If I told you about everything,
all the truth kept locked inside
If I made you a promise that
forbade me to lie
I'd tell you how fucked up I am,
of the thoughts I keep at bay
I'd show you all the scars I've made,
then I'd run away
If I couldn't hide myself behind
my broken shades
There would be no point in living,
my life driven by my shame
When you think of me
if you think of me,
imagine who I am when no one is here. Because usually no one is here.
Imagine me smoking alone,
and hating every bone—and looking around myself.
Imagine me bathing, and In the mirror checking out, and being happy finally with what is there.
It's all I have: the fleshy bits.
Wonder about the way I wonder, and
feel one way about it.
Think about me running,
think about me crying,
I am all alone in this.
or varicose veins
to those doctors definitists with or without them
me i call mine “disconcerting” and “homely” they are not
the result of poor diet
lack of exercise a weak heart
or a passive cardiovascular system
but of heritage and pedigree and
a genetic lottery i did not win
up the inside of my thighs crawl pale distorted crags
and newborn ruddy lightning
a bloodied patchwork of stretch marks that drag
themselves up to the cradle of my pelvis
and wrap clumsy arms around my hips
my legs await the distortion and corruption of time
yet at seventeen have already begun their heady work
long twisting and sickly a grotesque lace
of my veins pushes through bland mole speckled skin
to emerge disgusting and putrid
like the terrors of children’s nightmares
terrifying not for tooth and nail
but the rotten repulsive pelt
my mental soliloquy before my audience (the mirror)
is a series of silent pleas and malcontented muttering
would that i were slimmer there thinner here
more graceful and pleasing to the idle eye
smooth skinned and dewy eyed
not thick and tired and slow
a little more color and vigor to sallow white skin
more beauty more beauty more beauty more beauty more beauty
i tell myself my self conscious vanity my self disgust
is a product of patriarchy and objectification
that i am and always will be a mind not a body
that if i let myself be this way i am shallow
and conceited and vain and no amount of arguing with myself
will decrease my superficial nature if i care about appearances
dressing up is a way of making myself externally attractive
and hiding the internal eternal abyss
the eyeliner attempts
are only a way to draw eyes to mine because i want them to look
into these innervated wastelands and see something attractive
but i am falling into that abyss of shallow
existence and slipping into a weak and meaningless soul
that can be washed away in the flood of the masses
read jung and freud tear through sun tzu and nietzsche and forget
about the poor player who struts and frets their hours upon the stage of life
who wanted to be pretty
wanted to know beauty
wanted to dig into themselves
and come up with fistfuls of worth
No matter what I do,
I always feel inadequate,
no amount of shedding
will make me feel a single pound
no amount of eating will satiate
my insatiable hunger,
not when I’m in a state of pain
and all I want is to make my body into
not when I glance in the mirror
and all I can do is criticize my frame.
I am a pyramid of cards, and I
have come tumbling down.
how do I rebuild?
8: 40 PM
but not good enough
but never quite there
determining how well i will feed myself
stomach, thighs, arms
knowing i could be more
if i could somehow be less
continuous second guessing
and the slow burn of jealousy
that roils in the pit of my stomach
begging for reassurance
i wish i knew how to float
This is an ode to my own self love
Because tonight I forgot who I fucking was
I was looking at a profile with the guy i was on a date with and he said that the girl in the picture was pretty and I asked what about her is pretty and as we scrolled through the pictures he said I like the ones where she looks normal
And when this motherfucker meant normal
I knew he meant white
He mean blonde haired, blue eyed, perfect skin and white teeth
And I looked at myself I knew I was none of these things
My skin is not white, neither are my teeth, and they are crooked
Like my skin, which is not flawless, no Beyoncé, I did not wake up flawless
My hair is dark brown, almost black, but that's my natural color
I've been bleaching it blonde since I was twelve
What the fuck does that tell you
I got my first two tattoos when I was eighteen
And I saw how the girls face had no piercings
And I looked at my 00 gauges and my septum, cartilage, tragus, and second hole piercings
And I wanted to rip them all off
I wanted to scratch my tattoos off
I wanted to take my hair off
I wanted to rip my skin off
I felt inadequate
I felt like I could never be enough
Well I'm tan and unconventional
So that means I can never be fucking loved
So this is an ode to myself:
Look at me,
Thick body, with curves that slay like Beyoncé's
Glasses thick so you can see your own beauty
Lipstick dark like the shade of a ruby
And you don't care
You don't care what anyone thinks because you know you rock it
Your blonde and brown hair is unique, no one else can rock it
Your piercings are a part of you, that's why you fucking chose them
The same thing with the tattoos, girl, that's why you own them
They have meaning to you, they're beautiful to you
So what the fuck does what this guy thinks phase you
The way you do your makeup is beautiful,
Your style is beautiful
And every scar on your arm is important to you
So don't pretend that what he thinks is more important than what you do
Love yourself, girl, because without you there would be no you
-E (c) 2017
That the feelings I hold
Will fall from my grasp.
Of saying those words
That if spoken,
Would vanish into thin air,
That the feelings I express,
Are feelings based on lies
That have been painted by myself...
These fears I have
I know are wistful,
Desiring and yet
Holding feelings fickle,
Wanting truth... and yet,
Comforting myself with lies tristful.
There are feelings I am afraid to voice.
If voiced, just like before,
They would lose their meaning.
That if spoken, they would just become
These feelings that I hold,
Are they lies?
Or has everything become a regret?
That if spoken,
Parting with it comes with ease
I am society.
And this is me.
I am the narcissistic fool.
And cautious acceptor
Fixated on only one thing.
And that thing is you.
I am the controller of your friends.
and the ones that don’t like you
Because of your fat thighs
or thin lips
or crooked teeth.
My full-time job
is being a self-proclaimed hater.
And a two-faced rat,
stabbing you in the back.
If you ever saw me
-you wouldn’t know which side of me to slap first.
I have humans.
Who seem to have
an unnecessary nature of trying to
First it was with
Black and White
and then, for some reason,
It took me quite a while to allow women to work.
And now it’s with the whole controversy
of transgenders- he or she?
But one day,
-those determined little buggers-
-feisty freedom seekers-
-admirable able workers-
will somehow, magically, improve me.
Because one day,
each and every one of you,
Shall stand where you belong;
If it is one thing,
you are right
and I am wrong.