How I'd wear you like a diamond on my eyetooth
had I thought to adapt to your possibilities
at an earlier time in this incarnation or even
named a daughter in your honor as the ancestors
urged; orthodontists track your smiles' progress
into the next ring, hoping there will be knock-outs
and pugilists strong enough to handle whatever
mode your choice of bodily decorations take
just praying they'll forego the piercings we've learned
in this lifetime will produce scar tissue and puss.
For now, the temporary rub-ons of dollar store
fairies suffice along with oil based makeup sticks
compelled by some strange accord towards yearning
to paint your belly blue in the 21st century.
A contest entry
- The Prodigal Daughter by Rogue-Poet.
900 points, ended November 21, 2008, 6 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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I'm remembering how my mother used to worry about the headband I wore in our small town, which caused a rumour that I was a "pusher" as we said then.
I like this write and your anxiety comes through though it's also kind of amusing. Blue bellies, is that the latest trend? It washes off, right? -
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it comes from the ancient race (Picts or Celts, not sure) painting their bodies for war.
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