Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
who is she?
i’m not saying that in a cute, quirky, self-confident way either, like
genuinely, who is she?
i don’t remember when i morphed from a
bony, pimply, bowlegged teen into a
soft, dimpled, hunchbacked “adult”.
there are still remnants of her--
my forehead still bears the marks of farms of blackheads
and my collarbones are still visible when i allow them to be--
but her
this “woman”
looking back at me is still as foreign as blood pudding.
i still feel the same, relatively, as i did when i was 5 years younger.
i still tend to wear clothes that are comfortable over flattering.
i still feel my stomach tied into itself at the thought of making a doctor’s appointment on my own.
i still feel like me.
but her?
i don’t recognize her.
taken from the prompt by little infinite poetry (the 30-day guide). i was instructed to look at my reflection. definitely a work in progress but i did like how it turned out :)
Bleurose Jun 20
My skin begs me daily to care for it
Microscopic mouths yawning for moisture.
I ignore the voices and
laugh into my fourth slice of pizza.

I am trying to eat healthier.
But instead I just
Shower and hope
The mouths stay silent.
They’ve been screaming a while though…
I took something the Riven System said (friend(s?) of mine) and then mixed it up into a poem.
TyeniWrites May 25
A glance at her face is all it takes
Can ruin her entire day
Everyday she feels ugly
Slowly killing her inside
Dear God a clear skin,she begged
She just wants to feel pretty
tomorrow May 11
my mom always said
pretty girls don’t pick their face
so then I look at me
and I feel like a disgrace
because my hands won’t stay in place
and pretty girls don’t pick their face
I blame myself for every bump that shows
and I hate that everyone knows
don’t pick they say
but these things aren’t on their face
I’m so ashamed
I just want to hide away
because pretty girls don’t pick their face
someday they’ll disappear
and you’ll feel prettier
“it’s sad you don’t feel confident
in your own skin”
they say it’s a phase
but all the negatives out weigh
because pretty girls don’t pick their face
Grace Butler Jan 28
Everytime I look in the mirror, I wonder what you see in me.
I see all my flaws, you see my beauty.
I see scars, you see my survival.
I see all the acne and bags under my eyes, you see my struggle to sleep with understanding. You see that I try to take care of myself but it’s hard sometimes.
In comparison to others I feel immensely inferior.
So I ask myself what do you see in me?
Why can’t I see what you see?

Why does the mirror deceive me?
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder”
Why do I see me the way I do?
amelia Nov 2019
they are like constellations of stars
flung across the infinity of my cheeks.

they are like suns and moons
my face is the cosmos.

my face is a blank canvas
and they are the paints.

my face is the water
and they are the ripples that run through it.

my skin is my own
and they are there.
even when i don't want them to be
they will be.

just like everything else, normal.
i've struggled with bad skin for a long time, and have slowly come to realise that no matter how well i eat, how much sleep i get, how much i wash my face or how much i exercise, its a factor of my life and i just have to accept it! having acne doesn't make you ugly, its a part of you that you have to learn to accept, because if you fight something it will just get worse.
Mark Toney Nov 2019
Puberty arrives
With it's accompanying drives
Plus the scourge of teenage acne.
Most remedies would fail
Nothing ever worked well
While my face continued to attack me.

Father scoffed "Son I implore
If you scrub your face more
Then your acne will soon disappear."
Scrubbed as hard as I could
But it still did no good
Further proof that my case was severe.

Unsightly, painful and embarrassing...
By adulthood it stopped its harassing.
6/17/2019 - Poetry form: Rhyme - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2019
Meenu Syriac Jul 2019
I look at her,
her sad eyes and juvenile wrinkles.
A face riddled with scars and red bumps,
interweaved with healed and unhealed flesh.
I wish I didn't care about what I see in the mirror.

I wish I didn't care about how my skin feels against my fingertips,
or what I see when I search for my reflection.

They talk about loving yourself
but how can I,
when all I see is a hideous monster?
I know,
I know.
There are sorrows much painful,
woes more pertinent than mine.
But how do I tell my mind to stop crucifying itself?

How do I diffuse these electrical impulses,
from my eyes to my brain,
carrying an image of my face and interpreting it as
unnatural,
ugly,
pitiful?

I wish I didn't spend so much time,
trying to wash this dirt off me,
trying to pick and probe at the scabs,
when I know it's a part of me,
arising from me.

How do I stop myself from judging my worth
as the sum of these scars
that lie skin deep?
BD Apr 2019
They came expected,
But oh so unexpected,
Dusk stalking blue skies and sun,
A small patch; barely infected,
Just a few weeks and they’ll be gone,
Just a few weeks and they’ll be gone,

The naivety of my youth allowed me to forgive them,
But time has passed,
They have been feeding,
Infesting,
Like mould in a damp corner,
I ‘must be handling them wrong’,
A new product promised to do wonders,
To my ears an angel’s song,
Just a few weeks and they’ll be gone,

And yet a few turned to a family,
Beneath the diet, the exercise, the routines, the gallons of water, the research,
I could hear Lucifer laughing,
Like that one person at my school,
That was a year ago,
And yet they and Lucifer still laugh at me,
Through murky panes and pictures,
Just a few weeks and they’ll be gone,

Every day they disappear more,
I tell myself I’ve won,
Yet old pictures show me it’s an illusion,
Surely they’ll end for summer’s fun,
Just a few weeks and they’ll be gone,

I now greet my friend the mirror,
Between everything I do,
He tells me it’s getting clearer,
His story’s must be true,
Just a few weeks and they’ll be gone,

I am a fool to my own deceit,
For the naked eye of me the whole world,
Can see these demons,
These scarlet brandings,
And every glimpse I catch in my friend the mirror,
In the reflections of a stranger’s wondering eye,
The voice in my head says ‘why me’
That’s all that it’s come to,
There is no more light in this night that has consumed me,
So all that is left,
Is echoes,
‘Why me’

But they won’t be here for long,
Just a few weeks and they’ll be gone.
Kieran Mar 2019
Remember that
From far away
Acne looks like freckles
And grossly feminine hips
Are just curves

Remember that
To strangers you are nothing
But your looks are everything
And hair is just hair
And twins are just sisters

Remember how
When you were six
The names of different trucks
And dinosaurs
Seemed so very important

Remember how
When you were sixteen
The names you gave yourself
And others
Seemed so very important

Remember
When you are sixty
That to someone else acne
Is no different than freckles
And your name is so very important
Next page