blue | a collection of tronnor oneshots

my mouth is a music box

my mouth is a music box, and from it pours a voice that tastes of vanilla and spice and everything nice because that's what girls were made for, right?

my mouth is a music box and from that laced machine pours my vanilla voice that slithers onto the tongue of you, a man made of steel, and buries itself into the crevices of all your teeth.

my mouth is a music box and in that box past that vanilla voice is a girl laced in pink, spinning in circles, routined circles, with long blonde hair, a thin waist, and giant breasts. But on the mouth of the girl, the girl who is the soul of my music box, there's two thick black lines.

Beautiful girl- no voice. Opinions? Where's the red dress?

my mouth is a music box and inside that music box is a voice drizzled in cinnamon, spice that wishes to clog your throat but your mouth, your mouth is a prison made for the blood of victims and to carry your desires.

my mouth is a music box, while yours, yours is a cage made of white daggers disguised behind velvet lips that are supposed to appeal to me. and behind those dagers, where my girl laced in pink and two strips of confining black is forced to stand and be silent like a side kick in an old marvel movie, where she stands you have a soldier cladded in camouflage that protects you like armor.

my mouth is a music box and I think it's time you understand what that really means. you see, my mouth is a music box and in the way your daggers are covered in soft red carpets, my vanilla voice isn't just vanilla.

in way a waiter makes a cocktail my voice is many things, many things that can make you, a man made of daggers and one sided thoughts believe I am nothing but a puppet made to be controlled and played with.

but in reality, my music box is a bear trap.

a soft delicate tongue trained since I could talk to be polite because that's the only way a girl can survive in the eyes of worried parents and self anxiety, a soft delicate tongue that while running over the daggers of your cage can force lightning that tastes of vanilla down your throat and can tear your sexist comments and controlling desires to shreds.

my mouth is a music box and from its dribbles a soft melody of opinions and wants and needs and basic rights because despite popular belief woman are human too.

and that's why when my mouth, my box full of courses and choirs, when my symphony met another one it was something else.

because I've never wanted daggers behind velvet but the lightening of another to rip the black strips of male privilege away form my spinning girl and giving her a new dance to learn.

my mouth is a music box, and from it pours vanilla and spice and everything nice, and a few opinions too.

I dare you to try and stop me.

- a poem inspired by Rachel Wiley's "For Fat Girls Who Consider Starvation When Bulimia Wasn't Enough"