Poetry: Pulling Teeth

I smile with my mouth closed tight

To trap deviant words inside

The preacher hisses between his fangs

The vipers tongue slays him

Sunday is the Lords day

On Monday’s I’m a compulsive liar

I pluck threadbare ends from my lips

The truth is so close

Maybe a surgeon could remove it

From the skin of my teeth

They are the barrier

I keep my walls up – except when they rot

Blacks seem weak, a push and they fall flat

But don’t bite your lip, they’re sharp

Piano lessons are on Tuesday

My week ends on Wednesday

Have you ever had a toothache?

The pliers slip and cut my gums

Blood tastes like soda now

I hear them say, drink that and your teeth’ll rot

I roll my tongue over those empty spaces

Searching for the parts of me that are missing…

Waiting to be Reborn.