Who are you
tall and muscular
where can I get eyes like that?
your voice mingles
and cloaks itself in thunder
violent
and strong
better than Hercules
what should I do
to woo you?
be fast and strong
femme version al you
be still and sweet
for you to protect my meek
Is there nothing you can't do
brash giant
gentle ******
vengeful warrior
wrathful knight
careful cat,
*where can I get a man like that?

don't cry
daddy loves you
daddy loves you so much
he can't keep his hands off you.

Don't tell anyone
they wouldn't believe you anyhow
just know daddy loves you
daddy loves you

Do they know why I cry
do they know
do they know I eat and eat
and purge and purge
Do they know
why I dare not speak his name
Do they know  why I'm scared
Do they know why I beat myself
Do they know why I let myself be beat
Do they know what happened when I small
Do they know what made me into this.

Do they know
Do they know a thing
anything
one thing
something
Do they know a clue
to complete my puzzle.

no, they don't,
they don't know.

I'll never have the style of J.K's **** chic
Nor the grace, sass, and presence of the black she-goddess.
The blondes and skinnies and populars and poors
will never look at me with desire.
no,
I'll never be like them.
I can run and follow,
but when the swans glide across the water
I will drown.
I can chase them
squealing for approval
but when they take flight
I'll be left behind.

I'll never be beautiful,
wanted,
rich,
fabulous,
admired,
be the object of another's jealousy.
No I''ll never be them
I'll never have that life.

I'm an ugly pink pig,
but just as an ugly pink pig,
there's nothing I can do about it.
So **** it all
I'm an ugly pink Pig,
I'll grow tusks
be a nasty slobbering Boar
I'm ugly I know it
and it's time to stop crying
time to stop feeling miserable.
I'm ugly and you're gonna know it
won't be able to avoid it
I'll shove my crooked nose in your face
your eyes will play connect-the-dots with my acne
My endomorphic fat will make you glad you're not me
My scraggly hair will give you relief over your haircut
my much too big head is gonna leave you admiring
your fine-sized head in the mirror.

Go to the city friend,
go and live and be glorious,
should you need me
I'll be in the farm
hidden in the swamp
slobbering and snarling
with the company of bugs.
and there,
my friend,
my swan,
my hero,
my goddess,
there, I shall be happy.

Seems far.
Really close.
chest tight,
hands shaking,
tears welling.

Just a few short months
and I'll go out into the world,
I'll have to leave behind
the only family I've ever had.

and I'm ******* terrified.

Heavy breathing
Tears down face
Bones aching at the sudden spurt
no time to stretch
only time to run,
running is the most logical option
the only thing that seems possible
the only reasonable course of action to take.
run.
run fast.
run until doubled over with aching sides.
running solves a lot of problems, or so it seems,
but more often than not, it's like running on a treadmill.
going fast, going hard, but going nowhere.
most days running doesn't solve anything.

She kisses the frog
in knowledge that
a handsome prince would arise.
But would she still kiss the frog,
should he be anything less?

Adopt me
and love me.

I'm free so
kick me
break me
***** me
drug me

so long as you love me.

She slapped me across the face
and told me I was a ***** *****
it's all my fault
Everything is-
the divorce
the abuse
my fat ugly face
I'll get nothing out of this world
I repulse her
She wishes I was one of her miscarriages
I've ruined her life
I'm disrespectful and *****
a sinner and ****
I make her cry and I don't care
and it's all because
I'm not just like her.
My hearts going to explode
under this weight
but who am I kidding
she's right
this is all my fault.


if it wasn't my fault,
why else wouldn't she love me?

Blonde,
blue eyes,
skinny and toned,
a mesmerizing laugh
and an infectious enthusiasm
that forces a girlish smile
onto my rough face.

Too bad he's gay.

The sick days are piling up
I can't go on like this
hiding in my bedroom
ashamed of the way I look
so much so
I cannot dare
to enter into society.

Constant chatter of the students
honking of the cars
sirens
barking dogs
wind chimes
and when you've turned the TV off
music is still there to accompany you.
But when you turned it off
only the electronic hum and buzz of appliances is there.
But what if those were off too.
What if all you had was the rustling of the trees?
and what if you didn't have that either?
Can you remember the sound of silence?
Or have you forgotten it's purpose,
forgotten how you used to be friends,
blind to its beauty.
What would you do if there was silence,
and the tapping of the keys and scratch of pencil
and the sound of breath disappeared?
What would you say to the world's forgotten friend,
if it came back around?

You would think that when the lights go out
and the room is pitch black,
that I would lose my shape.
Revert back to the sickly lump
whose stomach bubbles and pops
with each heavy breath.
But I don't.
I keep steady,
hold my pose
out of sheer fear
that someone's eyes might adjust to the darkness
and see me for what I truly am.

My bird nose
hooks
in a regal fashion
that makes my face
old mean and stony.
It results in a feeling of ugliness
associated with Goblins.
Perhaps they would accept me as one of them.
Perhaps one day, I could rule them.

Rhymes
tempo
  symbols
   diction
keeping the audience enthralled,
opening your heart,
cracking your eyes
perspective uncanny-
mainly a pile of crumpled papers

poetry is hard.

Eyes frantically searching the room,
symphony of sniffles,
shoulders hunched,
muscles flexed
as thin hands clutch thin arms;
keep it together man,
just a few hours left.

Conversations cause friction
and loss of conviction
it's a fiction addiction
that's my affliction

I can't give you a proper depiction
on reality's constriction
though there's a strong prediction
of life's soon eviction

It's the definition
of crucifixion
waking up is cause for benediction
from interdiction

obsessed with science fiction
with an aura of dereliction
because life's infliction
has too much restriction

Two heads
rest upon the bed
where genetics went haywire.
A simple mistake
with a complicated result
often too much for some to take.
Little cat, tumbling to life
two faces morphed and mewing
stumbling right to eternal sleep.
But it's not a life lost-no
it's a spectacle,
tiny monster,
floating in a jar
for nothing but "oohs", "aahs", and study.
Nobody mourns the little cat,
a second face deeming it unworthy
of concern.
Did mama cat know
her precious baby wasn't called a "kitten"?
but a Janus Monster,
a freak of nature,
a prime scientific diamond.
Little monster cat won't get a coffin,
it'll be jarred-catalogued-and stored,
burried in dust instead of dirt.

Let me be alone
alone
alone
leave me by myself
myself
myself
I don't need anybody
anybody
anybody
Though I won't tell a soul
a soul
a soul
That someday I wanna be a
married woman
married woman
married woman.

There was a time,
when I wrote poetry
for the sake of poetry
for the sake of emulating my feelings
and expressing an idea.
But that broke
when the likes kept coming
and the comments of praise
and the follows kept growing
and each day I stuck my tongue out
so I could taste the satisfaction
of having another poem trend.
It ruined my poetry
it ruined who I was
groveling-
writing meaningless words
that sounded okay together
because I didn't care to write my heart
I cared to write what would trend
and what you feed my crippling self-doubt
make me feel like I was good at something.
It poisoned me.
and I fed off the poison
and mutated
until I shocked back to reality and was ashamed of what I saw
and stopped.
I left.
without even a proper, dignified good-bye.

But I wrote poetry still.
without posting.
and I kept on at it
and slowly my smile grew
slowly the spark came back
I told myself I would post on HelloPoetry again
when I was worth it
when my work was something I could be proud of-
but with each poem I save as a draft
I think
"no no, not ready yet, I can do better, I am better,"
and I dig deep and am creating works
that for once-
show that I am growing-
progressing
taking the steps all great poets should.

I had forgotten what it was like to write poetry for love.
I only remember feeling disgusted with myself
for less than twenty likes.
I hope someday I know only love,
and forget what it's like to be addicted to stranger's "approval".

Oh you pretty young thing
you skinny darling
sit right down here
back straight
chest forward
smile big
and you eat that plate,
appetizer
four course meal
and desert
don't you worry skinny-Minnie
nobody's going to bat an eye.

Hold up-
wait right there fat-Phara
don't you touch a thing!
stand back against the wall
away from the table away from the food.
we know how you try
you lumpy woman you,
don't you eat
that appetizer
four course meal
and desert
because all the skinny-Minies
and all the fat-Pharas
will be watching you
judging you
disgusted by your intake.

Don't tell me it's genetics
this world doesn't run on logic
you're lazy Phara,
so you stand against the wall
and judge the other Pharas
and smile at the Minies
because that's how things should be.


I know you want to eat that meal
the same as them,
but if you work hard
keep standing
maybe one day
you'll sit down without breaking the chair,
here,
take a mint,
it'll hold you over till tomorrow.

Skin pale as white roses
laid upon a sleeping corpse.

Eyes of the sky
and an unknown part of the universe,
forcing one to get lost in thought-
lost in their depth and memories.

Lips, oh snow white
a thousand expressions in every twitch

So frail,
the wind teases the thought of pulling you away
-which it could-
but it lets you stay so we can see your beauty.

In the mirror
what do you see
a goddess unlike me
or anyone, really.

Light steps through the halls
small tight frame striking and bold
a smile so sweet and so genuine
and raven hair that floats like silk.

You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.
Better than any magazine.
You haunt my dreams
and tantalize my days-
truly,
there is no one more beautiful than you.

He pressed a pillow against her face

to put her in her place.

His tongue snapped scars

while she looked at the stars

and broke bones

with a bat when he was out of stones.

large rough hands on a tiny neck

leaving her locked on the deck.

He commanded her to love him

or he'd break a limb.

she always lied

or never replied,

it was all too much a bother,

rather, it was all too much a father.

Hollow inside;
someday, a secret bride.

fists clutched, arms wrapped tight,
a hug or a fight?

vocal chords distilled
unable to rebuild.

bones so cold
and heart so old,
happy thoughts covered in mold
to match the soul too much like wold

I can try my hardest
but it'll never be
it's time to accept
that this is me.

I'll never be the girl with perfect makeup and hair
who's tiny and cute
and fun to snuggle
I'll never have a flat tummy
with a sweet smile
and sparkling eyes.
My slender face and figure
won't occupy your mind.

I'm not a party girl
no drugs or drink for me,
a good book
and quiet movie
are all I really need.

My laugh isn't girly and cute
my clothes are less than flattering.
I'm awkward in public
and even alone.
disorders prevent me
from doing what you could.
I'm not fun to hang out with
and I'm scared of everything.
My interests are abstract
and my mannerisms embarrassing.
I'm the girl no one talks to
or invites places.
and you have to look quite hard
because it seems I'm not even here.

But I will tell you this.
I'll love you with all my being
and trust my life in yours
I'm insecure
but I'll never take you for granted.
Never speak a word behind your back
be honest and kind-
and some nights I'll cry
because I'll always believe
that you deserve better than this.
better than Fish.

I'm not rare
not special.
not pretty or funny or clever.
I'm really nothing at all.
But I'll always be here.
no matter what you do
I'll sacrifice life and limb
charge a raging battle
do most anything it requires
if I can bring happiness to you.

Take me to the city, boy.
Take my hand and drag me along
with nothing but the clothes on my back-
I'm sure we'll be okay.

Take me away to where the lights are pretty
and the noise muffles our voices
and we can swim with the crowds.

Take me where anything is possible,
to where the money and fame
and stress and hectic are.

Take me away to the city, boy.
Take me away from the small town
too far from anything.

Take me from the normal,
from reality.

Take me to the city,
where we can be who we want
and they can't tell us no.

Take me to the city, boy.
we won't have to sleep
and we can keep smiling
and loving
and dreaming
so long as the lights stay on.

Take me to the city, boy.
it's all I've ever wanted.

I'm a lot like you,
I really am,
we could get along great-
but people don't seem to understand.

I wasn't raised like they were,
they didn't experience my neglect.
I have sixteen years of life to catch up on-
lost time of learning how to be a person
I need to reclaim.

I was raised in a cave.
I learned how to live on all fours.
I know how to fight
I know how to run
I know how to eat and sleep
and I know how to howl at the moon.
But I don't know how to be your friend.
I don't know how to snuggle up close
without biting the hand that feeds me.
I'm a predatory creature
but a submissive one,
and if you shout too loud
I'll tuck my tail between my legs
and cower.
I'm loyal too easy but harsh,
barking at anyone who comes near.
I don't know how to trust like you do.
I don't know about hugs
and love and rewards
and all common that makes you human,
I don't know any of it.
I know how I was raised,
on all fours,
head to the sky,
fending for myself.

I just want to stop being ashamed for existing

"You're a monster"
I hear it every day.
Every single time I give up.
When I lose courage.
When my strength withers.
When I fail and take a bite.
The sandwhich mocks me.
The fruit laughs in my face.
"oink oink" says the burger.
"Drink up"
taunts the milk
"don't want to choke on that big bite"
Eating makes me sad
and the sadness makes me eat.
om nom nom nom nom
goes the little pig-
goes me.
om nom nom nom nom
seems like I'll never stop
because I try to eat the carrots
and I try to eat the fruits
new and improved cookie monster
but the cookie monster
will always be the cookie monster.

you're so **** gorgeous
and I'm so **** not
you're the envy of the nature
which you gratuitously stomp on.
ugly girls have ugly hearts
and my ugly heart
doesn't want you around
I don't need this competition.
I don't need to feel this bad.
You're drop dead gorgeous
but I wish you'd just drop dead.

ugly.

I promised myself
that if I ever saw you again,
you'd be shocked.
I'd be so skinny
and dressed well
and interesting
and you'd kick yourself
for giving me up.
But of course
the day you say you'll be there
is the day I'll be cosplaying
and it's what you've always made fun of me for,
why you ended our friendship; because I'm weird.
Because I wear weird clothes
and say weird things.
I wanted to impress you
but as I spend hours in the mirror
observing my costume
trying to make myself still look good
and stop this stupid dress-shirt
from bubbling up in the back
so you can see my slender hourglass,
I start to think that I might just not go.
feign my usual sickness so that I don't have to face you,
so that the reason you gave me up isn't confirmed.
You're a popular model
with expensive clothes and perfect hair and makeup
and cheekbones to die for,
I'm a balloon next to you,
you'd look like a stick
posing next to a farm pig.

I sit down and cry
because the panic overwhelms me
and tears sound like pig snorts
and I realize that you make me feel bad about myself.
you make me hate myself.
My best friend for six years
and you made me disgusted with myself.

I wish I were strong enough to
tell you that I don't want to see you
and that I have better friends.
but I still want to impress you.
To show you that I'm more
than just your old fat ugly nerd loser friend.
that I'm better than you.

but I told you I would see you.
and now I'm afraid to step out of the house.

I hate going to sleep.
It's the worst.
My bed creaks and moans
its springs bursting up into my sore back
and it sinks down in the middle
like the pit in my stomach.
It's old and awful
but it knows my shape.
Knows how I sleep most nights,
curled in a ball.
And some nights,
some nights it's too much.
I revert to the shape I and the bed
are so familiar with
but it overwhelms me.
It's a lonely shape.
It's a scared shape.
It's... an awful empty sad shape.
So I toss and I turn
as the shape calls my name
and I throw the sheets off
and decide not to sleep at all
because the shape imprinted on the bed
has never been touched
been hugged too few a time
and is still sadly clinging to the memories
of those few hugs.
I've spent too many nights
in that stupid shape,
hugging myself
trying to recall the exact feeling of being hugged by another
and I'm sick of it.
I'm sick of tossing and turning
because I can't feel comfortable in any position
not even the one imprinted on the mattress
because they're all so frustrated
and alone.

A blind judge sat down on a throne high above the crowd
"Life has begun, who would like to start?"
in unison we all shouted
"We would like to begin living!"
The judge nodded,
and having heard their voices
allowed them passage to where life would begin.
They left in happy clusters
more and more
till none were left-
except me.
"I would like to begin living!"
I cried out
but the blind judge sat still, having not heard me.
I mustered all I could and cried out once more
"Please! I'd like to live my life!"
the judge stirred
"Is it the wind, or a whisper? Have I heard a voice?
Shout again if you are there,"
"I'm here I'm here!"
I shouted with tears welling in my eyes.
The judge sat back and quietly said to himself;
"Must be the wind, simply resembling the sound
of  someone with not even the courage to sound their voice,
a coward who shouts their soul but is too afraid they'll be heard, so unknowingly, they whisper."
I began to cry and wail
but my even my sobs were so quiet
they were heard as nothing but the wind.

So I remained behind,
clusters of newcomers
who had the courage to be heard
and thus the courage to live their lives
passing through in steady streams.
But I stayed, shouting till my voice should have been hoarse,
but it wasn't hoarse, because I wasn't really shouting,
in fact I wasn't even whispering.
I wasn't saying anything.
I was too afraid to be heard.

I'm an ugly person
for the way that I think.
The things I say under my breath.
Wrapped in grubby chains of envy
at all who walk past.
and I do mean all.
I'm angry because I'm not as good
as everyone else,
not as pretty.
I'm angry because beauty is granted to everyone
and those with disabilities.
I often think this girl is pretty,
but the only reason she has a modeling contract
and has this fame
is because she lost an arm
was bullied
showed her insulin pump in her photo
has a disease
or is deformed.
girls who look worse than me
praised like Gods for their beauty
because they have something wrong with them.
I'm jealous of that.
I fantasize often about my grand sad story,
jumping in front of a bullet, attacked,
cancer, loss of limb etc etc
I want their awful story
just so people will like me
and think I'm pretty.

It's disgusting.
Their life is hard
and they are brave
but I think it's unfair
and I'm still jealous.
They get praise and treated like royalty
because they're sick.
beautiful and sick is beautiful.
ugly and sick is beautiful.
beautiful and normal is beautiful.
ugly and normal is nothing.
ugly is ugly.
and even as I recognize my disgusting thoughts,
they're still there.
brooding and boiling
in a *** of green slimy jealousy,
jealous because they're lucky
and blessed and fortunate.
I'm ugly because I'm jealous.

It consumes my every waking moment
devours the hours
is the polluted oxygen for my lungs
everything I taste and feel
it is everything around me,
it is my world.
I cannot leave it-
not for a second.
I was born inside it
and will die here.

I am self loathing.

I am misery.

They looked upon it with disdain
convinced that it was wrong.
again and again
they fell on hands and knees
upon sighting it,
and ripped it from the ground
and left it to rot in the garbage.

But I was always there
to pick it up
and re plant it.
again and again
on hands and knees
re planting it.

They try and they try
again and again
pulling the **** from the earth
desperate to throw it away.

But I was always there
again and again
to re-plant
what I could only see,
as a flower

Whats it been,
four, five years?
I can't shake the thought of you.
Each year I want you more
wish you were mine
and have my heart shudder
with each girl you put your arm around.
I'm always so scared though,
scared you're too short
and I'm too tall
afraid I'm not interesting
or pretty enough
or maybe you're not pretty enough for me,
though I'm always afraid of not being what you need.

You're always there for me,
you know I'm hurting
and each year, I hear,
you can't shake the thought of me,
they're probably lies
but it makes my heart fly
and I'll pretend I didn't cry,
what's wrong with me?
You reach out and I reach back
but just as our fingers touch
I'm too scared to hold on, and I fall,
but you always wait for me to climb back up.

but how long will you wait?
I need to get it together,
man up,
finally tell you everything that hurts,
then you'll pull me up,
and maybe everything will be okay.

If God were there,
If God were as good as he claims to be,
Then he’d answer my prayers.
My nightly prayers,
Me down on my knees
Begging for the courage to die.
If God were good,
He wouldn’t keep me here.

I hung plum curtains in a circle
To hide from the world.
Sometimes I hear passerbys
Tapping on the glass
Wondering if there’s anybody in there;
A cockroach trapped in a glass jar.
I pretend there’s not.
I sit perfectly still in the middle
And let them tap away,
Knowing that I’ll never tempt to
Peak behind the curtains,
Afraid that what’s tapping
Isn’t human at all,
But my paranoia
With malicious intent.

the thunder talks to me
and tells me to be afraid
of it's glory
and power
and boom.
it tells me that if I don't want to see the lightning,
then I must close the windows and draw the shades
and turn my back.
The thunder sounds
even when there is no storm.
the thunder is always there within my heart,
warning me of the lightning,
telling me
to close my eyes
cover my ears
stay inside
and stay afraid.
always.

Do you think I'm pretty?

if you say no,

I'll slit my throat.

I held a knife to my face
and was tempted to cut
layer by layer
the ugly, pink stained fat,
because then my face would look skinnier
and I'd be so deformed
that people wouldn't dare call me ugly.

"Quit while you're ahead"
words I should've listened to,
I didn't know they applied to me
I didn't know they were about
my love
my life
my constant.

I didn't crash and burn
I had a slow,
ungraceful decent-
clambering for stranger's likes and comments-
for their approval of what should be
my deepest, most personal thoughts
mattering only to me
but instead plagued with the single thought
"I hope this trends I hope this trends"

If I had quit long ago
they would have asked
"whatever happened to the girl
who wrote good poetry?"
but they won't ask now.
they won't notice.

I poured black oil
over my previous work
and in a shocked attempt to clean it up
I only smear it further.

"quit while you're ahead"
I've lost my chance,
now I can only leave in shame.
and I'm sorry for that.

"ssshhh
it's okay,
you don't have to cry anymore.
I can make it better.
trust me-
no no don't doubt yourself,
everything can be okay,
it will be okay.
trust me.
I can make it better.
I can end your pain."

with each passing day
the steel blade talks to me,
and with each passing day
I begin to believe it.

I live on an island
all by myself.
I rest easy while I work in the shade of day
and battle imaginary monsters in the dark.

I put together sticks and wood
and use my hair to hold it together,
making a shield.
but it's only wooden
and as the imaginary monsters beat down-
the shield breaks-
but just in time for morning to come.

During the day I sit in the shade
and pull out my hair
and make a new wooden shield
readied to be broken that very night.

I've thought about perhaps using a rock as my shield,
but I'm all alone
and not strong enough to lift its weight.
so I continue to pull out my hair
and tie together wood
to help protect me
against the imaginary monsters
that plague my every night.

I often feel miserable.

but then I twirl a knife in my hand

and think about dying,

and I feel a whole lot better.

I admire your each step,
I admire the mystery around you,
I admire each syllable of every poignant word you press to paper
and the words you do not.
I admire the love you proclaim to have for her,
and if I knew her,
I should think I'd admire her too.

I don't know you
nor shall I ever,
but I can still watch you walk the school halls
and wonder what makes you tick,
what your family does and doesn't do,
what you were like as a child
how you became like this
and how you are able to enchant the world with your writing-
making me eternally frustrated with my own-
ranking my words by whether or not you
like or comment or repost them-
which you don't,
thus I feel a failure.

You have a purpose with your words,
something to say
and you say it so strong
and with such beauty
and heartache
I crave the next time you post-
and I'll evermore continue to wonder
how you became so mighty.

Do you work on your poetry or is it natural?
is it because you read so much?
is it because you don't waste countless hours on the computer
or watch TV?
How did you become you
which is so admirable
and mysterious
and deep
and talented
and unique?

I know I don't have a right to ask these questions
and with what little I know about you
I certainly don't have the right to admire you
and I don't deserve to know your life story,
but I'd like to know anyways.

He always tries to talk about my family.

So I shut him out.

He asks if I'll spend the day with my mother

and I hardly refrain from cussing him out.

He asks me about my father,

he says just one word about it

and I scream at him

or throw something

or throw him out of the house

and slam the door in his face.

I still tell myself I'm okay though.

That it didn't damage me.

That I'm not still that child inside.

That I've gotten past all of it.



He always asks me about my family.

That's why we're not friends anymore.