me
My breath fogs on the window
Looking down on it, it reflects a rainbow
Something that on another day
I would find beautiful
Any other day
My hand opens and closes still empty
My other rests in my hair
The cracked cement darkens with the rain
Glistening and reflecting the golden foliage above
One large puddle in the middle of the street
Holds a sun above treetops
On the ground below their trunks
The sun is clear as it often is in the mornings
Like a glass of water, cool, crisp and transparent
Despite the rain
No children run in the streets
Puddles left unsplashed
One tricycle sits
Yellow and red plastic too wet to sit on
A shoe floats in a puddle
Pink laces fray pink leather fades
The room I sit in is almost silent
My heartbeats and a shallow breath
This is the loudest room in the house
Diamonds and squares of light
Spill farther into the room as the sun rises
A gently tipping bucket of stained glass
My body is exhausted
The calm after a storm
Sadness soothing muscles clenched from anger the night before
Breathe in
Breathe out
Steady slow
My tears slow
Stop
And dry
Warm memories
Laying in the grass
Sun glancing off my freckles
What’s not to smile about?
But sitting in a dark room with the lights off
Simply because no one is here would need them on
But me
Not quite as warm
But in the darkness
Other senses flourish
Music is that much more beautiful
Textures have more vibrancy than before
So while that dark is a reminder of being alone
It’s a way to better experience that moment
A better way to see the person who is in the room
*You aren’t alone when your with you
And that dim light makes you hear your heart beat
Feel every fiber of your hair
You are perfect
Perfection with flaws
Like home cooked food or handmade art*
I stand up from those cushions
I run my fingers through my unbrushed hair
And see that I need to stop looking at that window
I need to stop waiting for something
And start doing something
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 8:19 PM UTC
7pm
My friends bring you up in conversation for the first time in months. I say it was for the best, couldn't have worked out anyway.
9pm
On my own again. I can't close my eyes without thinking about you. This alcohol is burning through my body.
11pm
My vision is distorted, all my mind is clearly focused on is your voice.
11.30pm
Wondering if you ever think of me, or my voice. Wondering if you miss the "good morning" as soon as you wake up. Wondering if it sounds as homely coming from her.
1am
I thought I was doing fine. Whenever you come up in conversation my heart starts racing and I can't stop thinking about how you made me feel, how we made each other feel.
2am
This is torture.
3am
Red eyes and wet cheeks. Please miss me back. Please call me and tell me.
4am
I want to call you. I want nothing more than to hear your voice again.
5am
Wondering if it killed a part inside of you like it killed a part of me. Wondering if I'll ever get that part back.
6am
Black coffee and 10 cigarettes. I wish I could **** this habit as much as I could quit smoking if I wanted to. I know how much you couldn't stand my cigarette and alcohol kisses.
7am
I break down again when I realise I'm nothing more to you than a memory.
10am
Baggy eyes and unbrushed hair. Yes, I am okay, just a little tired.
9pm
He's not you. But he's here and you're not.
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 7:07 PM UTC
I was reading my book
Snug in my little nook
Entranced by the flowing prose
I was in my comfy clothes
When you came upstairs
You sat in the little egg chair
You maintained the silence
We've developed a reliance
On this strange dynamic
We probably both need a mechanic
After several minutes, I look at you
You look like you always do
Black hair unbrushed
Face a little flushed
Your looking out the window
The afternoon light setting your face a glow
I think you look pretty this way
Unassuming in the face of the day
Your not trying to be something, you just are
And that has gotten you pretty far
May 12, 2012
May 12, 2012 at 9:59 PM UTC
*shut the **** up and stop pretending that anyone cares*,
but of course i already knew that already. it’s what you say
when you tease me and yell at me and when you throw a box
of tissues across the room. ******** because i’m as full of it
with my niceties as you are strutting in your oil-stained boots
and old-lady fur coat. you care as much as i do, and yet you laugh
at me for hating times new roman, and yes, i hate it as much as i hate
not thinking for myself. i’d rather have a blank page of unheard thoughts
but you, you don’t even know. i write what i like until the page overflows
while your unbrushed teeth fill with unfiltered words until the dam breaks
and it’s **** you and your ******** so i sit helplessly on the corner of your bed,
listening to you cry before reading your poetry. i awkwardly caress your arm
and squeeze your bitten fingernails. i sit in the silence that i wish would fill
with expectation, but it only fills me with the rawness of what you and i
have become, stripped to some naked vulnerability until everything
you never say leaves me grasping for more.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 3:47 PM UTC
All of the identical houses
have identical stains--
each one a sprawling green spot.
a moldy, neglected reminder
that somebody didn't finish their chores.
slanted roof tiles, now crooked, yellowing
like unbrushed teeth.
weeds erupt from the cracked pavement.
these are the signs of undetermined futures
lost.
forget the ugly idealistic fantasies of tomorrow.
optimism has found a new home
and it has moved far away
and it has packed all its boxes
leaving only vague memories behind.
once upon a time
I did my chores. ( Not well)
But they are done.
I asked for help but I only received
blank stairs.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 4:18 PM UTC
Greasy hair tied back
pink scrunchies haphazardly holding together the unbrushed strands
rosemary mint chapstick smeared between lips and lips and lips on lips
backseat bouncer, I'll leave when the dance is done
The same type of ***** this visual you get when you watch the sky turn in the AM
pink, blue, green, gold, gone
shoes off in hand, feet itch on concrete
to corner store barely open fifteen minutes
cherry coke slushies are so good at 7AM
how dare you preach to me calling me
"Honey, Baby Girl, Peach"
listen to me for a change
Im no lesser than you because I prefer to live like wind
with a here today gone tomorrow mindset
It wasn't love, this isn't love
wont answer your calls, at school a nod in the halls,
baby my motto is pitstops and pitfalls
a brief rest for restoration, then back to hopping barbed wire fences
I don't mean to be mean but this is the last you'll see of me for a long time
because Love isn't real and if it is she took it with her
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 1:56 AM UTC
Those nights in which I stumble to bed,
Makeup still intact,
Jeans and shoes remaining,
Uncombed, unbrushed,
Unwritten and undefined...
Bring on the days
In which I don't give two ***** about anything.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 7:16 PM UTC
Once upon a time my name
Was bloodlust,
And in its Stygian fury I came
Like thermonuclear landscaping.
I became that furnace
Into which all
Bad ideas are tossed, and which
Generates the white hot,
Ghost hound heat
To fuel a motor,
To fill a peoples’ festering maw,
Their yawning, gurgling need
For macabre dances,
And human plane crashes.
It went like that for uncounted eons,
Only mentioned in bleakly
Humorous passing,
And spoken by dry tongues, and
Unbrushed teeth.
I danced, and crashed, and
Held court on Hell’s balcony
While the sun shed morning blood,
Again and again.
All the while, black smoke built up like
Silt on the popcorn ceiling.
That **** ceiling, which dropped
Little dreams and teasers on the carpet
To be pried out by desperate fingers
Which only proved themselves to be plaster
After I had snorted them.
That **** ceiling.
The audience, for being so large, was so quiet
Biting their knuckles, and waiting, breathless
For the final blitzkrieg that would have rendered my Poland
A cratered waste.
I did not want to disappoint, crawling like a pig
Sniffing, searching, sweating, and
Not wanting to let them down.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 3:19 AM UTC