By Addison Serrin
The edges of his teeth are sharp like knives.
Too big for his face and not in place.
They really need a brace.
As yellow as paint,
They make we want to faint
Fluorescent yellow like a firefly flying frivolously in the night.
They growl for a toothbrush like a tiger.
Roar! Roar!
I swear it’s not a lie.
You’ll have to see with your own eye.
Hope is dead for his monstrous teeth.
They will go with him to the grave beneath.
There is no light or option to fight.
His teeth will be gross forever.
No matter how many times he endeavours.
His teeth will never disappear.