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JJ Hutton Apr 2013
There are only two ways to truly know someone: sleep with them or take them bowling.
Phoenix Aime was the woman of my dreams. So, I took her bowling.

Paid for a game. Rented shoes. Got the little, sticky bracelet thingy that said Slippery Joe Lanes.
That way if we got in some sort of accident on the way home,
the guy at the morgue could identify us as bowlers. Anyway, here's the bulleted list of what I knew about Phoenix up to that point:

• She looked like Diane Keaton circa 1972
• She talked with great pretension concerning craft beer
• She only patronized two restaurants: Denny's and IHOP
• She was eight years older than me
• She kissed my sister once on a dare
• Her shoe size was 7
• She was perfect or a near synonym

The bowling alley was empty save a World War II vet in a wheelchair and his wife at lane six,
and they were barely there. Country music played over the loud speaker. And I felt cozy. Predictable. Like a payment plan on the QVC.

That was until Phoenix said, "I forgot something. I'm going to go talk to Mack real quick."
Mack worked the front desk, according to his name tag. Talk to Mack. She just talked to Mack. Mack was sleeping with her. I untied my shoelaces. Oh, Mack, love your red polo with blue tiger stripes.
I pulled my sneakers off. Oh, Mack, I love it when you dip your finger in nacho cheese and feed it to me. Slid my right foot into bowling shoe. Halfway in with the left, and my socked foot struck something plastic. A stick of tiny deodorant. Like unsavory truck-stop-to-truck-stop deodorant. Oh, Mack, I love it when you deodorize -- so hard. Pull the strings tight on the left shoe. Oh, Mack, rub the deodorant until your underarms are SO CHALKY AND WHITE.

"You okay?" Phoenix asked.

"Yeah, what do I look like something's wrong?"

She carried a seafoam green bowling ball with a ****** Mary insignia. "It looks like you triple-knotted your shoes there."

And I said something dumb like, better safe than sorry.

"Sorry about leaving you all alone. Mack holds onto my ***** for me," she said.  I bet he does. "I hate talking to that guy." What? "He's a vegan."

Now, at that time in my life, I was a vegan. And had planned some stirring remarks about the processing of sweet little piggies into cancerous hot dog machines on the way to pick her up. Thought she would think me full of passion, "on fire" for a cause, you know? The wise thing would have been to say, oh well, I'm a vegan. But instead I asked, "What do you mean?"

"You know serial killer's get a last meal before they're executed, right?"

"Right." Where the hell is this going?

"Well, have you ever heard of someone on death row requesting a last meal that didn't involve some sort of animal product? Gacy had buckets of chicken, Bundy had a medium rare steak, even uh, ****, what was his name, McVeigh, Timothy McVeigh he had two pints of mint chocolate ice cream. Dairy."

"I'm not sure how this refutes veganism."

"Nobody is a vegan for their last meal. Nobody. I'm not going to subscribe to a diet that I can't follow until the very end. Live every day like your last, that's my motto."

"That's your motto." I said. To be a great listener, just repeat the last three or four things anyone says to you and raise your eyebrows a little bit. (Examples: "My dog died." -- "You're dog died.", "I never ate breakfast burritos again." -- "Never ate it again.", "I love you." -- "You love me.")

Over Phoenix's shoulder, over by lane six, the wife wheeled the World War II vet up to the lane. And he tossed the ball. Good team, I thought. Want to know someone take them to the bowling alley.

Phoenix removed a glove from her pocket. She had her own ball. Brought her own badass, jet black bowling gloves. And if her carnivorous tendencies hadn't already put a ***** in the Golden Days of Josh and Phoenix, that glove did.

She typed her name first on the scoring computer. Didn't ask if I wanted to go first. That's fine. Approached the lane, three fingers inside the ****** Mary. She brought her bony arm back with the grace of a ballerina tucked away stage right in the shadows. Mary cut from grace slid down the lane with a spin.

Strike. I couldn't really see the pins from my angle. But I recieved a transmission via the "yes" and arm pump. That was two marks against her, and I was going to three. I'd call it strikes, but well, the whole bowling skew.

Here's a bulleted list of what a "yes" and arm pump immediately taught me:

• She takes bowling serious.
• If you take bowling serious, when do you relax?
• She'd never relax.
• My life would be tucked shirts, matching belts and shoes.

For six frames, I picked up fours and sevens. Phoenix, though, nothing but strikes. I threw a gutter on frame seven. Like a normal human being, I shrugged. Made a face out the sides of my mouth. Kept it light.

"I thought you were a grown *** man," Phoenix said.

"Me too."

What happened next, I willed. I'm not god or anything like that. At the time, just cosmicly ******.
Her step stuttered. 7-10 split. "Mack!" she screamed. "Floors are slicker than a used car salesman's hair."

From across the alley,
"Sorry, Phoenix, baby. I'll bring you some nachos. That make up for it?"

"Ain't gonna knock down two pins is it?"

"So, uh, no nachos then?"

"Actually, go ahead and bring those."

She lined up. Back straight. Legs together. She rolled her neck. "You're about to see how it's done."

And I didn't. She broke it down the middle. Field goal. In that moment, that holy moment, I was knowledge plateau. Vindicated.

For about 10 seconds.

Mack swaggered over, nachos in hand. "Phoenix, sweetie, you okay?"

"Do I look okay?"

"No, that's why I asked."

"Just give me the nachos."

"Ah crap." Mack had gotten his pointer finger in the nacho cheese.

"Let me see it."

And right there, right in front the ****** Mary seafoam green bowling ball, she slurped the cheese off his finger."

Frame seven, a good as time as any to call it a match. The wife of the World War II vet kissed her husband's forehead. Handed him a ball. As I walked by, hand on shoulder. "Struck gold, dude."
Lauren Christine Dec 2017
"when my body was mine"
a line read recently

did i let my body slip out of my own skin
before i noticed
was i so oblivious as it dripped between their fingers
so far from my skin

when i was told i was old enough to need to shave,
my hair wasn't mine anymore.
when my rough and wild behavior
was no longer considered ladylike enough,
and i had to tame my wild skin
to sit and dance in proper ways,
my posture wasn't mine anymore.
when my toes were deemed to callous for society
my innocent beautiful little toes
were strapped into shoes
and forgot their freedom for a time,
my feet were no longer mine.
when they called out at my body
when it possessively dripped between their fingers
i realized that i had let my body belong to other people

and so i let my hair grow thick
everywhere
and i carry myself with the joy i feel
and i sit and dance from the inside out
trying to forget how much i may stand out
vulnerability is strength
vulnerability is strength
i tell myself
as i dance barefoot with hairy underarms
in out-of-style clothes and an unpainted face
come dance, please come dance,
so we may taste the flavor of life together
Steven Fried Jun 2013
You roll on
You gel on
No matter what the reason
You have a beautiful aroma

You gel on
You slicken propagation
You have a beautiful aroma
You make the senses burgeon with new life

You slicken propagation
Across the nation spreads, the cooling sensation
You make the senses burgeon with new life
You stop sweaty pits rife with strife

Across the nation spreads the cooling sensation
Cool underarms allow for a vigorous standing ovation
You stop sweaty pits rife with strife
You deserve an award for saving many-a social life

Cool underarms allow for vigorous standing ovation
So applause to you Deodorant
You deserve an award for saving many-a social life
You bring us together- no matter the weather- in a tank or in a sweater

So applause to you Deodorant
You bring us together- no matter the weather- in a tank or in a sweater
Pantoum attempt with a couplet summation at the end
Nancy is a new generation of computers programmed to respond biologically she has built-in human shortcomings including conflicted feelings uncertainty sense of soul pre-installed parts of her are dying she can feel it after elaborate shower focusing on specific body selections underarms feet ****** *** face allowing other anatomical regions to retain natural biotech oils lathering scalp with premiere restructuring shampoo conditioner she dries applies fastidious refined moisturizer emollients to forehead eyelids mouth neck areas vigorously massages special mousse treatment into brunette hair cut medium length brushes teeth rinses with spearmint mouthwash lightly rouges face with extra fine powder mist meticulously paints eyes lips with conventional colors finally adding distinctive subtle scents behind ears neck décolletage wrists thighs derriere toes tonight will be 2nd date with Rick handsome successful options trader who has no idea Nancy is extremely sophisticated complex doll meeting at catch.com on their 1st date Rick has too much to drink possibly owing to his nervousness or shyness around Nancy who possesses regal beauty bearing yet infectious smile laugh he spills 3rd drink then orders 4th drink Nancy becomes courteously standoffish

Bob’s LG electronic 27.5 cubic foot French door refrigerator’s water filter ice system located on door is malfunctioning spewing out brown fetid ice chips onto extremely intricate decorative parquet (palace style) floor consequently leaking into downstairs neighbors custom design ceiling dwelling to make matters worse Bob’s smart phone is on the blink his internet connection down due to unpredicted wild winds he is beside himself in isolated frustration compounding this calamity is foreboding realization Bob highly trained biotech computer programmer may have miscalculated tiny chip link inside Nancy’s cerebellum stem

as Nancy is about to open door for eagerly waiting Rick holding small gift box in hand with note that reads thank you for giving me a 2nd chance something quite irregular unforeseen pleasure fear motor impulse tenses snaps inside her head she reaches for door handle while other hand grasps butcher knife
Àŧùl Feb 2014
You get upset with me,
You do not talk to me,
You then keep mum.
I do not panic then,
I stay calm instead,
I smile wickedly &...
And I rush my fingers,
To your underarms!
My HP Poem #537
©Atul Kaushal
Benji James Mar 2018
Feel the heat building up inside
Steam is rising from my soul
Sweaty palms and underarms
People telling me, remain calm
I'm shaking, to break this spirit free
No one can hold me down
Don't try to stop me now
You'll never shut my mouth
Gonna take more than a bullet to take me out
You can throw me in the middle of the ocean
I refuse to drown
As this earth rotates
I push against the grain
Drenched in blood
Found strength in my pain
Now you'll see the crown I came to claim

I was underestimated
I've been underrated
This is my statement
Printed in my pages
I've been underrated
Under sedation
Locked in nightmares
Trying to find acceptance
Through somebody else's eyes
Instead of seeing perfection through mine

Doesn't it make you sick to your stomach
The feeling that we get
When we don't feel that we are getting our dues
and we've paid prices with priceless items
Laid it all on the line
In this battle of life
Hearts on our sleeve
And through the ink, I've bled
Still didn't end up dead
Sleepless nights in bed
Pen in hand
Experience my life through my writes
Through my stories, You take walks in my shoes
Fate chose me, So I chose it too
And that's how it lead me to you

I was underestimated
I've been underrated
This is my statement
Printed in my pages
I've been underrated
Under sedation
Locked in nightmares
Trying to find acceptance
Through somebody else's eyes
Instead of seeing perfection through mine

Power through perception
life lessons through direction
Emotions through connection
Love through detection
Minds were blown through comprehension
I found peace in this eternal mind
I now know that I am all that I need to be
Now I see I just need to be me
Just relax and rest at ease
They'll take you as you are
Flaws and all
Just breathe
and let them see

I was underestimated
I've been underrated
This is my statement
Printed in my pages
I've been underrated
Under sedation
Locked in nightmares
Trying to find acceptance
Through somebody else's eyes
Instead of seeing perfection through mine

©2018 Written By Benji James
Emily L May 2015
She listens to No Doubt singing
"I'm just a girl,"
while shaving her legs.
The hair collects in the bathtub
all scattered across
like blown dandelion puffs
over the water's murky face.
Tiny wishes for
the barest underarms and legs
but she's a women
'they make us bleed'
or so they say.
'Cause I'm just a girl
I'd rather not be,'
while my innocence
circles the drain.
Lucky me...
I'm torn and *****
'living in captivity'
but "I'm just a girl."
"Don't you think I know
Exactly where I stand"
No Doubt lyrics in quotations!
Mike Hauser Sep 2013
People often say now I understand
When they hear that I'm from Paree
Not Gay Paree silly, but redneck
In the heart of Tennessee

I am the newest style of hairdressers
Here to lay out all the facts
I no longer work on the tops of heads
But straight out of the pits

It all happened when I got bored
With the every day to day
Trimming of the head left me feeling dead
That's when it hit me..."Underarm Braid"

That right there was my life saver
That right there was my turn around
If it didn't make me world famous
At least it did on this side of town

Now people come from as far as Nashville
To have their underarms done
I even gave a left and right pit Mohawk
To the Governor's daughter and son

What? Did you think I only braided?
There's so much more that I can do
Just ask the Punk Rock Chick's that wait in line
To have their armpits colored blue

My older clientele have let there hair grow out
Since it is they learned
I'm now specializing in for both women and men
Their favorite sets and perms

So feel the freedom of the pits
That hippie chicks have long since known
Here at Michael's Salon Of Pits
We'll do something special with that growth
Kate Dempsey Jun 2011
I kneeled on the polished wood floor, panting and sweating. My body was writhing in pain, having been mercilessly beaten two masked men; I knew not who they were or why they had come for me. Nor did I know where I was now. I didn’t know anything anymore; everything was drowned in a rising sea of confusion. There was nothing but my battered body, slowly letting forth blood and the wooden floor, gluttonously sapping the heat from my hands and legs and hoarding it within its cold, polished surface.
My ears perked as I heard a noise outside of my elegant prison. As I strained my ears to their fullest extent, I almost grasped what the sound was. Soon, there were several noises and they were louder than the original one. After an unknown period of time, I recognized the sounds as speech even though I could not understand it. Fear swelled within my heart. I feared that the goons who had battered me and sealed me in this room were among those who conversed in the hallway and what horrific things they would do to me if they returned. I prayed for the voices to stop, for them to leave. I waited for the worst, but prayed for the best. I silently and fervently prayed to a God that I only halfway believed in.
Silence. My prayers had been answered. I let out a sigh of relief. It was the first unrestricted breath I had taken since my troubles began. I savored this breath; I inhaled solace and exhaled fear. I rose to my knees and straightened my weary back, feeling the bones crack several times. How wonderful it felt to be upright again!
The doorknob clicked. My eyes darted toward the door. Almost immediately, five men entered, all of them splendidly dressed. They walked with elegance, like kings. Two of them stood at the back of the small room, their eyes watching me like those of a bird of prey pondering ******* a rat. A large man approached me, slowly but menacingly with his great girth shifting with every step. I felt my body tense as I waited for him to strike me. Even with this, I noticed the other two men standing in the corner, continuing their conversation. I tried desperately to listen in. Perhaps they would mention why I was here? But no understanding was to be gained as I could not understand a single word. I recognized the language, however, was Mandarin. Without a moment’s notice, I felt a shove and my chest and face came into an abrupt and painful contact with the floor. It took me a moment to realize that the fat man had kicked me. He shouted at me, in an unintelligible anger. I rose back to my knees and hands and looked into the face of my assaulter.
He was massive. His body was that of a great pig in an elegant, well-tailored suit. His skin was a very tanned yellow and his hair was combed back. He had an upturned nose and small, accusatory eyes glistening with ire as he looked down upon me. He stood before me with a sinister smile as my eyes wandered to his hands. I watched as he ran a fat, jeweled hand over a gorgeous cane. As he continued to stroke the cane, I wondered how he would abuse me next. He circled me once and stopped at my side, his patent leather shoes shining brightly. I could see nothing else of him but his shoes. At that moment, he shouted something at me, and beat me with the cane.
I could not understand his question. Had he asked me about drugs, embezzling, money? I knew nothing of such matters, for I was a simple person. The second I replied “I don’t know”, he struck me again and again, over and over. He soon began to kick me simultaneously, until I collapsed back onto the floor. My stomach and legs had had about all they could take. I was already bruised and I could feel my bones aching. I began to cry. I thought of my husband and my daughter and wondered if I would ever be able to return home. Surely they would wonder why I had not returned home by now and would worry. I somehow believed that I would not ever see them again. It was a terrifying thought.
The pig man began to giggle hideously, his voice gurgling and unpleasant, sounding simple-minded and unrefined. He then began to **** my shoulder with his magnificent cane as he began to tease me, like a demented child. I thought him to be a savage, uncivilized and impolite. For some reason though, I could not completely fear him; I could only hate him. One of the two men in the corner addressed me, and scuffled to my front. His plain face addressed me with a cool and aloof manner, showing neither disgust nor compassion. His spoke to me with a tone that was calculating and observatory and it made me long to know what he was saying even more. But somehow, I welcomed his presence. He was so much less offensive, not striking me or adding to my confusion. He turned away and addressed his companion, who was now seated at the beautiful mahogany desk at the front of the room. His gestured to me rigidly and spoke smoothly to the man.
I could not see the other man particularly well, as the room was dim and most of his form was hidden from me by shadows. How I wished they could have hidden the pig man as effectively. The cold man then knelt to my level and my eyes rose to meet his. I was afraid of what someone so stoic would do to me. I knew not what he was thinking. His slender lips parted.
“Do not fake ignorance. We know it was you.” he said slowly, the words slipping from his lips like water. I was relieved to discover that one of them spoke English. Perhaps he could help me understand why I was brought here.
“What was me? I have not done anything! I promise you!” I had no earthly idea what he believed I had done. I was completely ignorant. I wracked my mind, hoping to think of any obscure reason as to why they had apprehended me and what I might have done to anger them so. His eyes never left mine. He slowly blinked and reopened his eyes. They were cold and unforgiving, shining brightly like black, polished beads. I felt shivers travel down my spine and into my legs. His blank stare somehow felt like a death sentence. He rose and continued to speak to the man at the desk, who was shuffling through papers, and rummaging through what I believed to be a cash box.
With a quiet emission of speech from the man behind the desk, the room grew silent. He rose from the desk and floated over to my limp body. His feet glided gracefully, always stepping perfectly. With only a short phrase, the cold-eyed man walked away. I panicked. He was the only one who could understand what I was saying. I scrambled after him, grabbing onto his leg, begging him to allow me to accompany him to anywhere but this frightening room. Without so much as a glance at me, he shook his ankle free and departed. I felt my only chance at freedom leave with him. A chill passed through my body as I submitted to silent desperation. I lowered my head and cried.
The man gestured me back to him, calling to me in his exotic language as he switched on the desk lamp, allowing me to see him. I was nervous from having seen the two goons at the back of the room. His appearance alone was a relief. As I crawled toward him, I felt that I was meeting a god.
He wore a red silk jacket, embroidered intricately and elegantly with gold flowers and calligraphy that I wished I could read. His hand bore a simple ring, silver with a round stone in the middle, obviously jade. His face was no less impressive. He had smooth pale yellow skin and pleasing brown eyes, large and misty. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail. His smooth lips were wrapped around a long and slender pipe. I watched him inhale and exhale a dancing little cloud of smoke, admiring how gorgeously his chest rose and fell. He looked somehow lukewarm, neither kind nor cruel, not gracious or threatening. He spoke briefly to the two men standing steadfastly at the back. I immediately knew that the graceful one was the leader of this group.
One of the two men grabbed me by my arms, shocking me while the other proceeded to unbutton my ripped and sullied shirt. Why were they removing my clothing? Were they planning to **** me and dispose of me afterward? I feared the worst as they removed my shirt and bra, revealing my upper torso and proceeded to roughly remove my pants as I struggled to free myself. Once I was completely naked, they released me and I crouched upon the ground and cried. Soon, they would have their way with me. One of the lesser men picked up my clothing and inspected the pockets as if he was searching for something. Whatever he was expecting to find was beyond me. I looked back up at the beautiful man, wondering what horrors he had in store for me. His eyes met mine and we both stared for a long time; our gazes were only interrupted once we heard the crumpling of paper.
The both lesser men were inspecting a sheet of paper that they had found in my pocket. One of them waved it about triumphantly and handed it over to the boss. He too examined the paper as an expression of mild confusion overcame his round face, like a moon as it waxes and wanes. Once he grew frustrated with the paper, he handed it to me speaking in his foreign tongue. I did not need a translation, he wished for me to decipher the paper somehow. I inspected the paper with weary eyes and gasped. It was a shopping list! I tried to explain to the boss that the contents of the paper were merely what I planned to purchase for tonight’s dinner. I could tell that he did not completely believe me. His eyes grew suspicious and uncertain. I felt that somehow, this man’s displeasure would be enough for him to end my earthly life.
He took the paper from me and twirled his pipe in the fingers of his opposite hand. He picked up a piece of paper from his desk, comparing the two papers as he delicately balanced his pipe between his teeth. The look of confusion vanished from his face, looking as if he deciphered my language. Perhaps he would set me free? Surely, he could not draw a valid conclusion from a shopping list. He spoke to his subordinates with resolve and confidence, seeming somehow certain of something. He spoke like he uncovered a key detail that unlocked a great mystery. I knew not what he was speaking of, but I knew that he had decided what to do with me. I was somehow more afraid than ever, thinking that he would somehow ****** me, despite my innocence. He kneeled to my level and took my face into his hand and plunged his hand into one of his pockets. I feared that he would pull out a gun or a knife. I snapped my eyes shut, and was afraid to open them again. He spoke a benign and gentle-sounding word and immediately, I felt something graze my face.
Against my better judgment, I opened my tearful eyes, and saw that he was wiping my face with a handkerchief. He wiped my tears away from face. After my face was clean and dry, he swept my hair from my face. I tried to decipher his eyes, looking for a twinkle of kindness of a glint of malicious intent. He gave no such signal. Instead, he placed the handkerchief into my hand. He rose, looking mighty and fearsome and rose his pipe to his lips, but not taking a puff. Even though he looked non-threatening, his lack of emotion baffled me and I was somehow more afraid than ever, despite his fleeting moment of kindness. He rose an elegant and slender hand and waved dismissively toward me. He gestured to the two men and pointed toward the door. He was completely silent. I was about to be taken away.
The two subordinates grabbed me by the underarms, one on each side of me and stood me up clumsily. I watched as the gorgeous boss began to inhale slowly, savoring the flavor of his tobacco. I somehow felt that his breath was connected with my life, that I was doomed to die the moment that little puff had been expelled. The men began to drag me away with my bare heels dragging along the ground. I watched the boss desperately, praying that he would say something that could save me as the goons dragged me over the threshold of the door. One of them placed a bag over my head just as I saw the boss emit a thick smoke which masked his face, the way that clouds hide the elusive moon. I was blinded, but knowing that I was about to be killed. I did not need any clues to be sure of it. The boss had exhaled and I knew that by the time the smoke had cleared, I had vanished from his view.
I am aware that this is technically prose, but I still wanted to submit it. I wrote it a couple of months ago, believing that it might one day be something of merit. Perhaps I am mistaken, but I hope everyone enjoys it.
I'm back, babies.
Hilda Jun 2013
.
"That there Is'belle's house stinks wunderful turr'ble,"croaked Emma Beiler at their quilting bee.
"Jah...vell," sighed Rosanna Yoder. "All them there katzes , ain't so?"
Accordingly the two ladies set out to pay Travis and Isabella Salter a visit, only to be politely told that they had were in the process of taking some cats to a local shelter.
Two weeks passed and to the Amish folks' disgust the odour had merely intensified.
"Them there Englisch are chust liars!" Potato Sam spat the words out along with a *** of chewing tobacco.
" Ach, vell," sighed  his wife Rosanna, unaware of her heavily sweating underarms. The Ordnung  strictly forbade deodorant as well as perfume. "Reckon I best  mosey over and see fur myself."
Travis opened the door with a tired sigh.
'Chust thought I'de ask vhat fur stinks yer house up so vonderful tur'ble...Izzy tells us youse gettin' rid of them but-"
A puzzled look crossed Travis weary face as he glanced toward the kitchen. Irritation gripped him, not lessened as Rosanna glowered at Tabby washing her face on the couch. Then a waft of a familiar scent, overpowering, drifted toward him from the kitchen. Brussel sprouts enhanced by -.
With all the stress, Isabelle was increasing her calming herbs, mixing the powders.... Valerian?
"Good evening, Mrs. Yoder." He motioned her toward the door, locking it firmly behind her. For a long time after she was gone he stood staring out the window.
Pen Lux Apr 2013
blanketed in white
skin. that shadow
creeps me out of
my own. it's you
that burns through
gazes, not me. I
burn through pages,
in wrinkles written
with pen. loose grip
on water, I slip into
habits a little too big
for me and it's the same
as being held as a child.
when the distance grew
as I did, my underarms
began to ache, that familiar
fear of being picked up. taller still,
I am, standing in a pit that raises
to my knee caps.

I'm often caught trying
to keep my roots warm
while my face melts.
Let’s face it: we’re not all George Clooney.
Most of us need a little help scoring with chicks.
Our *****—the archetypal genital signal—
Are hidden from sight, &
****** wagging
Will get you arrested.
Perhaps, pheromones may be the answer.

Dr. Winifred Cutler’s Bio:
(As read by Don Pardo, postmortem).
“Biologist and behavioral endocrinologist Dr. Winifred Cutler was the first to establish the presence of human pheromones in 1986 when her team removed sweat from human underarms and found that only the odorless materials that contained pheromones remained.”

Blessed are the
Underarm Sweat Removers,
A Labor cohort
Soon to be SEIU smorganized . . .
Organized, smorganized. | Karen Koedding, Productivity ...
https://www.linkedin.com/.../organized-smorganized-karen-koe...LinkedIn Organized, smorganized. Jan 7, 2015. 209Views; 11Likes; 3Comments. Share on LinkedIn; Share on Facebook; Share on Google Plus; Share on Twitter.
Ka-Ching.
Ka-Ching.

And Andy Stern’s suggestion,
Probably the best for anyone
Searching for a new mate, or
Wanting to move up,
Move up to a new relationship plateau,
Move up to a higher class of ******?
Open your nostrils.
Take a deep breath.

Bio continues:
“Dr. Winifred Cutler
Founded the Athena Institute in 1986,
Selected that name
Signifying the mission;
Helping women increase
Wisdom and skill,
Relative to
Their Bodies,
Their Health,
Their Wellbeing.”

Why not a Nobel for Dr. Cutler?
Testimony follows:
“Pheromones magnify my mojo.
I wear the love potion that makes
The most gorgeous gal in the bar--
That kind of gorgeous gal,
Usually out of my league—
Makes her look my way.
Welcome, my fingers
Touch her siren shoulder.
She turns,
‘What do you want?’ she asks coyly.
‘Um, want to dance?’ I manage.
She grins, looks me
Up and down—
Mostly down—
And says, “Not really.”

The verdict?
Apparently, the scent of pheromones is
Still overpowered by nerves.
Let’s face it:
Women can smell fear.
Prabhu Iyer Aug 2014
Grown my beard long enough,
time, now, to
announce to the world,
the demands of the new Caliph:

First a rider on raiment -
of black be your fashion.

Then, in the name of the Lord
the most merciful,

We demand razors!
Yeah we need more of them -
for shaving our underarms
and other sacred duties outlined below.

We demand brides!
We can knock at your censured
doors at night:
for faithful brides and
infidel ****** for pleasure.

In the name of the Lord, most merciful,
Madam, may I ask,
is your modesty circumcised?

In the name of the Lord, most merciful,
Can we have more watches please?

But mannequins, they must be covered.
And when we huddle the infidels
in trenches or behead your sons
please, we do so in but peace!
Not to denigrate any religion, but a take on extremists who hijack holy books to satisfy their own lusts for blood and otherwise.
I forgive
the woman
that I married
before my parents
were born
who stabbed me
many times
as I lay in bed
killing me
and I forgive
the soldier
who pounded
my underarms
with the ****
of his rifle
and I forgive
the US government
for forcing me
into suicide
by blowing
my brains out
with a gun
pointed between
my eyes
and I forgive
myself
for doing it
and I forgive
myself
for stealing
from my parents,
stores and a school,
and I forgive
myself
for that strange
*** act
with a dog
and I forgive
my friend
for saying
that I had
a small *****
and I forgive
my family
for going crazy.
I forgive myself
for killing holy men.
Ruth Boon Jun 2013
I am not becoming
not becoming anything other than myself,
My post pubescent body is sprayed with dark public hair in the crotch area
like quiet shadows,
And my underarms have little eyelashes,
And the flesh on my thighs has hair-line fractures
from every boy who’s touched the top of my legs,
and my knickers, frilly pink barricades,
soaked,
My wet revolution
pouring like tears
June Waltz Jan 2015
do you see me?
transparent but still two-toned.
conviction served with a side of dripping doubt.  

I hear your voice fill up the hallway.
3 years later and I realize
I missed it the entire time.
like a song I forgot I liked.
Always loud but indifferent
you exchange hollow hugs
and I check my hair in the bathroom mirror.

smile 1
no smile 2
no smile 1
Calculated Coquetry.  

oh.
you look the same.
but sexier.
Tinged by tribulations I don’t yet know.
I feel curious
and alone.

I wish
I’d worn
a different shirt.
My underarms bleed
evidence of insufficient accolades.
Tiny knots of bright red fabric
build beneath my body’s brutal bane  

A brief moment of exuberance.
but could this instant just be fraudulent?
I swear to god you hugged me longer
held me tighter
heard my hunger.

did you see me?
open-ended and unwritten.
T’d up to be submissive.

It took two nights
& endless drinks.
An elongated walk
& high school tricks.

1 year since 3 ago.
I sigh and contemplate your
shaky hands on the zipper of my favorite jeans
your ***** sheets and desperate pleas.
Who was I kidding?
undo my blouse and strip me bare.
I always liked this song.
Dry dry legs from all the damaged you've pressured into me

Irritated flower and poor little underarms

You have rose bumps all over, they sting and bother

They go away with chemicals

They come back and steal more minutes away

How to wish a body can be so perfect and mutilated?

When can those strands on your head be perfectly curled?

Heat, pain, cute little rose knives,scratches,

You’re pretty with pink

You’re pretty in blood.
Society's know how on how to be pretty makes women go to the extreme.
Anais Vionet Aug 2022
I’m at an (outdoor) dinner, with Peter, some of his doctoral-student friends, professors and their spouses, to kick-off the Fall semester and Peter’s second year in the doctoral program.

“So, what impressions did you take away from your time at the Large Hadron Collider?”
A 60-ish professor asked Peter. In this setting, as a student pursuing his doctorate, Peter’s comments will probably be noted and there’s a watching anticipation.

Peter is a tall, pale, scraggy, 25-year-old with unruly, deep-cove-blue, almost-black hair. Tonight, he’s dressed in a brown, distressed Italian lambskin leather blazer that I got him in Paris, as a fall semester present and his usual, dark, neutral shades of brown. To break those sleepy colors up I also gave him a soft-caramel-brown tie, inlaid with tiny, yellow, rubber ducks.  

“Two impressions, really,” Peter begins, “First, the Higgs Boson particle was discovered a decade ago - but since then we haven’t seen any notable results - the particles we expected, when we expected them. Of course, “no results” is an important part of the scientific process,” he continued, “and those researchers still deserve their doctorates, but it isn’t ****, and it won’t win any Nobel prizes.” He has the room’s attention.

“Secondly,” he says, looking around for reassuring eye-contact, “experimental particle physics is a very expensive business.” This observation generates nods, toasts and laughter all around.

When the reaction dies down, he gets another question.
“Why do you think we aren’t seeing better results?” another professor asks him.

“I think the problem,” Peter twists his head as he turns serious and begins his reply - and by the way, he looks adorable in the soft light of the dancing Japanese lanterns - “is the lag between the theories and our ability to experiment. It takes so long to build a collider, that theories out-evolve them. The apparatuses we have now - like the Hadron Collider - were designed based on theories from 30 years ago.” Again, there are nods and thoughtful looks before the professors move their questioning to the next student.

Later, we’re in the common room of my dorm suite, huddled together, talking hushedly on an overstuffed loveseat while others watch TV or read. “OH!” I say, still in a whisper voice, like I’ve just remembered something interesting, “You know what I heard - about the doctoral physics program?”

“What?” Peter says, I have his unblinking attention now. After all, I was talking with professors and their wives and shards of information are precious, not unlike atom particles, so he’s openly curious, his head tilted in focus.

“I was told, I say slowly and earnestly, “by a reliable source,” I begin playing with one of his shirt buttons, “that doctoral students,” I pause for maximum effect, to indicate this is important, “have equipment that’s 25 to 30 years OLD - outDATED equipment..”

He’s on to me now, and he starts to lean into me and grin. “that might not be able to get the JOB done!” I finished, busting out laughing as he caught my underarms with tickle fingers. I shrieked with delight at my own joke and his reaction.

“We’ll SEE about THAT!” He says while playing my ribs like accordions, producing newer and louder squeals and mutual giggles.

“Hey!” Anna said, turning as she paused her “Better Call Saul” finale.
“Get a ROOM!” Leong suggested, sarcastically, in mid-popcorn scoop.
Lisa eyed us annoyedly over her Chemistry book.
Sophy rolled her eyes, smiling and blood-thirsty Sunny barked “Get ‘er!”
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Shard: a small piece of something.
Robin Carretti May 2018
Going
once
Hey
Buster!
1-desperately
Never want
The New Jersey
Wife-bra
That drops down
Actress Fakes
Going firm up
Hollywoods
 La Femme
Frenchie
Her Roast beans
cup
2- twins bark
pup
Bra me=
I'm +Robin Birdie
Told me
((Never Ha Me))

2-Bustiers
equally
Tara twice La
Him musketeers
- duh Harrah

Sara Smile- Huh
Santa's trainer-Shy Spanish fly
blush Fly Robin Disco pry

Twirled together
Behind the
curtain
Dorothy & Toto bra click my red slippers home-
Girl scout brownies
The bra course
boom!!
Never bust room!!
Mystic
Falls Vamp-hire
[.
[.
Trump-her
Naughty
Tara La Bra-ly
Hybrid
Which one
Is the  
Witch
wizardly bra?
The good
Linda witch
Jinx
Jalapeno
Never a
Prince
She's allergic
Like Tied- ankle
slipper

Cozy Curry
Bra Chicken
Terror Terry
Bra trader

Villalobos
Snackerro's
"La Bra land"

"One Chosen Bra"
Sultry\ steampunk
Bra- link

Blonde
niche
Patriotic
Red- blood- white
The King Elvis

 Being Launched
Queen Priscilla
size
  Tara La
"Historical" Aint nothing but a hound dog*

The girl has rocks in her head
gone stupid in bed
she couldn't lift
her underarms

Scarlett has gone-----
with her friends' lover
Never a bra
with firearms
((Never B-B Tara La))

Her
long
neck_

Vampire Diaries
Disease VD
Pour bra Scotch

"0" outcasting
Tomato Pie
Lace box
"Robin
Redbreast
take-off
wizardly
Ozfully-set

She was
born
like
that
bra
Lady
GaGa
Singer
Robin-Hood me
blood bra orders
Where's your Bra?
High Dalmatian
demand
bone-fish bra

So many Men
Gondola Tara La
Venice
Chinese
Cat-talk
Siamese bra
takeout
Catstick
_
faceoff be quick
Bra \off
this is
Taras turf
Comedy about Bras lift me not to tease me never leave with my bra on me
Alexis Lehrer Feb 2015
You make me feel beautiful.
Your eyes smile as I watch them-
they glide up and down my body
I have forgotten my insecurity-
You see past the overgrown hair covering
my underarms and my *****.

You make me feel ****.
Your kisses trail, covering my lips,
my chest, my stomach, my ***
I have forgotten my insecurity-
You see past my blemished skin, my pores,
my pimples, my scars.

You make me feel strong.
Your hand caresses my ***, sliding up the
small of my back, resting on my stomach
I have forgotten my insecurity-
You see past the darkness in my soul-
the pain, the shame, the burden.

With you, I am naked and exposed-
You make me feel beautiful.
magnoliajelly Apr 2015
i think about how my fist is the size of my heart
and i let you hold my hand a lot
i fold you around me so you can hold me
and a whales heart is the size of a car
and i can fit inside one
and we could fit inside one.

i mean you are capable of holding my fist in your one hand.
i mean you can nearly hold my whole rib cage in your two hands.
i can fit in you.
you pick me up underneath my underarms sometimes
and i think i'm comfortable when you do,
when i let you do that.

*friday, april 3, 2015
Here's we are again, penning thoughts and emotions
Like soaking off the excess out our underarms where skin quaffs on the sweat and odour till the air sets in

EMOTIONS HAVE PASSED and EMOTIONS HAVE BEEN SAVORED, Quite an anthology. We keep each other alive and inspired as poets
Whether we are trending or sharing and adding to Collections; there is certainly a consciousness in there

What subject matter would make for this object's subjugation to sense and reason.
The object being the writing here present to play plaintiff against ignorance and iniquity
Idle-minds to their defence are short-sighted as they have whims whisked by the moment
So who can really blame the ignorant and uneducated for they long for the rush and excitement... raw passion like kissing bosoms for the first time and unfurling a woman's body as the clothes surrender into your hands and collapse on the floor

So the unintelligent are merely maniacs in their own right
So we leave this verdict to the jury
The neutral minds that neither vote for poetry nor prose
Never vouching for friend or foe
Dissecting potential among amateur and pros

A little diction to feed off an addiction of anecdotal fiction
In it Again, poised to put words to phrased tapestries

And I will resuscitate and alleviate as I heal from poetry hypochondria
Where I constantly play tricks on myself
After I read the product, the synthesis is simply: I've done it, I'm in it again.
Jamie F Nugent Jul 2016
Waiting on a friend, stuck in a meeting place -
Some people watch birds sitting in trees,
Other people watch other people existing,
I (like many others) prescribe to the latter,
All spying with little eyes wide open.

The day's sun bleeds through the grey sky,
Numbers taken notes and all minds worked out.
Studied and never they let the masks slip,
They never admit to it, and they are never hurried;
Outside of the florist that smalls of pollen and spring;

An elderly couple goes in, then, a few minutes later,
They returns with gardenias underarms, probably
For funeral for some acquaintance, family or friend,
It is not too hard to guess as much. I look on then at

Pudgy seventeen years olds addicted to coffee
Ambling by in bright outfits made for exercise;
Collecting dust like bowls of plastic carnations,
Otherwise smelling of sweat and cheap aftershave,
Just another day, just another flower-shop.


-Jamie F. Nugent
i stare at my half-clothed body in the mirror,
comparing to your red-filtered half-skinned silhouette
in the photograph you sent me ever so faultlessly:
brutalist and surreal, in sharp monochrome definition,
with an expression as cold and unfeeling as concrete...

all bright eyes, wry grins,
and a corrugated abdomen:
yet your arms conceal
your chest and navel,
betraying a baser shame

you need not hide from me,
my laurel-crowned achilles:
in these eyes, you will
forever be god incarnate

emulation comes natural
(i could only ever behold
beauty by plagiarizing it):
so i shave.

not just my face...no, i take the razor
and drag it into the heath of my underarms,
across my chest, the insides of my thighs,
tracing my collarbone and (waist | waste)

i shave till my skin is raw, blotchy red;
till hair no longer bristles against
the strokes of my jaundiced fingers

i want to tear off patroclus
like the ill-fitting bandage he is:
his shame is my own, seborrheic and crawling
(learn to treat the source, not the symptoms;
cull those parasites from their deep-set roots)

god, would you grant me your favor...
if i was youthful as ganymede?
call upon me in your times of need...
if i was faithful as hephaestion?
give me all i have ever longed for...
if i was as narcissus, that conceited beauty,
who was no more egotistical than he was honest?

i clutch the rolls of subcutaneous fat in the shower,
cranking the faucet in hopes of
rendering it out with the heat
like some ****** up confit;
such is the price of my babylon

bloated, the cystic acne on my back
bleeding into my bedsheets,
i realize it is moments like these,
when my woolen throat abrades at my voice
and i want to retch with each inhale;
when torpid tide pools of saliva
lap against my cheeks
and nausea consumes me:

i am at the mercy of my body and its afflictions—
i can only take these sensations, seen and unseen,
silently as they come, moment by moment,
patiently enduring this migraine of the heart.

the only thing that gives me joy
is seeing the water roll down
my body in beautiful thin sheets,
unobstructed by thick forests of hair

a diagnosis would only warrant my weakness,
justify the existence of the black villous mass
beyond mortal comprehension within me—
within us, wretched god—

i resignedly accept that your messages
will find their way to me only in the dark hours;
i know this even as i text you on the bus ride home,
because you never had time for me but i find myself
constantly making time for you,
begging for someone to care the way i do...

oh but there are still debts to be exacted,
reparations to be paid, my bright-eyed misgiver
(and you won't want to be around
when i collect on them)

when you gaze upon my withered husk
on the hospital bed,
permit me my resplendent self-destruction
silence those morphine alarms
trace the morse code scars on my arms
read and heed their silent plea:
do not resuscitate.
my insecurities were never a burlesque for your entertainment.
daphne Aug 2021
“i can't breathe, andy!”
she shrieked
as his fingers tickled
her sensitive underarms
laughter ringing

“i can't breathe, andy!”
she shrieked
as his fingers curled
around her throat
cries ringing
Sharkey Poems Nov 2023
Ten minutes ago,
I looked fabulous.

My hair was so pretty
And neat.
Not wetted down
with sweat from the top of my head
to the *****
Of my feet.

Ten minutes ago
I looked fabulous.
Even though traffic
Was angry and tight
The AC cooled my face and
My eyes
On my drive to here.
My thighs were not chaffing
And my underarms were dry.

Ten minutes ago
I looked fabulous.
My linen suit was pressed.
I was so pleased
With how I dressed.
Now ignore the wrinkles
That plague my skirt.
I will not cry
Nor look hurt.

Ten minutes ago
I looked fabulous.
My answers memorized.
My potential on the brink
Of being realized.
I was not rushing and
Falling up steps.

Ten minutes ago
I looked fabulous.
Paul Hardwick Dec 2017
Highlights on BBC 2
Men nibble on cheese
Woman take their iron gloves off delicately
then slap you in the face
looking so cute
and try to **** your mind up
ankles flash
smooth legs go on
almost to their underarms
there **** dance
on the back garden bird fence
the bird feeders are men
placed there by other men.

people say I am heavy
but really I am light
And a man of mice.
:-)   P@ul.
Have a fab Christmas.   ***.
P.S. Women have the right of reply.

God Bliss all the man in the U.K.
Christina Hale Jan 2018
Baby you are the sunshine in my blue skies
I want to spoil you as my queen and sing you to sleep with lullabies
Baby just know whether I’m close or far you’re not alone
I’ll be your support, you won’t have to face anything on your own
I can honestly say
I love the feeling of when I’m close to you, I love feeling this way
Your sincere eyes, pink lips, rosy red cheeks, and warm soft skin
Your beauty is perfection on the outside and on the inside your beautiful personality radiates deep from within

Much to our dismay sometimes we fight like the furious but
We don’t have to be a beautiful tragedy like Romeo and Juliet
Sometimes I will fail, I will **** up
But I pledge not to ever give up
We will without all the fighting preserve in love’s name
Because I will work hard for us, our love we will sustain

The stars, the moon, the sun, they are all nothing without you
When you are near you fill me up with such joy, the dark skies go from gray to blue
Your eyes light up the night sky, touching your warm soft skin
It just draws me deeper in
Closer to you
If you only knew
This beautiful feeling you provoke deep with inside of me
When I am with you time stops, my heart triple beats, and all melancholy feelings are at ease and I have no anxiety

I’m always thinking about you, it seems I try hard not to **** things up but I always do something to have you upset with me and I end up sad and empty here
I will not give up on trying to become a better version of myself or loving you because everything that we have is so pure and sincere
You know you’re always on my mind, even when we don’t speak or see each other
You’re in my heart, you’re in my soul, when you’re not near I feel you everywhere and I am happy you are my lover

When I’m with you my head is spinning like a carousel
I just love your cute red rosy cheeks and putting my nose in between your underarms, you know even without deodorant they don’t smell
I just love everything about you, and I love when I’m driving and I turn and look at you and you look at me on the side of your eye
Baby we don’t need to get anymore adrenaline from rollercoasters or Ferris wheels because when I’m with you I’m on a natural high
Every time I hear a beautiful love song I just want to sing it to you
Every time I have a beautiful thought or memory of us, I just want to tell it to you
Baby I hear and listen to everything that you say and I am aware of the things that upset you and I’m working hard to improve
When you’re always on my mind, even when we don’t speak or see each other, I’m certain it’s passion
When I’m with you or not around you this joyous amorous feeling is always lasting
I love sleeping and cuddling with you, I could lay next to you all day
My dreams are affected with thoughts of you and words you say


Baby you are the sunshine in my blue skies
I want to spoil you as my queen and sing you to sleep with lullabies
Baby just know whether I’m close or far you’re not alone
I’ll be your support, you won’t have to face anything on your own
I can honestly say
I love the feeling of when I’m close to you, I love feeling this way
Your sincere eyes, pink lips, rosy red cheeks, and warm soft skin
Your beauty is perfection on the outside and on the inside your beautiful personality radiates deep from within
Sometimes you just want to sing your love to sleep with sweet soothing words
Antony Glaser Sep 2022
She runs to keep healthy
dressed in black
culpable, catching the sunlight
Her beads of inspiration
clings to her  underarms
She is at peace with herself
Her red jacket drapes her hips
She is sure of her run,
speedy as she goes
deftly middle-aged
everly Apr 2019
i’m an odd one
you’ve made me clingy
i hear you respirate over the phone
when the moon gets cold and
covers herself up with black sky
slowly in and out it would trail
like the first astronauts steps on the moon

making strides with such ease
knowing that he’d stay up there if he could..
you go silent as if you hear my thoughts

you’ve made me obsessive
and i mourn people that aren’t dead
and i have health issues that i never bring up to the doctor when she asks
i hesitate when she asks to examine me
but the feeling seems to vanish when you come around

i don’t shave my legs and underarms in the winter
because they’re like built in body scarves
yes my puerto rican genes have made it feel so

i think about people who don’t want me too much
but who doesn’t
no one is wanted as much as they’re told.
march 8 1120 pm

— The End —