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Looking at an author

It’s in the cheekbones
Below the eyes
Beneath the subtle shades of truth
It lies
To hide the self
Hiding itself
Yet worlds
Worlds are presented as such
So as to think
That they reside inside

And sometimes they do
Who? A girl named door of course.
Carter Ginter Oct 30
As I picture myself in the future
Through years of HRT
Small glimmers of excitement
Reflect off the walls of my heart
I rarely feel excitement these days
So this instance is important
I picture ****** hair and muscles
A deepened voice ands flat chest
The physical changes excite me
It's the social ones that scare me
I cannot imagine having male privilege
I cannot imagine not feeling objectified
I cannot imagine being read as a man
I was raised in a position of oppression
I am constantly stared at and made into
Nothing more than the prospect of my *******
And yet,
One day,
It will no longer be that way
I'll just look like a basic white boy
And they'll have no idea
Except that I will not stay silent
I will not hide in the shadows
I am transmasculine and nonbinary
And I refuse to remain invisible
Anya Oct 28
Throwback to middle school
We were dorks
Who didn’t care

We do
And they try
I don’t

There’s all that
“The best smile is natural”   But people
Still wear it
Even when they         Preache

There’s nothing wrong
Highlights certain
Gives a new look

And aesthetics
Are valued
In our

Is it I sign
Of insecurity if it’s
Worn every day?

Or is it just like
Wear whatever
You want
And shape your

I don’t
Want to judge
I don’t mean
To judge
There’s no need
To judge

They only reason
I don’t wear
It is

Is it really though?
Or is it,
That I don’t care?

Our society has
An obsession     With

Which one matters more?
I guess...
It’s up to the
her body was a prison, she could not escape from.
a life sentence of hideousness.
each mark on her body perpetuating her to
spin and whirl
and dizzier and dizzier and dizzier she got.
even though she was sickened by this feeling,
at least she couldn't focus on the all things she hated about herself.
at least nausea distracted her from her hideous face.
shayna Oct 20
hurts. to feel alone in a class
that's crowded / loud. when the
teacher comes and asks you
why you're sitting alone in a
swarm of students, you say
'there was no space, it's okay.'
you keep telling lies.
you don't trust yourself
enough not to cry, so you don't
open your mouth at all.
best that way / mistaken for shy.
hi!! thanks for stopping by this poem. i'm new to poetry & hepo, so any feedback (constructive criticism preferably) is appreciated:)
japheth Sep 12
i envy
the mirror
for always being
the first
and last
to see all of you;

how mesmerizing your smile is,
how dreamy your eyes are,
how the curves of your body
create slopes not even
the most beautiful mountains
could compare,

i wish i could see it all.

but unlike the mirror,

you can hear the words coming out of my mouth,
you can feel my embrace as i caress your skin
as if it were a vintage vase,
i could say something funny and then your smile will just effortlessly come out.


the mirror should envy me;

for i could
and feel,
the beauty
that is you.
been a long time since i wrote. but im getting back. now to more exercises!
Spry distractions loaf on lithe intent,
men waking, wishing, trying,
b’lieving, doing, buying -inging time rather than be-,
results in salt-work, sprawling like the C
in coldness: callous spray
that dampens your New Canvas Day.

Pixels splat and reek of pure demise,
wine trauma met with whys
fires livid earth from foil-pressed crumbs
from which your towers rise. You miss
the point of -ing;
the shape you’re in’s an -e-d thing
writ past because of practice;
timed it slow, fixed solemn bets
all rife with catty pugil,
ribbons placed on “I-got-tīme-in” *******
that gleam too brightly
for the lover’s open eye. Youriyese
in grace, ingratiated by devices
(rueful caries)
shelter you from toil’s ten-thousand days.
You see them, they see you whilst print-ing,
comb-ing over, feel-ing joy anew: such sugar lines
the bottom
of a borrowed cup of time.

White hues direct-ing -ingots in a line
totally gold
and pin “pathetic” on your chest,
their best not forged in -ing or be-
(like they would want you to be) -lieve,
but rather hey! and halt!
The hollow points of discord,
blood of victims be- -in’ salt.
Jason Drury Jul 19
You're gone.
I’m shattered.
Perfect little pieces,
of self broken.
Reflecting each side,
the hero that fought,
a poet that was adored,
the helpless romantic,
even the ******.
All of me was for you.

Sweeping up whats left.
Assemble with glue and tape.
I am not perfect,
but I still love you.
Jason Drury Jul 19
Another being,
fresh with blood.
Pale with dark black circles.
Fills my sight,
every rebirth of gold.
It's even there,
during its death.
Its subtle whispers,
telling of truths.
Truths I know,
in heart and betrayal.
Pester and fester,
poke if you will.
Not even time,
grays your message.
“I know”,
with force I scream.
“I know”,
I sing.
Look away at the wall,
Open my eyes,
there you are…
In your vile prison,
reflecting flawed detail.
Who are you?
the being in there.
Body Dysmorphic Disorder (BDD): Affects 1 in 50 people.
ME Jul 2
Small as if it’s irrelevant
Yet relevant
A tiny star
Afar doesn’t mean a trivial existence

A simple idea
Becomes an invention, a project
Mansions built brick by brick
Torn down entirely

A ridiculous conflict
Lead to abhorrence,
Might triggers a war,
Discrimination of appearance

A baffling immensity
Wrapping a hollow body
Argues leading to insanity
And cures others from it

One spark
Enlighten the throne
One spark
Could burn a town

Big as if it’s relevant
Yet irrelevant
If a king gives an order
Does it matter who wears the crown
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