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Selfies,
I can smell the desperation,
from here.
odors  of worry;
rippling anxities of uncertainity.
two dimensional,
instantaneous impressions,
pixelated presentations,
and
Teenage frustrations.

up tilted camera.
held against the light,
Illuminating eyes ,
and eradicating spots.
that looks like a good one.
Vicarious representation;
of how good
one could look,
fallible and hopeful.

big bosomed dame
showcasing blessed cleavage,
pulsating the adolescent
bulges.
delivered to
metal passenger,
thereafter shown
among peers.
networked to unknown.
Friends who'd never
met eye,
or
touched skin,
or
even spoke.  

self conscious
cropping of images.
fat and fearful.
wasted hours,
dying for love.
False dream of
captivating the messes with her selfie.

The very ugliness
of impressions.
Oh, how shallow we've became.
The denial
of the impact of aesthetics.
laughable,
torrents of judgement
Skinny,
fat,
ugly,
behold their desperate eyes behind the selfie.
Glance down on the selfie with objectiveness ,and open yourself to the thought process of each individual, on each selfie they take. All the billions of flaws, among all the billions of people; with each picture we take, the heart pulsates at possible notifications. The child like glee we feel when we think we look good, The somber sadness that peers over us when we feel we look bad.
Alvira Perdita Sep 2016
the sound of water running
and your coughs as you shower
at four am
trying to clear your lungs
in hopes of being able to
breathe freely

i lie in bed, waiting
hoping,
afraid that you won't
be able to get back
to sleep after this

and all i want
for you is
a peaceful night's
sleep
my love.
CataclysticEvent Oct 2018
Scattered across the floor,
I see my life laid out in front of me.
Detailed pieces of my life,
Highlighted in yellow,
Red, purple, and green.

Sorted into lessons,
Triumphs, losses, and utter despair.
But something is missing.
Something's not there.

Laid before my eyes.
A lifetime of living,
With happiness missing.
There is no highlighting in pink.
No moment not ruined,
By loss or lesson.

My daughter's birth,
Ruined by a mother who,
Showed up to the labor room,
So drunk standing wasn't an option.

And now even in moments,
Of greatness.
My "happiness" is missing.
As if it never existed in my world.

A tattered and torn world.
Covered in Ash and debri.
Who created this world?
Was it really me.

My anxities and depression.
My agoraphobia and OCD.
Creating a world.
That isn't quite right for me.

Scattered across the floor.
Laid out in front of me.
Are highlighted moments,
In a world built to destroy me.

— The End —