I want you to tell me I'm pretty
Tell me that my eyes are like stars
That my hair is gorgeous and soft
and that it frames my face in just
the right way
Tell me that I have a cute little
button nose and my glasses sit
perfectly on it
Tell me that the freckles that are
scattered over my skin are adorable
That my skin is like porcelain,
smooth and pale
That it doesn't matter if there are
imperfections
Tell me that even though I may
have them, tell me that they make
me even more real and beautiful
Tell me that my hands would fit
perfectly in yours
I want you to tell me all these things
But you never are able to
Instead you tell me
That my eyes are dull
and boring
That my hair would look better
blonde and longer
You tell me that my nose is too wide,
and my glasses make my eyes look
too small
You tell me my freckles would look
better gone
That my skin is so pale it makes me
look dead
And that I should go get a tan if
I want to even think about being
pretty
You tell me that my scars and
my blemishes need to be covered
That no one wants to look at that
You tell me that my hands are too
chubby, along with the rest of me
and my fingers are too short
I just want you to tell me I'm pretty
But I keep telling myself that I'm
anything but that

I hate feeling unsure about everything thing I do
Not knowing if what I'm saying is the right thing to say
And not knowing if what I'm doing is the right thing to do
I hate regretting every decision I make
And forcing myself to imagine all of the most horrible outcomes
This insecurity that controls me overpowers any happiness I feel
And I'm so tired of it
Tired of this hate I feel for myself
And tired of my inability to do anything about it
I should love myself for who I am and not have to change in order to do that
Because I am beautiful and perfect just like I am
But my eyes aren't able to see it
And my mind isn't able to think it
Others can say that I'm pretty and gorgeous and beautiful
But the words that come out of their mouths are incomprehensible to me
Depression-filled nights and binging on strawberry poptarts and cheerios is all I know
Not love for myself or others
All I know is nights where I just cry and cry until my mascara streaks my cheeks
Where my eyes burn from all the tears I've shed
Self-hate and insecurity are rearing their ugly heads once again
And I'm just so tired of having to see them
But yet I still get up the next day
Because that is what's expected of me
And because I know there's no other options but to push on and keep trying
I say I'm okay when I'm really not
And I cake my makeup on so the pain that lies beneath isn't seen
My tears and cries are hidden away between the four dark walls of my bedroom and they only come out at night when my day is over and I'm all alone
I'm all alone with no one to protect me and shield me from the pain I inflict upon myself
But then how would someone protect me from myself?
My thoughts run rampant
They cannot and will not be controlled
Not by me or anyone else

I play out countless scenarios involving you in my mind
Knowing they'll never happen
Even now, I imagine you sitting here, listening to me speak these words
Words that are filled with dreams of something more
I tell myself I should give up this hopeless fantasy of you
But I just can't seem to
I know it's pointless to keep imagining me and you together
But yet I still torture myself with what will never be

She's a suicide bomb
Ready to go off at any minute
Waiting for the person who will push her over the edge
Into a black abyss full of tears and self-hate
Exploding once she reaches rock bottom
Lashing out at those around her
Trying to make them feel what she feels
Giving back the hate she was given
And causing the same tears that she shed

In the night somewhere
A baby cries
And somewhere else
Lovers sigh
And as time passes
An old man dies

Somewhere out in space
A planet turns
And light years away
A star sun burns
Making us merely dust
And no-one learns

                                 By Phil Roberts

There is this lamp that sits right on my desk,
layers of dust signaling lack of use,
I bought to make my space more picturesque
that's still void of light, though with one excuse.

I could replace the bulb sometime tonight
but I do not desire that false glow,
for things look better in the morning light;
what’s in the dark I do not want to know.

I don’t recall a time that lamp did work;
it gets me into bed before sundown.
It is no myth that monsters like to lurk,
they tend to use my thoughts as their playground.

It is simple why I won’t fix that lamp:
I’m tired from running monster day camp.

You look like a light-colored satin
Stars f
          a
            l
              l on your caramel hair
Your laureate crown is permanent

You walk fast as a local feline
L'Empereur far from his throne
You look disoriented
You look tired

It's nightfalling
Resolution parts
The moon shines
Gold minds

Lace L'étoile
Jeune ace
Shiny sleeves

I go through a mirror
You're sitting in there
I hide carefully
Not to be alert
I have found myself again
Dreaming of you inside
The reflection of your mirror

At night my opal
                           sleeves are made of satin.

   - Codelandandmore// 6:00 PM ©