"underwire" poems
left cup runneth over/
right cup half empty/
if I add my left cup size to my right cup size what will I get/ DD + D = DDD/I've never been great at math/but this is no/miscalculation/
I am 36 DD confined to a 36 D bra/
(D)Disgorges over the underwire/
D--you flaccid beach ball/I wish I could reinflate you/part my mouth around your nipple/and/
breathe/
no one can tell/unless I wear a tight bodice/then/you are/obnoxiously evident/
I am afraid of introducing you to my future boyfriend/will he still want to undress me/will he still want to make love to me/
will he still want to touch you/
you/
sea urch/in/the palm of my hand/
even I am hesitant to hold you close to me/
you/
strangulated bagpipe/
moulting pompom/ ****
what's that spell/
what's that spel/
what's that spe/
what's that sp/
what's that s/
what's that/
what is that/
what/
who are you/
you/
waning gibbous/
my metaphors wane, also/it turns out there are only so many euphemisms that can be assigned to an/ill-proportioned breast/
itsy bitsy titsy/
you make me/
sad/
you/
teardrop defying the laws of gravity/
or/
is it the laws of gravity that defy the teardrop/so that it never falls into/
place/
I've noticed only/beautiful/things/
fall/
shooting stars/
autumn/
my left *****
Oct 18, 2020
Oct 18, 2020 at 5:19 PM UTC
i prefer to have them watch me
its better than them not to notice
now do you understand
the short shirts and ***** shorts
see through tops show bras with no underwire
eyebrows filled in and lips filled with lip liner
ive become unaware of my volume
speaking loud enough to show my power
why should i hide
wanting to make a hero i made a monster at the same time
the names labeling me are more than likely true
i don't fear the looks they give
they almost fuel me to stand taller and show a bit more
say what you must
your words will feed my lust
May 8, 2019
May 8, 2019 at 3:13 PM UTC
This antique mirror boosts no confidence. Concave
reveals its magic tricks with an incurvate
red surface. Some human hair
blending braids are there to fancify your boxers, your removable
metallic silver suspenders underwear and
her red bra underwire slips. It is a new style.
I feel anguish, when I touch the pull locks. Her picture
of the antique statue is hidden between all those things. She
enters the mirror to kiss you every time you look at it. Like jelly candies
are her lipsticks on that silver, but
they have different taste. For me,
they look like isoquants, or indifference curves. I want
to leave you. What do you think?
The water that drips from the mirror, when I wash it, is like crimsonblood. Scary
optical illusions split the reality into two variants through my woe,
and create a much looser and less direct relationship
between us than ever. You live for
your comfort and versatility. You cannot change it.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 9:32 AM UTC
What do most women wants?
To make love the way they talked
By forgetting all the essential rules of grammar
as they knock over the nightstands
women wants to unfurled their underwire bras and let them breathe
..
Women wants to:
mastering the art of the catwalk
in their favorite pair high heel
Ignoring the jeers and the boos
..
What do most women wants
The opposite of what men wants
Free *** drugs and money
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 8:04 AM UTC
On the first day, I'll look to you
And see the light of the Earth
Alive in everything you do.
And on the second day,
I'll create my own world of seclusion
Away from all of your ignorance.
But they can't all be ballads
Because where would suffering
Finally find its home?
On the third day, I'll discover
Folk music and rhyme.
I'll waste my time
Seeing what isn't there,
The ideals I've made my shelter.
On the forth day
I'll hold you in my arms,
Kiss you deeper than I ever have.
Force you into things you don't understand.
Because you're like a thirty-something year old ******
Thinking a metal underwire is a pack of smokes.
But they can't all be ballads,
They can't all be the same.
If they were,
None of us would be in possession of our names.
On the fifth day,
I'll leave you after finding discontentment
Over how you find upset in unfamiliar places
And make minnows into whales.
On the sixth day, I'll regret it
But have nothing left to say...
They can't all be ballads anyway.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 11:13 AM UTC
I.
With strappy, **** cutouts at the back, this is tempting at every angle.
∙ Allover lace trim
∙ Strappy back cutouts
∙ Front and back bows
∙ Low rise
∙ Minimal back coverage
∙ Imported polyester/spandex
II.
The **** lift of a push-up meets the coverage you want in a supersoft bra you’ll love to wear. With lighter Memory Fit for extra support as it conforms to your curves and a smoothing U-shaped back.
Lift & Lining
∙ Extreme lift
∙ Full coverage underwire cups
Straps & Hooks
∙ Adjustable straps can convert to crossback and snap into place for a secure hold
∙ Back closure
∙ Double row of hook and eye closures; Sizes 36DD & 38D-38DD have triple row of
closures
for a secure, comfortable fit
∙ 4 settings to ensure a perfect fit
Details & Fabric
∙ U-shaped ballet back prevents band from riding up and offers more coverage
∙ Supersoft, double-lined sides for the smoothest shape
∙ Keyhole and bow at center front
∙ Imported nylon/spandex
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 1:50 AM UTC
I hate when your underwire digs in so tight
even though you know its the right size
I hate the fact that the shops only stock
small sizes in lace and silk
But hey what about me
They int so large
Did you see that girls
oh my
Maybe I should ask her where she shops
I hate that i need to travel out of town
I hate that the women in that shop wants
To measure an tuck
I hate that she's a perfect cup
With a perfect but
Oh but for all this hating
Don't you just love the end of the day
when you can you can wriggle out of
The thing that keeps you all togeather
pure freedom
Dec 7, 2010
Dec 7, 2010 at 1:56 PM UTC
Lift these sagging *****
With an underwire bra
Lift my bad mood
like a shining star
Lift the mean of the world
like my shampoo
Lifts the dandruff
Out of my scalp too
Lift my sad eyes
With a broad smile
Lift all my defenses
With compassion
Lift these mistakes
With forgiveness
That’s all it takes
Lift my spirit
Like a helium balloon
Put a song in my heart
Float me away
Not a moment too soon
Lift love
Like it was leaven
In bread
We don't need hate
The world needs a face-lift
And fast
It's not too late
Don't let time pass!
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 7:04 AM UTC
underneath the nylon blanket I got the
impression that your hands were
these beautiful, shadowy, cecropia moths
reticent with their intentions, while they sat
idly on your ribcage before seeking out warmer
bases. My back, my thigh, my hipbone that *wasn't
connected*, you whispered.
You smell like cologne and beer; warm and perfumey,
faintly sweet. I wonder if I'm still tipsy, that was over an hour ago,
over an hour ago when I had to focus on my words
to make sure they came out in pieces and not viscous liquids
thick and sugary. I imagined gems hanging from my lips,
gems hanging from my lips and letters bubbling past
them.
you keep pulling down my shirt like a curtain, derisive of your
own actions, only to find that you have yet to prove yourself
and rock my thigh into yours which was perhaps too zealous.
Too zealous, I think, nonetheless quickened by your thumb
brushing the underwire of my bra. I laugh because we are far
too juvenile. Here I am protecting the sanctity found in patience
and yet you've evaded the rules.
all this touching and we haven't even kissed, I say, which wasn't really an invitation, but then we are and i am breathing all of you
in sweet staccato breaths, tugging at your skin and still doing the
guesswork, still trying to pin down your wings like a true lepidopterist
all the while knowing that butterflies on cork-boards are usually
dead.
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 4:33 PM UTC
In this life of
Galahad again
his wife feels a
rush that ballet
while homecoming
does suggest their
program is done
fullhanded and
with simpatico
that always is
finalist in bra
or cone shaped
whip that Tanzania
and Zanzibar are cleavage
underwire awhile in deportment
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 4:41 PM UTC
A pretty girl got seven stitches and watched while the
Needle wove through her arm
A pretty boy broke her heart and she forgot to be angry
A pretty father and a pretty mother in a big, beautiful house
Sobbed in the night and clung to each other like soggy paper mache
The girl wore hospital socks and turned over the underwire in her bra
Staring at the green curtain clanking against the metal track above her
Praying for an ambulance man that would never come
And a god that would never save her
She stopped praying
And got the stitches removed seven days later.
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 1:27 PM UTC