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NF  Sep 2015
Love Yourself
NF Sep 2015
My mirror is covered in cracks and flaws, and some parts that make you look fatter, like a funhouse mirror, and it clings to dust and dirt and fingerprint smudges of oil.
But I don't replace it.
Because sometimes it's easier to spot the flaws in the mirror than to fixate on my flaw riddled body,
Flaws that aren't just skin deep,
The night is beautiful but deadly.
When you can't see, you have to find new flaws to detest,
It's addictive to beat yourself,
I'm in an abusive relationship where I don't mean to hurt me and I can't leave myself-
And there's some macabre satisfaction in the dependable breaking,
Like I know every night I will go to sleep hating the fact that I am still breathing,
There are memories haunting me from as young as ten,
Things that shouldn't still be repeating,
I can't work out how it just keeps accumulating,
Words spoken
And thoughts
And I don't know if anyone else feels sentences as deeply as I do,
And I'm running out of personality to stick pins into,
Trying to fix myself with voodoo
They say negative reinforcement is the quickest way to correct behaviour but I make the same mistakes
it's not okay that I constantly feel like I'm failing,
But life is more than a high-stakes game
And everyone's saying that all teenagers feel this way
But it's not reassuring to know that my generation is one of lost souls and hate.
And we're all really angry,
Whether it's because we'll be working till we're 90 or conflict left undated
Racism still exists and the Chancellor of Germany is getting called a ****
While anyone Asian is labelled Indian or ****
And eating disorders run rampant through the territory where anorexic girls get priority while the boy who binge eats is just called fatty.
And this is where I insert a statistic to convince you that we're unhappy but I refuse to be quantified just so I can mean something.
And it doesn't let up,
Compliments are uncomfortable and seeing good in yourself is arrogance, criticisms self pity
And you never know if they want to help you or just ensure that you understand the importance of conformity
It doesn't take much to convince someone you're okay.
There's not much you need to say
And if you can laugh then you're fine and we know no one checks the closets for skeletons because they're filled with people too afraid to come out of them
People accept 'fine' because they just need to know that they asked the question,
And besides, deeper questions get stuck beneath my skin.
And even when someone else compliments me I don't believe them,
Pushing away others cause I need distance,
Sometimes I feel sick from the level of enforced interaction but people only see the side they want to see.
When I told my friends about the time I struggled with suicidal thoughts they expressed their sympathies and it hasn't come up since.
Romanticising illnesses leaves me unsure if I am suffering or if I just want to be,
And part of me has to agree that diagnosis and its certainty would be better than the admission that life is just like this
You can't get better if it's something you can't fix
I don't think I'm broken but maybe I was made to the wrong specifications cause it feels like I am missing something but at the same time there is too much of me and not just physically
I am choking on the sheer volume of my past, present and impeding future
Trying to get it together
Told that it's okay if I don't know where I want to go
But in year 9 we picked our gcses which determined our a levels which determined our university courses which determine our career, if we even get there.
I keep finding new problems
I am still haunted by the old ones.
But I'll be okay,
Cause today
Someone told me to love myself.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
.only last year i learned that my grandmother had an abortion... shocked? maybe, my great-grandmother was a very religious woman... unfortunately... my grandfather's dementia implies that he's paranoid about admitting that he was a communist party member, and that, like all the school-children... cried... when the olive-skinned Georgian, the grand-master of subverting the Russians, died; oops?

why did i go to an Irish Catholic School?
in Seven Kings?
we had this, "debate", about abortions
aged 15 / 16... taking out religious
studies GCSEs...
                 and the point of that, was?
sorry... no...
       maybe that's why i prefer to frequent
   no concerns over STDs (since the prostitutes
confide in me that they get
regular medical checks, and, can you,
believe it! i believe them)
and no concerns for imposing marriage
proposals via stealth impregnation...
  what i should have said was:
can we extend this ****** thing with
you wearing a full-bodied latex suit?
  i'm feeling kinda *****...
  but NO! oh NO!
        ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
i'm feeling, kinda *****...
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
maybe i was, once upon a time,
the sort of suitcase material for women,
compliant, ordinate, whatever the ****
that means...
        certain a household busy body...
guess what?!
         NOT, ANY, MORE!
          half starved alcoholic and a heavy
smoker, orientated around filling
a pixel fail-safe space of a blank...
       about as much a father-figure in me,
as in a ******* donkey....
but the donkey is not being the carrot,
it knows the the stick...
             and a stick is a better analogy
to a double edged sword:
it goes, along, the lines, of:
a stick has two ends,
you can hold a stick,
  and hit someone with it,
or the stick can be yanked out of your hands,
and you can be hit with it...
ah... isn't that so much more...
       a debate about abortion...
with a child aged 15 / 16?
   only an Irish Catholic school...
sorry... NO!
                  that isn't a baby,
that is a *****...
           it's a baby outside of a woman...
so what? when i ******* into
a tissue and flush it down the toilet,
i'm supposedly committing, genocide?
i must be, self-evidently by
your counter argument...
         what idiot is supposed to expect
a child, out of uni, aged 21,
with a bride aged 19...
and the best thing, coming to him,
is to work with his father,
  doing industrial scaled roofing?
with a bride... too proud to move in with
her in-laws for a while?!
what, sort, of, schmuck, does that?!
oh no... i've done my mea culpa bull-****!
i'm done!
       just because it's inside a woman's
body, doesn't make it anything
more than what it is, in my body!
         i'll play my loser card
simultaneously with my joker card...
the Catholic Church can eat ****...
moralizing while it gravitates
  to a castrato soprano faggoting some
choir boy!
              moralize my ***
telling me that taking a **** is a sin!
so where am i supposed to put it?!
corpus christi! eat that!
let's begin...
  it is immoral for teenagers, aged 15 through to 16,
to be exposed to the ethical discussion
surrounding abortion... PERIOD...
have your religious education...
  after all... i was the only idiot
who did four A-levels, most people only did 3...
17 / 18...
      extra-curriculum activity...
ethics... oddly enough:
the schooling establishment a bit dry...
when it comes to the euthanasia
   can't exactly argue with someone who's
more than willing,
to exact the penal code...
    euthanasia is a non-win argument
for the Catholics...
but abortion? sway-prone...
   if you tell me,
  just because my ***** is now
the ownership of a woman,
and i can't *******...
   if you tell me:
that, whatever "that" is... is "life"?

let's put a cherry on the top of this
mode of thinking,
seriously, ethical debate concerning
abortion, using teenagers?
the ones easily cloned?
(told you, religion predates
the concept of cloning,
prior to the scientific discovery
of d.n.a.) -
  let's put a cherry on top,
of this... "cheesecake"...
   what was it...
              you know... when rage
implodes, and you don't punch
an angry young man's anger...
well... that's different...
  but allocating a basin for
the collection of Berserk, rage?
you know when you,
write semi-blind, semi-conscious?
in a dream-like "reality"?
when a bull sees red?

why did i attend an Irish Catholic school?
pedophiles about to dictate
the rules of, ethics on my ***?!

entertain me...
   i understand the ethics of:
when the pregnancy is too late,
when the ***** has morphed into
looking akin to what a baby looks
like outside of a woman:
i.e. a ******* man...

   but while it's inside a woman...
it's attache...
             and if n early abortion
is deemed, infanticide....
**** me...
   i commit genocide almost every
day, and flush it down, the,
******* toilet!
Alina  Nov 2020
Failing together
Alina Nov 2020
I lost a friend
In the land of broken dreams
We can’t lie
And say we didn’t try

But today I stride in alone
To the land of the forgotten
Hoping to make it out alive
In one piece, to the other side

It may take an hour or year
but we have one last chance
To mend our souls  
And lives
And our GCSEs

But if we fail
Then we failed together
We may not be friends
But we gave it ago
And I regret nothing

I had fun.
I enjoyed the hidden pain
All the laughs and jokes
And the nasty remarks.
We were different
And that’s what made it special
We were special
And no one can change that

Till next time,
Good bye my ‘good friend’
I’ll see you in English and science
And lunch and break.
Because we can’t be avoided.

Yesterday we stood together and
Today I  stand alone
Onto my next journey
I turn back to the past before stepping to the future
While you watch me from the distance
Wondering where did it all go wrong,
Megan  Feb 2019
Lucky Me
Megan Feb 2019
When I got my GCSEs
They said I was lucky
When I got into uni
They said I was lucky
When the doctors got to me just in time
They said I was lucky
When I met you
I knew it was luck
And now
I’m running out of luck
And you’re leaving me
I wonder what they’ll say now
Alina  Aug 2020
Good luck
Alina Aug 2020
The next few hours  can determine
ones chance of survival.
Of stability in their lives as an adult.

Good luck in your GCSEs my dear friends! It’s not your fault exams got cancelled.
It’s the GCSE exam results day. They were cancelled due to covid 19 so now people are getting predicted grades.
Alice  Apr 2017
a level english
Alice Apr 2017
i’m meant to be able to do it,
for a long time
it’s been the only thing i’m good at,
i never felt inferior when learning it,
and getting my grades back,
was like a dream come true
finally some As in the bag,
for someone who truly,
only, ever really got Cs
and when i did my GCSEs
the questions flowed through me,
and the words placed themselves
on the page without me
barely even thinking,

i knew what i was doing then,

and now, well, i sit and stare
at the poems without a thought in my mind,
and i read Dr Faustus
and pretend like i don’t care, that
i can’t conjure a single, original point
and i can’t analyse the words
because i don’t know what they mean
and i can’t write my essays with that
familiar confidence i used to contain,
now i sit and i struggle,
without structure or form
and no context at all,
then i’m surprised when it comes back as a D,
the As are gone, and so are the Cs.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2018
i mean: fair enough to the sober
commentators on youtube -
   hats off and skirts down to you
gents and gentile women...
         i ask you...
   can you even read the news
under the façade     (there's a greek
ς, sigma, invoked by that...
who would have known,
that the Kelt,
            would have applied
              a greek letter, so far away,
under the wings of rome
diffusing!) -
          under the  faςade of
never could trust someone who
didn't know how to drink...
     or allow himself coherency
when inebriated....
          *******: angel of the opiates
comes along,
    which makes harold shipman
     look like quiete the hippocratic oath
            ministers mull ban on
sale of energy drinks
             apparently children drink
more coffee than adults
  (albeit the covert, synthetic kind,
which underlines the principle
of synthesis for the "worth"
  of science, per se)...
               private schools shun
tougher GCSEs
                       because hard...
              is apparently "too" hard enough...
oh i've "cheated" in my history
                but wrote a brilliant
essay on the counter-reformation
                            in my, "spare" time...
since: how the hell can you "cheat"
when constructing language coherency?
                  caged rat mean anything
to you?
               well, "cheating" never got me
anywhere to a socio-political
position of prominence,
evidently there was only a per se
              all that is chaos, and all that it's not...
yo ** ** and a scottish sailor
saying: i'd really freak out
if you substituted the whiskey for the ***...
imagine that!
   a drunk... with a sober head!
            but can you read the news
                  and be sober, simultaneously?
i was ingenious in crafting
a rabbincal like mini-scroll equivalent
of a torah...
                      folded akin to two rams
barging, and "see-through" in that
there were two-matchsticks to posit
the subsequent movement...
           because why wouldn't you "cheat"
in terms of the regurgitation of
                        boyscout rules
    and: 'sit boy! sit boy! sit!' of crufts?!
most of my childhood friends ended up
in prison,
     which is what you get...
      with a good father and a tyrannical
     and origins in a post-scriptum of
a town once famed as a socio-industrial
complex at the heart of which was metallurgy...
like i said:
       i wrote the most berilliant
counter-reformation essay in my, "spare",
            under examination circumstances?
you ******* a rottweiler in a rat-maze?
educational synonym / imitation
of the islamic call for prayer...
               it's not that i gained a social
status from all of it...
                      merely a principium ex "nihil"...
an honest cheat is worse
          to fathom than an ardent crook...
given there's no pathological truth-sayer...
         miraculously: a visage of an oasis!
but given that i'm drunk...
   and given that i'm reading the news...
why not drink-sprint into a narrative?
          it's not that i'm actually commenting
on some "good"...
               all i know is that i'm shy
        of 2 beers down my local co-op...
and i'll need to brush-my-teeth and
apply deodrant (no one says
do with this spelling:
       deodorant; esp. in england) to hide
                               my "inadequacies";
   americans can have their
                    we can have our
         as we'll keep our: alumni-minimum...
    Al - finally! in pixel!
                              l or 1?
                                 might have to start
considering "breaking the habit"
                                 and introducing AL
like we might fathom Lm
           on a roofer's invoice to denote
                         a linometre: a linear metre,
                everything to do with being just short of:
Sundas Mar 28
The woman in that decrepid orange tent,
Is a certain class of people, chèrie,
She is most unequivocally depraved you see,
Dare I say she got B's in her GCSES.

The only option was fashion studies,
In a counterfeit glass brick university.
She earned perfect attendance for parties,
Then stamped a P45 for flipping patties.

When blessed with the gift of a baby,
She threw him to social workers at twenty,
After she poured all of her trust fund money,
Into ****** and methamphetamine,

And now she is latched to the high-street,
By traffic lights, sullen eyes and paper deciet,
Trying her best like a sticky little leech,
To scrape the sweat from our working feet.

A father says to his daughter some day,
A sea of orange tents are caught mid-sway,
If you squint hard enough from his ochre sofa,
Brushing the outer pixels, you can see the snow.
Day three of my attempt to write more poetry :)

Feedback is much appreciated.

— The End —