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Simon 4d
Details to start off with, are undeniable. Filtering each other out of comfort, before anyone else claim’s rich detail. This happens when details aren’t rich. Having one script of information lasting for only a few short moments. Details within other details is more of a finite majority then one would admit. Details shadowing other details, to keep prolonging its desire of centering itself noticeably. Noticeably sound? Correction! Without subjected material mixing into desires not including options. Options firing details wrapped into a more cryptic pattern. Cryptic being subjected to overusing the same pattern from before. Attracting an entanglement. Switching off (plain for all to see). Giving more subject matter to what details could commute. Offering more justifiable knowledge on what’s truly never taking place. Details mask true intentions. Away from individuals always on the hustle for every day material. Never noticing their details within details everywhere. Downside is… Thinking there’s just one detail in the picture. One pure piece of information belonging to one base of operations. Vague as the surface is bland. Selfish tidings when noticing more within. Giving entirely different opinions all together. The potential never happens. Details within details are left astray. Until someone finally captures the right spectrum. Giving attention to the alert system that is noticing something odd about majority pieces within majority attires. Pieces joining attires full of typical based labels. The majority is bland. Sensing no time has wasted their own development when never noticing what’s past the first barrier. One barrier existing within one piece of detail. Details try to shadow more of its information. Feeling drowsy in its implications toward oblivious onlookers. Never appointing their unjustified opinions with (perfect picture) that’s unattended. More the shadowing. The more effects start taking on a new shape. A simple way to gain different interpretations, perspectives, and line of sights all in one gathering thrall! Conclusively remaining silent for no one to embrace upon. It’s simply a lackluster of human interpretation when never noticing what they aren’t ready to fully align properly. It’s never a shame, if it’s baby steps to a grander process. Details finally unmasking it’s shadowing effect. Unwinding for majority pieces and attires to appreciate itself finally. Giving presence of self for the very first time. Always to busy reflecting off for others to take in. When it’s those details within itself needing to reflect between its deeper meanings. That’s what it means to be trapped within details no one ever notices.
Details aren't fully knowing, until more information wraps around its surroundings. Finally, able to gain a self-conscious feel for better circulation.
K Oct 11
Who's in the mirror-
Staring back with wide eyes,
Green and glowing,
Magnifyed,
By the question-
Who's looking back?
You can't be real,
You're scaring me -
Like a daisy sprung full bloom in the dead of winter,
Like a tiny needle,
A splinter.
You are fear and you ate my confidence for breakfast.
I'm almost sure you won't break through and take the rest.
☆This an older poem, I decided to post.☆
Oh, & to my lovely readers,
Just remember the following:
—No one can make you concede defeat.
—You are whole without someone else,
         You are complete.
Unabridged by all rationale,
A masterpiece, assembled by fates convened. }♡{

When the pressure
of the air
around your body
feels like torture,
like suffocating.
Just remember,
when you think it's over,
that's when to fight - or you'll keep losing what's left quicker, & quicker.
Just dismember these words,
'Cause for better or for worse,
You can't leave yourself deserted.
~
When one does not know
the gazing stranger
in the mirror.
Frozen, head to toe,
colder than ice,
Deep within my mind, in an ethereal zone.
Behind closed eyes,
Feeling like a backseat driver,
Drunk, & in my own car - the basement of existence.
Flooded lungs,
Feet like phantom weights,  
The quiet swallows us.

The quiet disguise, oh my God, who do I trust,
When the man staring back,
will never know love.
I will never know love. ~
What could I miss, when I must miss what's considered life's most?

From another world,
or any mirrored surface,
The sinking sight of disfigured man & truth, swirl.
Against this apparition
frightened, staring
Wanting so much to run but I am always lured

Diminished for a while,
I began to look in the mirror with a smile.

Dreadfully,
the occasional feeling returns to me,
Like a Phoenix ruse, & blazing rise.
It is not unceasing,
But when I do feel it, all I can think of is it's absolute potency.
Dysmorphia takes leave - a trick,
& Like a calculated predator,
Unmercifully, it ensues.
Gotta get it's grip off my throat. God, let me go.
I will never know love. ~
& The smile hits me like a piledriver through soil,
I can imagine it unweaving soul.
I will never know love. ~
Oh the room has spun, and tables run,
Left with the emptiness of you.
Looked into the mirror & punched until it was done -
Spent midnight looking through a filter.
A reflection in blood.

I will never know love. ~

Emotionally consumed,
I'm too far gone, can't hold on, uncontrolled in the doom,
At least this time I feel something at all.
I will never know  my  love. ~


By: Ashton Conor Amstutz



#BodyDysmorphia
LCP Oct 7
i don’t think the thought of having *** scares me

i think the scary thing is

showing the person you love the most in this world

all the things you hate the most about yourself
i’ve been struggling with body image again lately
Alyssa Gaul Oct 3
I hug my mother most in the kitchen.
She reaches up to wrap her arms
around me, and I lay my head
on her shoulder. We breathe
together, relax into one another.
The oak wood under our feet creaks
with each shift of weight. The kitchen is

warm like her. Though that dead plant sits
in the window, we are full of life.
My mother’s fake green grapes and strands of
ivy weave above our heads;
our own personal jungle.
The red-brown cabinets and
bright yellow lights
shine down around us as we sway,
rubbing each others’ backs with a soft hum.

We fit together: mother, daughter.
Since childhood I have not been afraid
to run to her soft speckled skin and be held
by her, even when I was tall
enough to do the holding myself.
We have the same nose,
same smile,
same droop to our right eye.
Same tendency to accidents
like knife cuts
or oven burns
or trips over nothing.
Who am I
but a part of her?

My sister pads into the kitchen
on tiptoes— a habit she could never break
since a child. I see her quiet eyes
flicker downward,
see her scoot herself away from
my mother’s arms
see her close into herself
instead. She stares at the dead plant.

If her skin were a costume, she would
tear it off and never wear it again.
Instead of my mother’s nose,
she thinks she sees
my father’s stubble.
Not my mother’s dimpled smile
reflected back, but my
father’s Adam’s apple.
When we tell her she is
beautiful, she fiddles with her men-sized shoes.
We cannot convince her to
touch us when she is afraid to touch
herself.

We fit together: mother, daughter, daughter.
We sit at the island counter, playing
MarioKart on the kitchen TV,
talking about nothing really,
but to my sister it is
everything.
Our mother laughs like bells.
Who are we
but a part of her?
Carmen Jane Sep 16
Rosy petals floating on mirrored forest
Is your skin reflection, fragmented by ripples.
Unseen creatures, had your name chorused
Erased is now your image, by the cruel drizzle.

Whispers echoed in forgotten swamps
Whilthed water lilies absorb the sounds
Hiccups of old promises and croaks,
Are now buried in the muddy grounds.
Maddie Sep 6
How the hell could you hate being
In your own skin
When you’re so
So
Beautiful

What’s image anyway
When all I imagine
Is how gorgeous you are
Nylee Sep 4
Everyone's allowed to be themself
Why do i care what they think about myself
I can never trust, it is just
So hard to be me when I am with them
Because they define what I ought to be
And I can't control myself to be me
The version they expect of me from me

The image I made, they painted
The original is lost beneath the skin
All the words that I speak and mean
I mean it different than what I say
There is another depth in me I can't display
It is kind, all well defined
Role I need to take, for their sake
MeaningfulMee Aug 25
Body.
I say, I have a voice,
they say no, you have teeth,
that aren't white,
enough.

I say, I have strength,
they say no, you have an ***,
that is not big, enough.
I say, I have a point of view,
they say no, you have eyes,
that aren't bright,
enough.

I say I have a mind,
they say no, you have hair,
that is not shiny,
enough.

I say I have power,
they say no, you have tighs,
that aren't small,
enough.

I say I am a soul,
they say no, you are,
Just,
A,
Body.

And I begin to believe,
Them.
Just a short poem I wrote I hope you enjoyed reading it.
I would really appreciate it if you could let me know what you thought about it.
Nikki nashon Aug 18
...
wishing you were here
Pictorial displays of pixilated canvas
pictures worth a thousand words
But.
Time with you is worth a thousand,
Images;
What's left of a fleeting moment.
Moment.
Two meanings
Brief/important
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