toothpicks

I count all my teeth and
my fingers and I swear I could just
rip it all apart, destroy everything in one go,
and I would still be red.
some days I wanna reach up
to the back of my neck and
pull the skin off like a mask
surprise!
I’m still the angry little girl who blamed her moods on puberty:
only now
I don’t have that excuse:
just shreds of the past
caught in my incisors,
becoming deadly cavities.

 

 

© Alexandra Jema

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