I guess I don't exactly know what I want to be
I don't know what I think the definition of physical beauty is
Because there are people I see with very flouncy curly and glistening golden blonde hair
Then I see Asian girls with their glossy raven black locks
I see girls with STUNNING blue eyes
And girls with magnificent hazel eyes
I see two of my friends who have brown eyes like me, only they have these BEAUTIFUL maple eyes
I see girls with heart-shaped jawline
I see girls with rounder jawlines
I see girls with tiny waists
And curvy girls
I see girls with cute little smiles
And bright, wide grinning smiles
ALL OF THEM ARE SO BEAUTIFUL
I don't even know WHAT I want to be
I just know that I wish there were a celebrity
Who existed
Who was WILDY adored and loved by everyone
Who was successful and never criticized
Who was not necessarily UGLY
But was undeniably not particularly traditionally physically pretty
But her soul was LOVELY
Her personality was imperfect
And she ******* up
But she was still a GOOD PERSON
and her values and what was inside her was what made her so globally popular
Because maybe if I stopped seeing everybody as so unbelievably BEAUTIFUL
then I would stop CARING that I was so hideous
I just really wish
"Pretty" didn't have a definition
But varied
You could look at someone
And what each person found pretty
Was COMPLETELY different
because I care way too much
because I hate hearing that I am "pretty" when I so clearly am not
but it's even worse when I hear that I'm not
Or if someone edges around it by saying: But you are a beautiful person INSIDE
avoiding admitting that I'm ugly
I hate hearing about how ugly I am
because it reminds me
but I also hate hearing about how supposedly "pretty" I am
because immediately in my head
that little voice that sounds exactly like my own
except very cruel and sadistic
The mean-streak part of me
It whispers in my mind
THEY ARE LYING TO YOU
YOU ARE UGLY AND HIDEOUS
AND NO ONE IS EVER GOING TO CARE ABOUT WORTHLESS YOU.
BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT WHAT SOCIETY DEFINES AS PRETTY
YOU ARE WORTHLESS AND UGLY.
DON'T LISTEN TO THEIR PROMISES THAT YOU ARE PRETTY
BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT.
that is all I hear in my head.
or if I hear OH BUT YOU ARE A BEAUTIFUL PERSON INSIDE THAT IS MORE IMPORTANT
the voice whispers: did you recognize that? Hear it? See it?
They specifically avoided saying you were physically pretty
So whether they are right or not about what is more important, inner or outer beauty
They have still admitted to you
In an underhanded way
That you ARE ugly
they have confirmed what I have always told you
YOU ARE NOT PRETTY
YOU NEVER WILL BE
and do you know what?
I don't care anymore about what is important
I want to be physically beautiful
It's like when you just really want cake
it might be unhealthy
It might not matter
It isn't good to obsess over
but you JUST WANT IT
you want it so badly
and you can't function properly without it
until you have that desire given in to
but I can't tell them that anymore
so they don't have to lie to me to spare my feelings which makes me feel awful
or so they don't have to be honest and either tell me I'm ugly or edge around it by bringing up inner beauty and using a BUT before it
because that makes me feel even WORSE
I will not talk about it anymore
I will just let it dominate my poetry
because I must write
I must WRITE to keep it from consuming me
that is all I have
If I can't speak of the pain anymore
I must write.
that is my escape.

After all this time, I have learnt to write in the dark. See, this jukebox plays every night and it wouldn’t shut up no matter the pounds I fed. Such is the night of a writer; it goes on shuffle and repeat. And sometimes I hear your voice. Most times, it sounded like folding a picture of us and keeping it in the pockets of a stranger’s jeans, probably ending up tumbled and dried. I ask myself if it could have been a painted canvas. It’s just the thought of you that haunts me at night. If you ever do heart to heart talks, let’s talk about haunted houses. Some people get out of it; some don’t; some re-enter just for the thrill of it. I might be all three and I might not be the most played song in your playlist. I have tried several times to write about you, but none of them sounded right when I read them out loud. Some may write what they believe and some may write to believe; I might or might not be both. If I survived writing this prose, how could I be sure if it was your voice haunting me or if you were just a house I sought refuge in? The Northern Lights stays in the Aurora Zone; no one said that they’d ever Go West. Your skin on mine was like a child holding on to candy, I never wanted to let you go. When I wake, I only wonder if you have ever missed me at 3a.m.. I could make a mixtape titled: I heard you in these songs. But you were one who basked in the light. So I guess it’s safe to say that what was written in the dark stays in the dark.

You are beautiful
-love the sloth who has been adhesified

People of all ages sitting in a circle staring at the ground, ceiling, etc. a few twitching.

"Hi, I'm Fred."

"Hi Fred"

"I started this group because I found that I was on Hello Poetry 24/7. I got an account and I loved it. At first I was only on a little, posting one or two poems a day. But I loved it so much I began spending more time on it. It became a problem when I was fired for focusing on Hello Poetry instead of the heavy machinery I was operating. I was drinking so much coffee so I didn't have to sleep that I couldn't think straight. I began writing strange poems about adhesive sloths and grapes. My wife threatened to leave me if I didn't delete my account. I tried to stay off it but, it didn't work out. My wife took my kids and told me that I was too irresponsible. I responded with a limerick. She was very mad and left immediately after. I really want to stop being addicted to Hello Poetry and when I asked I got an overwhelming response from people who felt the same. If everyone could please introduce themselves in a clockwise direction."

"Hi… I'm… um… kittylover682"

"Hi kittylover682"

"So… I used to have a name, but now I can only remember my screen name. In fact, that is really the only part of my identity that remains. I miss obsessing over kitties and petting them, but now I just spend all my time on Hello Poetry. I used to have such a kitty-full life! I had so much potential! i made friends with every type of kitty, even new ones, i never discriminated. I met persian kitties, and alley kitties and tabby kitties and I went and pet them and showed them love… then i got kicked out of people's houses for sneaking in to pet their kitties… but my point is, kitties were my LIFE! And now, my life revolves around that little lightening bolt and i can only seem to speak in metaphors. That lightning bolt is the death of my heart, the thorn in my side, the electricity that warps my body and it just… it is a storm inside of my life. The agony when i see that my lightning bolt is not lit up with a notification… it is an undying fiery hell within my soul. I makes me want to… to… well, it makes me consider leaping off of cliffs or in front of trains… but the only thing that stops me is the hindering idea that I may have to get off of hello poetry for a few moments to go do that so I remain, under my bed on my computer, posting poetry, reading poetry, commenting, liking, reposting… its a VICIOUS CYCLE!!! WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?!!!!”

“Hi I’m DaPoet”

“Hi DaPoet”

“Like, kittylover682 I had a different name, but this is MUCH cooler. I don’t think I have a problem, because who says there is anything wrong with being a poet? Also I’m not a normal poet. All of my poems are also raps. I’m here because my mom thinks I have a problem. Apparently choosing poetry over sleep and school is not okay. I don’t understand her ‘logic’”

“Hi I’m DYING”

“Hi Dying”

“No, that’s not my name, who CARES what my name is?! I’m only still here and not on Hello Poetry right now because my sister has chained me to this chair and bolted it to the floor. She thinks I need help but I AM DYING! I need to get on it! I DON’T HAVE A PROBLEM! I’M FINE! I’M FINE! GIVE ME BACK MY LAPTOP!”

“Please calm down.”

“Shut up Fred!
There once was a man named Fred,
who got it into his stupid head,
that people needed to be cured,
of the obsession with the written word,
and as soon as I get unchained FRED IS GOING TO BE DEAD!”

“Okay… please stop creating violent limericks on the spot. We have all been there, there IS a way out.”

“I DON’T WANT A WAY OUT! I HATE TO SHOUT, BUT WITHOUT A DOUBT YOU ARE A BIG DUMB LOUT!”

“Okay, stop making really ****** rhymes please.”

“Well then… GIVE ME BACK MY LAPTOP!”

“Okay… let’s just move on. We’ll come back to you. Next person, please go on, I’ll duct tape his mouth shut. Silence is golden, but duct tape is silver, after all.”

“Hi I’m…Sally”

“Excuse me, could you put down your phone while you introduce yourself?”

“No… Oh my gosh, Poetry is Life started trending!”

“I’m sorry what?”

“My fourth latest poem started trending!”

“YAY!” *everyone claps and congratulates Sally

“No. No more Hello Poetry. We are supposed to stop obsessing over poetry and be cured from this addiction.”

“I don’t want to be cured.”

“I love Hello Poetry”

“Why don’t we change this to a spoken word club!”

“Yes!”

“Hi I’m DaPoet and I declare this a new spoken word club!”

“YAY!”

“No no no! I created this to-” Sally clubs Fred in the head with her phone and he drops dead

“YAY! FRED IS DEAD!”

“He was hit in the head”

“And we are now free”

“To write continuous poetry!”

“And become more obsessed instead!”

The end.


REPOST IF YOU REALLY NEED TO ATTEND THIS SUPPORT GROUP TOO LIKE US
PLEASE COMMENT! WE LOVE TO READ ANY THOUGHTS YOU HAVE!

do you know how many
people walk their way
through life never wanting
to be more than what they
are, never giving their selves
the chance to open their
hearts and be bold and
risk it all? do you know
how many people don't
write the stories they want
to share, the poems they want
to write, the songs they want
to sing, the art they want
to make? do you know how
many people deny their selves
the opportunity to be brave, the
chance to be bold, to live in
bright colors instead of black
and white? do you know how
many people live in a cage,
afraid to love, afraid to live,
afraid to hope, afraid to feel,
afraid to be? do you know
how many people don't let
their souls be vulnerable and
beautiful and wonderful? i
hope you're not one of them.

There's an ice storm in my brain,
        my thoughts
                     are sliding
                out of control,
         there's a fire in my chest,
                        making ashes
          of what's left of
                     my soul.