the honeyed hope

of maybe today they'll go away and leave

me in peace

is quickly replaced by

tight and tiny

rubber

bands-

how do they even stretch that far?-

and 

rubber that bites you back,

top to bottom; triangles or squares?

they ask

(not to you but the orthodontist, the 

evil mastermind behind your years of mouthly torture)

and they- the wolves in sheep's clothing-

give you promises of liberation

that will obviously be broken.

but

leaving the office,

a thought

trickles in-

the honeyed hope

of maybe next time...

I'll be free.