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Psych-o-rangE Oct 2022
I'm not as half as beautiful as this man
But he's a Halfie like you
He's got no acne, I got scars on my face
But scars go away
Scars are scars they stay
No, they heal
Oh well, what can I say?
ebh Jul 2020
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 2020
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 2020
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 2020
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 2020
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

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?
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