Long Jawline Poems
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Attraction free verse
I see you there, across the aisle, in the second carriage on the train.
Perched on the edge of your seat, as if in eager anticipation, crushingly not for me.
Your eyes, like emeralds, a stark contrast to your jettison orange hair that melts a sunset.
Though our eyes don't meet and you sift through pages of a book with boundless charisma, I deeply urge you to look so intently, so warmly, into my face with the same zeal.
Your brow is creased but with intrigue not doubt.
Your ears pricked sharply as though you can hear my very breath, so I find myself gasping in and slowing breathing out through pursed lips.
How quaint or how ackward if he were to glance at me now.
But no, he is intent from his defined jawline to his broad forehead solely indebted to one thing, and that is not me.
His cheeks are dabbed in red as though the cold had kissed them.
Maybe he's a country boy with the hills in his veins.
But the way he dresses may hold some conclusions.
A tweed jacket and a tartan scarf, Scottish, no he can't be.
His lips are too refined, his stubble too tame.
Maybe he is from the south with a country estate.
Playing polo on an evening and riding horseback into the rolling sunset of the English hills.
Nigh I can not tell, but he is a man wrapped in mystery.
He brings wells of butterflies from the pits of my stomach and traps my voice in the furthest depths of my chest.
He makes my mind limp, overcome with an avalanche of emotion, only capable to think solely of one thing, him.
I am miss marple though ready for the challenge.
But first I need to let his eyes meet mine so that sweet sympthony can begin.
Oh, what am I thinking?
I, with my messy bun drawn to one side and my dress arching up my right leg and bags from a long day's work sunken under my eyes.
But I do have a smile, a friendly gesture to meet this intrigue that is male.
And hope, most likely in vain but still hope, that he looks past my meager appearance and sees a soul as deeply in twined in mystery that he would seek to be my sherlock.
Attraction
13.01.2020
I clasp your hand the moment I realise I will fall alone
You grit your teeth in anger holding me as I dangle there
Your jawline is rock hard, the veins on your head popping out,
You are breathing in and out in desperate fear of losing me
But your lightening, determined eyes shoot through me and say,
"Damn it all!
I love you
I will never let you go"
The mountain's edge falls around me and below us
But I will not look down
Gravity is pissed
With all of my strength I hurl my shoulder upwards so that my other hand clasps your arm
You pull me up to safety and draw me into your fiery embrace
Nothing will take us but each other...
I know this and sob in your arms
I have never fallen so in love with you
In that moment when death was so close
From here, we will rise
Kiss me relentlessly through all destruction,
You have taught me that
Every mountain will fall before us
i miss when i didn’t have to worry.
when getting dressed was about color and comfort,
not fear.
not calculating how much skin was too much.
not wondering if someone would call me a ****
just for wearing shorts in the summer.
i miss when i didn’t know
what it meant to be perceived.
when i could wear my hair up
without thinking about my forehead,
my jawline,
my side profile—
without imagining how someone else
might see me
and decide i was wrong.
i miss when my body was just mine.
not a thing to compare or apologize for.
not something to fix.
i didn’t care if my stomach showed,
if my thighs were bigger than other girls’.
they were just thighs.
just skin.
just me.
but now—
if i dress up, i’m doing it for attention.
if i wear a low neckline,
i’m “asking for it.”
i’m “easy.”
but if i cover up,
i’m lazy.
boring.
not trying hard enough to be “feminine.”
like somehow, i owe the world beauty.
you can’t win.
you’re either too much,
or not enough.
too loud, or too quiet.
too confident, or insecure.
no matter how you exist,
you’re wrong in someone’s eyes.
growing up as a girl
means learning to shrink.
to cross your arms when you walk.
to smile when you're uncomfortable.
to be polite when someone makes you feel unsafe.
to laugh it off when they call you a
for saying no.
you learn to carry shame
in places you didn’t know existed.
you learn to look in the mirror
and only see what needs to change.
i miss when i didn’t have to worry.
when i didn’t know
that every choice i make with my body
would be judged.
when i didn’t get told
i looked “tired” without makeup,
but “fake” with too much.
when no one told me
to be smaller,
softer,
prettier,
quieter.
i miss when i felt whole
without anyone’s permission.
before strangers stared.
before teachers made comments.
before family said,
“you’re really filling out,”
like it was something to be ashamed of.
i miss when i could just exist.
when i wasn’t fighting so hard
to feel safe,
to feel enough.
and maybe one day,
i’ll unlearn what the world taught me.
maybe i’ll wear what i want
without guilt.
maybe i’ll take up space
without apologizing first.
but for now,
i just miss her.
the girl who didn’t know
how heavy it would all become.
the girl who didn’t have to worry.
He remains stalwart, though his eyes be dim
tales of the sea define him, some grim
his face etched like a weathered map, a compass
pointing between light and shadows, thin.
A broken nose belies his youth, most zealous
once brash and bold, defiant and rebellious
his black hair, bright eyes and jawline, strong
now tempered with white beard, grays and yellows.
His past has logged a journal of high adventures
stormy life, lost loves, foolishness and treasures
he navigates his emotions with a stoic demeanor
yet his telling face and eyes reveal more than ever.
Written on 6/7/2022
A reflection of a woman in the mirror I do see.
A face graced with wrinkles stares right back at me.
Her appearance looks tired and worn with time.
I survey her face as her eyes meet mine.
Her hair is white and her skin is saggy.
Her jawline and neck appear drooping and baggy.
Who is this this lady in the mirror that I see.
Is this old lady supposed to be me ?
I feel no connection to this person at all.
She seems so frail, she looks so small.
My body is able and my mind is clear.
I am learning new things and growing each year.
I can jog round the park, I can dance till I drop.
I can sprint up a hill till I reach the top.
I can go on a trip and spend all day walking.
I can stay up all night with my friends, just talking.
I can work a full shift then come home and clean my house.
Then I'll cook dinner for me and my spouse.
I take care of my family, they don't take care of me.
I am agile I am healthy, I am still young inside you see.
In my mind I imagine myself to be 20 or so.
The reflection in the mirror is a woman I don't know.
The image portrays an illusion, it does not depict me.
Inside is a girl who is adventurous, full of life, vibrant and free
Recipe for Beauty
To Whom it May Concern,
(I'm thinking God…but others say
Mother Nature is to blame. Still others believe Evolution,but to 'You’, just the same…)
At risk of sounding a ‘know-it-all”, I must submit a complaint. Your creations here below could be so much better I think.
You made a BIG mistake when you formed me.
You're not as perfect as I thought you would be.
The recipe for human beings isn't hard after all…
If you want help, next time, just give me a call!
I could do much better, I'm a master of this art…
Just sit right there and observe… I'll show you where to start.
First the skin…Too many shades is all wrong! Too many differences that just do not belong.
Make them all beige, so no one stands out.
That,after all, is what beauty's all about!
Now the shape…this should be perfectly clear.
We don't want unsightly lumps or bumps to interfere.
Perfectly straight, pleasingly thin… watch me draw this straight line again. Just like that! There we go! let's move right along…
The hair can be short, or even long, but never curly, and always blonde!
It's the most pleasing shade to my sight…
Anything else wouldn't look just right.
Oh! You've really messed up with every unique face! This part should never be formed with any distaste.
A sharp jawline, a small and straight nose, full luscious lips and eyes? Blue….or green, I suppose.
There now! Perfection!
Let's copy, then repeat.
It doesn't matter what's inside….
Beauty's only skin deep.
Disapprovingly Yours,
A deeply unique human being.
She spreads the butter
on a square of toast
with scratching impatience,
smearing and slapping
the hardened bread
with a dainty butter knife.
She uses a fork like a harrow
in the jelly jar,
leaving lines across the top
where she dragged it across,
then glops it on
unevenly.
She uses a fork.
because she likes to lick the bits
between the tines,
and feel the hard metal
with jelly in her mouth.
Scrape, scrape, scrape
with the butter knife again.
I love her hurrying hand
that orchestrates
this action every morning.
The cinnamon toast
is slightly burnt,
and her sleeve is damp
from the coffee spill
on the linoleum table.
A crumb clings to her jawline.
She takes a guzzle, not a sip
from her cup that says:
“The Queen of Everything”
and smiles at me, knowingly.
In the backyard, the goldfinches
returned to our feeders.
A small female
turns her beady eye
toward us
with shared understanding.
the World divided
Sharp as Pins
Soft as Pulp
I wondered
which am I
the drunk at the far-end barstool
jawline submerged in stale foam
a man dissolving
bubble by bubble
Prickles
they parse me
with laws & Edges
promise Order
leave me peeled raw
flensed
a Skeleton
in Glass
Goo
crawls in
through visceral vein-scrawls
fever-sluiced
laughter souring
in the wake of a Lover misplaced
her musk lingering
like Smoke
lifting
then falling
in a house
where paint scales drop
across abandoned Rooms
the whiskey absconds
the moon dangles skewed
a nickel flung
above pavement
over a Lot
that doesn’t give a damn
Then
a Voice
half-Jester
half-Prophet
half-something that knows me too well
leans from gutterlight
and scoffs
Prickles-as-Penance
Goo-as-Grief
the Joke that scolds
the Truth that congeals
I rasp at the riddle
wedged between
Thorn & Undercurrent
Scar & Canticle
Logic & Mucus
a Body mid-rebuttal
against its own
Who am I
So I scribble
fist quaking
on the back of a losing Lottery Ticket
a glyph branded
a verdict spat
through broken mouth
a last gut burst
Love denied
She warms my heart
I'm not sure how
She lights a fuse
And soon.. kerpow!
My love it swells
Her voice
Like angels' clanging bells
She wakes me up
I feel alive
Her face a feast
On which I thrive
Such lovely jawline
Perfect skin
Her posture
Perfect mannequin
I love her walk
I love her clothing
Find something wrong?
I see no thing
Her curves delight
We chat so long
Into the night
Her arms entwine
Her hands just beauty
In beastly mine
I've never liked someone like this
My heart beat falters
As lips I kiss
Balcony we sit
As shoulders touch
I like this girl
Says boy
So much