Photographs can't capture
The majesty of sight
The daisies in the rain
Cloaked in vibrant light

Recordings can't capture
The music of ears
Melody of wonder
All I wish to hear

Words can't always capture
Feelings I possess
Raging storms in me
Leave me as a mess

Every time
I see a father with his daughter
I feel the need to thank him
For being good to her
Because she probably isn't as appreciative
As she would be
If she knew what it was like
To live without his love

you got to respect your parents -
they gave birth and brought up kids
without Google or Wikipedia
without going on Safari
and without parading your
baby bottom on social media

and you, in your time,
you run to web-search
every time you get a pimple

filling up the void with cold skin
where a mind full of words sing
out of tune and out of luck
the summer this year is shorter
and memories just keep haunting
the ghost of nothing in particular
pimples rise like high mountains
in a cold shower of stagnant water

I look into the mirror
Determined to say,
'I'm beautiful, I'm perfect today.'
Then I see the somewhat misshapen nose
The lines underneath my eyes
A brand new pimple on my cheek
Ears that stick out
And all I can think
Is that I will never be beautiful.

studying my face today
      you said
  "i wish i had your flawless skin"
               my skin is far from flawless
you can't see the scars
        lacing my limbs and chest
so maybe i don't have pimples
                 but my skin is not
    flawless

pick apart
the pimples on your face
which is really
a great reminder
of all the things
you can't erase
push that restart button
on your ancient NES
click click click
punch
it won't make you less
hurt

Beauty runs along the coast n core of the heart
Many mistake that by the soft color of the skin

Every night she reflects on the faces she's seen
And she stares at the mirror
Right before her she sees no beauty

Searching for a smooth spot is her desire
Pimple free
But her face is nucleated with pimples

The faces she sets sight upon daily
Haunt her

She looks back n criticizes her face again
She's not that yellow bone
She's  not a size 0

She is curvaceous
She is darker than her knee
But her skin is one of rare soil

She could bleach
Eat greens  

But she believes much that she  was born to be different

She learnt to Love herself
She Felt it inside
And it shone outside
Outlining the curves of her dimples
Surrounded with her beauty spots
Her freckles
Every one of those freckles  retold a story of where she started
When media was centre stage
Questioning her whether light she wanted to be? Or dark as the cave of Africa was her desire ?

She found light
Saw her true beauty.
She was once a victim
A dark victim
But now she is embracing her dark lashes n hazel eyes
Accompanied by her gorgeous dark face
She's proud
I'm proud
True beauty is rare