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Arobeum Dec 2024
I am afraid of eyes,
Of thoughts and minds.
Afraid the "me" I see in mirrors
Might not be the "me" in others’ minds.

I fear the opinions, the whispered words,
The voices carving shapes of me.
What if their visions linger,
Ghosts of a face I cannot see?

They haunt me,
Questioning my skin, my bones,
The core of my existence.
Am I enough? Or am I shadows,
Fading in the light of others’ brilliance?

I fear I’ll never be content,
Forever chasing reflections—
Comparing my fragile self
To those I deem better,
Forgetting the beauty
That blooms within my imperfections.
P Dec 2024
This feeling of disgust
I can 't shake it off
Every look into the mirror
Hurts me even more
The tears are coming through
My makeup is now ruined
Is it me or is it you?
My reflection stares confused
This feeling isn't new
But I thought that I've got used
I'm stuck in this loop
Any hope is of no use
Kaiden Lewis Dec 2024
You can paint your face with makeup
Hide the insecurities
But you always stay the same underneath
There are really toxic girls in my class, all of them obsessed with makeup, using it to obviously make themselves feel pretty. I think this poem has two meanings, one is the toxic girls, the other is that no matter how well you mask, you always stay the same.
Loke Houbo Nov 2024
My House is locked
My Windows blocked
The Lights are dimming
The Kettle begin screaming

Ness boiling in the darkness
I’m searching for Loc Ness
The Ness is ticking
The Ness growing erratic
The feeling of your isolated self with hidden away worries and insecurities.
Bree17 Nov 2024
Sometimes I forget what I look like,
My face, my eyes, my nose.
I forget that I have a body,
Hidden beneath my baggy clothes.
I exist so peacefully,
When I don’t think about myself.
So I shun my own reflection,
And hang it high up on my shelf.

So don’t you tell me that I’m pretty.
Don’t look me in the eyes.
Nor glance at me too closely,
Or you’ll see past my disguise.
I’d exist ever so peacefully,
If I didn’t have a face.
Wish I could have my mind without this body,
It’s a massive waste of space.
Based it off the prompt: "Write a poem titled 'This side of my skin'"
What do you think?
Solace Oct 2024
i got my picture back today

and even though i just sat quietly
in a corner of my room
with the blinds shut
and the door locked,
even though i stared at the ceiling,
breathing in and out, in and out,
and came to terms with it,
even though i convinced myself i'd be okay,

somehow my skin looks ready to be checked out,
my eyes are two overfilling ponds,
somehow my voice chokes and croaks,
somehow my fingers have stained the carpet

and there's this girl in my head
and she's screaming
and i would give anything to make her stop
stop digging at her cells
stop burrowing into her DNA
stop exhuming her genes

i will always stay this way,
i wish i could tell her.
i will always stay this way,
and it's pointless to think otherwise.
smile, you're on camera
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