The beauty of a woman
Is not in the clothes she wears,
The figure that she carries,
Or the way she combs her hair.

The beauty of a woman
Must be seen from her eyes,
Because that is the doorway to her heart,
The place where love resides.

The beauty of a woman
Is not a facial mole,
But true beauty in a woman
Is reflected in her soul.

It is the caring she lovingly gives,
The Passion that she shows.
The beauty of a woman
with passing years only grows and grows

Cheniece 3h

But everyone sees this fake facade of me
Not knowing how I really be
Always wanting to cut my skin red
And even some nights just put a gun to my head

But as long as the publics happy, as long as yall are cool
Yall don't see the pain inside me the grown into a beast
A beast that never can be tammed
Who would ever love a psycho girl like me?

The one who says she's "happy", one who says she's "fine"
When in reality all I don't want is to be confined
Pushed into a dark corner, force to see no light
Suffocated by the darkness, slowly adapting

All I wanted was to feel someone's touch
But instead I feel the touch of the bottle pressed against my lips

I wish people could view me as a person who isn't
 happy, secure, and well balanced

Not seeing the darkness underneath

The same darkness that tells me to pick up the knife
And slice the blue apple into a million parts
Praying for myself to pick up the pieces
Before these dark thoughts overcome me

Continuing the cycle of self-abuse
Knowing that no one will ever love me
Because how can they when I don't love myself

Myself that I've been with for X amount of years
I don't know why Im still crying these same damn tears
The tears of emptiness and no emotions
That manifests to loneliness

The feeling of common feelings
That heartache and irrational
Thoughts and figures that appear

I know that death is easy, sounds like pure bliss
However the darkness of the smoke fills my head
It clouds even the easiest parts of me

The very same smoke that suffocates me as I slowly adapt
That's pushed me into a dark corner where the light doesn't reach
Confined by the reality that I don't want to be in

"She not okay, she's not happy nor fine"

The psycho girl that will never find love
Transforms into a beast that has been freed
That uses its pain to feed off of
To avoid depriving the publics happiness to feed on

Some nights I want to use the gun instead
And start to see my pretty skin turn red
But I don't know how it's really suppose to be
To live in a word without the fake facade of me.

Love yourself, be free ~chebad
JL Smith 7h

The happiest ever after
I've found
Is falling in love with yourself

© JL Smith

JAC 10h

Your room has seen your secrets:
Your dangerous apathy
Your restless midnights
Your inviting sheets
Your missed mornings
Your tireless love
Your tired admiration
Your sore beauty
Your tentative bravery
Your half-awake kiss
Your sober frustration
Your wasted excitement
Your naked safety
Your thoughtless stresses
Your mind being torn apart
Your soft intakes of beautiful breath
And it will never, ever not want you.

I have never felt beautiful.
Never. No. Not me.
But there was a sundress I owned
in the fifth grade when things weren't so bad.
And I wore that dress on a sunny day in May;
I wore it confidently.
It had orange and white stripes
and it reminded me of popsicles.
Maybe that was why on that sunny day in May
a man tried to get me to follow him.
My sister told me not to listen to the people
who stood awkwardly outside of schoolyards.
But I couldn't help but think that maybe
that awkwardly standing man thought I was beautiful.
And maybe that is why I seek love in men
who always seem to have cruel intentions.
Or maybe, it's just the reason why
I enjoy the orange cream popsicles so much.

originally written 3/23/17
shåi 14h

her mind
wove assorted ornaments
          of vivid hues

each stitch
      an alternate reality
a story she wished she knew

her view,
a distant spectacle--
a casual onlooker
upon the lovely scene

emotions spin
      making its own ball of yarn
a tight knot forms

she is
her own
great nightmare

distorted reflections
grimace in horror
                her own doing

a black sea
bubbles and gurgles
liquifying sensual sins

beauty hides
the facade
         of her own madness

(b.d.s.)

Jim Davis 1d

... it's very hard to absolutely tell
      so much beauty lies therein,
   when,
... a drifting butterfly
alights upon one's
      opened hand
           again,
... if not for all the
beautiful colors,
   arising in the mind within

... life really cannot get weighed
although we always do at first
   when,
... a soul entering through an
      opened womb
alights upon a tiny life unborn
however even
            then,
... it's very hard to absolutely tell
      so much beauty lies therein

... sometimes sweet love itself
is all a loss
and then we pine, cry and groan
wishing a time again,
   when,
... love adrift in the air returns to    
alight upon a shattered heart
      opened to hardly believing
          again,
... if not for all the
beautiful colors,
   arising in the mind within

... for the loss of a living loved which eventually
comes to almost all and one
we are oh so glad
   then,
... for any drifting love of friend or kin
to alight upon one's own
      opened yet broke
heart and soul to live, still
          again,
... it's very hard to absolutely tell
      so much beauty lies therein

... of course before the end of life
upon these rough stumbly shores
If arrival not much too late
all have hope for
   when,
... salvation alights upon an
      opened poor soul
with at first only a wee bit of true
belief of him until eternity's
         then,
... if not for all the
beautiful colors,
   arising in the mind within

... eventually breath like all love except
God's love leaves everyone
In the known earthly end
   when,
... a searching death
alights upon as cause of one's  
      opened grave
         even then,
... it's very hard to absolutely tell
      how much beauty lies therein

... Remember too,
a butterfly, a life, a love, a soul
if caught
and grasped too
tight around, this
        then,
... shatters fragile wings,
taking away all and any hope of
soaring flight, of a
a life, a love or a soul,
as a rising butterfly
      opened to the winds,
        when,
... it's very hard to absolutely tell
      so much beauty lies therein
... without all the
beautiful colors,
   arising in the mind within

©  2017 Jim Davis

My first attempt at a villanelle poem, thus 22 lines instead of only 19!

Beauty of her face stole my heart,
Her heart-warming charisma had fallen me apart.

Her hair were silky and smelled so fresh,
She was a beauty which everyone wanted to embrace.

Her sparkling bright eyes were deep blue like ocean,
It took away my anxiety with that magical potion.

Her face had wrinkles, yet felt so perfect,
Eruption and sores were hard to detect.

Her voice produced euphony, felt soothing,
Rhythmic tempo and everyone started grooving.

Her smile was radiant and had that charm,
She can capture your attention without leaving any harm.

JL Smith 1d

Oh, how I fear death
But welcome your touch
That stops my heart

© JL Smith

Dust Song Jan 24

Light and joy, wind, and passion, sweet amber grain and intricate whispers arrayed atop your  brow bringing glory to you to your handsome face and something yes something I remember from so long ago dangles in between the strands. I long to touch it, to wrap it in my fingers and hold it to my lips to breathe in this faded thing that rest amidst the curls this that is so hard to place. Ive seen it in my mothers face and have cried for it in fervent prayer It is as a memory, a scent, a feeling,  a gripping command for happiness intense but also quiet and vague. It is love and so much more it is where I sleep it is where I dream, it is a waive that washes up upon the beaches of my pillow. I lost myself in it bound between it's feathers, yes lost but not unreachable you have only to pull me down in to your lips and there is where I will be forever conquered between the two

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