By. Lauren

I have braces, wait I'm sorry.
Did I say braces?
I meant the torture device in which wraps around my teeth like a hungry shark longing for a midnight snack until the point that my teeth feel as if they are about to fall out.
The feeling is like that last front tooth that you lost when you were seven wiggly yet you couldn't let it go.
The torture device feels as if a box of floss  was tied around my teeth getting tighter and tighter and tighter every month to the point that my teeth just want to give in.
It's only been three weeks now but my torture device is just now adapting to getting tighter.
Every single month a different color or as I like to call it a different shade of pain.
Because I have braces.
Braces,
Braces,
Braces.
I miss the days in which I could read my poetry aloud without spitting all the way across the room, because every time I talk I put my hand over my face to wipe the  spit connecting my bottom and top row of teeth away due to embarrassment.
The man I once thought would to be my friend is now the torture of my teeth and gums.
He has made it to the point that have the worst lisp causing me to be at the point that I can't even read.
Because I have braces.
Braces,
Braces,
Braces.
So if you asked me to count the number of brackets I have broken in the course of my three weeks I don't think I would have enough fingers or toes.
If you asked me how many people I have heard complaining about this constant issue I would be absolutely clueless.
Because everywhere I turn I hear
Braces,
Braces,
Braces.
The constant words being spoken "no I can't eat that" "no I'm sorry I can't, I have an orthodontist appointment" "oh my god my bracket just broke" not to mention the most dreadful one of them all "my wire just popped out and the first second you feel like you're going to squirt blood on the the next person that tries to talk to you to the point all you can see is a ****** scene of blood on their body.
Because you have braces.
A torture device  that you have been told you will get off in 2 1/2 years.
But you know far too well that it'll be a long journey.
Because you have braces.
Braces,
Braces,
Braces.
And you will have braces.
Braces,
Braces,
Braces,
For what feels like the rest of eternity.

By. Lauren

Does anyone else read their poetry aloud and think "wow I'm good."?

By. Lauren

The sting of a bee is enough to make it **** itself.
The ring of an ear is enough to make one scream.
The yelling of the people around me is enough to make me tremble in pain.
The people around us influence one's inner self.
The words exchanged from one's mouth to another have an impact on one's conscience.
Because the world is constantly turning and spinning and making me think.
The world is much like our brain in the form it is constantly moving and we are constantly thinking.
And in the blink of an eye everything seems to fall apart.

By. Lauren

My world is like a broken record constantly spinning on the turntable not being able to stop but not being able to play any tune worth hearing.
As the record I call life turns the obnoxious screeching commences.
The spinning never ceases to give up its power as it begins to make me nauseous.
My life gives no concern to the activities I can no longer appreciate.
You do not realize how wondrous a record is until it spins 24/7 leaving only the residue of past headaches and brain trauma in your mind.
Because my life is a broken record ready to be tossed out.
Because my life is a broken record ready to be tossed out.

By. Lauren

I can't put my feelings into words.
I can't dive deep into alliteration.
Yet I find myself trying my hardest.

I can't end a line with a rhyme.
Because I am not perfect nor are my rhymes.

My poems lack the ability to feel.
Yet my brain lacks the ability not to feel.

I fell in love with poetry but literary devices fell into a hatred of me.

By. Lauren

Bury me in the pink petunias I used to call home.
As my heart stops beating.
My mind stops over analyzing and contemplating.
My hands stop racing to write down all the words I create per second.
My mouth stops moving.
And my poems stop generating.
So bury me in the pink petunias I now call home once more.

By. Lauren

When will you stop my brain?
I am ready to sleep now.
I took you hours ago.
Yet you won't tuck me in.
When will you numb me
So I feel no more pain
When will you make me stop writing these poems.
Advil P.M when will you make me normal?
When will you let me live?