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levi eden r Jul 2018
i've always suffered with acne. i've written about it before. but yeah, it started really in 7th grade. it was one then two then a whole family then before i knew it, my face was red and bumpy and it hurt.

i've tried everything. i really mean it. every home remedy, every recommendation, every tip, every product on the shelf and a few online. nothing's really helped. throughout these years and i'm now a ------ and i still deal with it. because of my acne, it's taken a huge toll on how i view myself and how i feel about myself. i used to hate myself. i would only look in the mirror once every day and that's to put on makeup to cover scarring and acne that's still there.

i hated myself. so much. i wouldn't go out. my parents, specifically my mother, had a lot to say about my face. she would point it out even when i had makeup on and it made me really insecure.

now, i think differently. i'm currently breaking out because i ate a small piece of meat. (which i don't really do, because i don't eat meat anymore. i did it for reasons which isn't relevant right now lol) so yeah, my face is red and bumpy again. washing my face with my eyes closed, i can really feel the pimples. it made me feel disgusting for a moment. but i had to remind myself that it's okay. i'm different now, i don't really care if i break out anymore. of course, i still feel a bit insecure but i don't hate myself because of it.

i still feel like i did when i wasn't breaking out. seeing my face like this has really been a sign for me as saying to myself:
1. don't eat meat anymore, under any circumstances/situations
2. it's okay

i'm okay with my acne that i had in the past now and i'm okay with the breakout i'm currently having.
this is growth, right?
Luna Casablanca  May 2014
Acne
Luna Casablanca May 2014
What's on, what's there
What can't be touched.
What we think makes others beware.
Beware who we are on the inside.

Acne is the unfortunate
addition that causes the poor
young soul to lack,
confidence,
self-esteem,
and pride.

Stop.
You are beautiful.
You need to forget.
Acne is on everyone
You have nothing to regret.

So they judge,
so they criticize.
Secretly pointing out the
pink,
scattered,
stand-out surface
on what used to be
a bare and beautiful face.

Stop.
Every face is beautiful,
but never bare.
Stay optimistic in your attitude.
Look them in the eye,
wink,
and smile when they stare.

You're still and will always be you.
Only your heart speaks the truth.
Of how you create and what is part of
who you are.
Whether broken out or not,
you never
stop being
a beautiful, young,
star.
So this is my first poem I am actually posting. Wish me luck!
Labyrinth  Apr 2014
OMFG Acne
Labyrinth Apr 2014
Everyday,
I stare at my face in the mirror,
Wondering, wondering, wondering,
Why do I have acne?

I eat the slice of double cheese pizza that's cooling in my hand,
Putting it down, I touch the underdeveloped pimples on my face,
Popping each one out of irritation,
I finish by drinking two can of coco cola after.
*Oh*, what a healthy life style I'm living!
Hints of sarcasm here and there. :>
22.04.14
JJ Hutton Jan 2011
It was the December of '91,
and Larry asked me to come with
him and some ladies he knew
from Cameron Christian to
some **** yogurt shop on
Dead Dog Ave.

Three brunettes and a blonde;
at the time
I didn't care much for brunettes,
but god, god, god,
the blonde
with the crystal grey eyes,
the wrinkled floral print dress,
an optimistic ***,
and shaky feet
every single time
I made the eyes.

Sarah and Jennifer (two of the brunettes)
smelled of Glade-Feces-Blanket-Spray,
the third was far too young
to undress,
and I nearly strangled my beautiful blonde
when she mouthed, "Eliza."

I kept talking up the
fact my dad had just kicked me out.
I told Eliza I had the most magnificent
apartment
a bachelor could buy,
she kept averting her eyes,
shifting subjects like
playing cards,
my hands kept clinching,
clasping,
aching,
"Be right back, purty ladies."
I headed for the bathroom
leaving Larry to ******
Jennifer Glade.

I looked in the mirror,
I remember giving myself
a pep talk,
but I can't for the life of me
remember anything I said.

I remember pulling a dwindling
bottle of Black Label from my jacket.
I had taken it from my ******* dad,
the night he yelled, yelled, yelled,
until I was in some low-income complex
with a bunch of lowlife, ******
fuckups.

I ****** off the remnants.
Combed, recombed my greasy hair,
went back in,
just in time to hear
Jennifer Glade spout her stupid mouth,
"Larry, I told you I have a boyfriend."
"He's a ******* idiot."
She started to whimper,
said something like he was a regular sweetheart.
The regulars are so boring.

Larry stood up,
accused her of leading him on,
the acne cashier asked us to "pipe down",
I directed my stare into his acne-framed
irises.

I walked quietly toward him,
I could feel Larry and the girls
tracing my every feature.
"Just leave him alone,"
said my blonde little sweetie,
I turned back to her briefly.
Her skin looked like milk,
I wondered if it tasted like milk,
I kept my feet on track,
redirected the gaze,
back to my heavy-breathing cashier.

I got eight inches away from his face,
he fumbled some words,
that left a bad taste.
I could see my reflection in his retinas.
I looked clumsy and circular.
My milky, blonde Eliza would
never go for a circular **** like me.
This conclusion
coursed through my veins with
irrational speed.

I shot the acne cashier.
Right in his stupid, acne-framed iris.
The gun had been my grandfather's.
He had killed a black boy in the '30s with it.
Got to love legacies.

The brunettes were screaming.
I think Larry was trying to reason with me,
or maybe he was throwing up-
somebody threw up,
anyways,
I shot the young one first.
She had annoyed me most.

Then Sarah Glade.
Then Jennifer Glade.
Eliza began to run.

I jogged after her,
she frantically searched for a phone,
and my milky blonde
found one.

I stopped at the doorway,
rested my head on the frame,
listened to her cry into the handset,
begging for the police.
I opened my lids,
silently strolled up behind her,
with my left hand
I grabbed her optimistic ***,
with my right hand
I pulled the trigger.
She splattered onto me.
I felt successful.

I walked outside.
A silent,
still Austin night,
not even a dog on the street.
Larry was crying.
I told him to shut up.
They were *******.
Asked him for his lighter.
He opened his car door,
dug in his center console,
buried under 6-feet of cigarettes
was a lighter,
he popped the trunk,
I grabbed the gas can.

I erased Friday's mistakes,
and found Larry had driven off without me.
I walked to my low-income home.
I had a lazy Saturday.
Read an interesting story in the Guardian on Sunday.
By noon on Monday,
they were pointing cameras at me.
Copyright 1/11/2011 by J.J. Hutton
Anonymous Nov 2014
You tell me I'm beautiful,
pretty,
gorgeous,
But why?
Because you are not tricking me,
But only yourself,
You think,
"If I tell her she's beautiful, maybe I will grow to believe it too."
Well sweetheart, it is working?
You ignore the flaws of my body, my face,
Only to deceive your own mind,
Because if you saw my flaws you might no longer love me,
You chose to ignore my acne,
Because if you didn't, you're afraid you would leave,
You chose to ignore my protruding chin when I smile,
Because you wish you had someone who could smile sunlight rays,
You chose to ignore the redness in my skin,
Because you want to believe what matters is within,
But is it working dear boy?
The more you use the word beautiful,
Does it make you any more confident being around someone who's not?
Kinda a slam poem I made up quickly.
I'm feeling kinda lonely and these are the thoughts running through my mind.
Sydney Ann  Feb 2015
Rhyme Acne
Sydney Ann Feb 2015
Writer's block has clogged my mental pores
Oily ignorance I cannot ignore
Technology is fogging up my mind
Leaving me no time to unwind

I looked in the mirror today
And guess what I saw

My ugly, stunted imagination's face
Full of gross digital zits
I'm really starting to miss
My former wit
I've got to get out of this keyboard-y place
Anne B  Aug 2014
Acne,
Anne B Aug 2014
it’s the skin disease that is my sickness
It’s the red dots
                  (hurtings, blemishes, scars)
                         and not my face I see
It’s the
                                 d e s p e r a t i o n
                                  on display
                                  of my insecurities, and
  so it worsens my insecurities
  
The hermeneutic circle;
                                             fact is fact
So, on my face
       desperation is visible
                     sadness in my mind;
         emptiness in body;
— but explosions on my face
  That is all I see
       It's all
            I
                     am.
I am a
                    sickness.

**august 2014
Acne. What it does to me displayed. At least some of it.
Luna  Oct 2018
a message to women
Luna Oct 2018
This is for you:

-the girl who is so ashamed because of her acne,
-the girl who cries in front of her mirror because she doesn’t
look like Picasso’s muse,
-the girl who forgot how to smile because of her problems,
-the girl who cries her eyes out every night because of him,
-the girl who is so terrified to attach because of her past relationship,
-the girl who is different from the others,
-the girl who wants to save every soul she meets, except hers,
-the girl whose heart, blood and soul runs wild,

-you are so much more than the sprinkles from your skin.
-you're not Picasso’s muse, but you definitely are God’s muse.
-don’t waste your life being so stressed, just enjoy the journey.
-you need to be strong.Cry your heart out, but stop,your tears are too worthy , make them rare, for the real ones.
-try to love yourself first, then someone else.
-your future is not defined by your past.
-you need to save yourself first.
-run with them, darling, and never look back.

This is for you, girls.
You, no matter what, are good enough.
You are lovable.
You are strong.
You are independent.
You are different.
You are rare.
You are you, and that is your power, learn how to use it.
love yourself, girl
ern kingham Oct 2014
Most
people connect
the freckles on their skin
to create constellations of stars
I try to connect the acne scars only to find that nobody wants to see those lines of insecurities that travel down my back, and over my shoulders
My shoulders that feel like they carry the weight of the world, are
strong, are scarred, are swimming-built, are still beautiful.
despite what those who do not know me may think.
This star shaped poem was too insecure to be finished......
E l l e  Nov 2017
Kinda like Acne
E l l e Nov 2017
You're kind of like acne.

The first time I thought you, I was happy
I thought this was the first sign of growing up

You were a big milestone, you know.

After about a year I'd had enough of you
with your clinginess and infectious presence

I knew you had to leave.

My heart wanted you gone
and my body seemed to love you

I just wanted out, but I didn't know how.

Then came the extreme measures
I even had to see an expert

I'm sorry it came to this.

Now you're gone but I still see reminents
of what you did to me

I cover you up everyday.

But then I realize everyone knows what it's like
Everyone knows it's not a big deal

To have a little acne every once in a while.
mj  Jul 2018
Acne 01
mj Jul 2018
I have acne
and they leave scars

I love my skin
despite the marks

Etched on my face
is a piece art...

My skin,
surely a canvas.

I have craters

I have valleys

I have mountains
high and low

Each my own
I have learned
to love them all on my own
MereCat  Jan 2015
Liar
MereCat Jan 2015
You've got lies
Like you've got acne
Raw and sour
They deform the skin of the room
Leave scars on its silence
Creep unbidden into pores
Brand themselves into reflections
Hung
Ugly as battle wounds
On the arpeggios of conversation

And you wear your lies
Like you wear acne
Smothered in pretty chemicals
You deliver them like scripted text
Into a world of disingenuity
The self-affected
One-trick-pony of your tongue
Plays them down with beauty
But fails to remove their aftertaste

So please,
Feel free to keep talking
But I thought you should know
That no one's listening any more
And we no longer believe in
Your cries of 'wolf'
Because we know that
No matter how you sing your lies
The world will not cease to orbit the sun
And then re-align itself to you
I wrote this in a burst of anger at break time yesterday for a girl in my class who has been lying for four years straight...

— The End —