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Haley Jun 2020
Ive been wearing mascara lately
ive been wearing it so i dont cry
i dont want the black streaks down my face
but today, i put it on
just to admire my eyelashes
not to avoid crying
maybe todays a good day
hopefully tomorrow will be a good day too
maybe if i continue to talk to you,
my next few days will be good too.
maybe my life will go back to normal
maybe ill be more stable
my mascara will remain for my admiration
and my hope is for my smile to shine
... :)
as i brush the mascara
on my eyelashes,
i notice the rain outside,
gently hitting my windows.
it’s a beautiful thing
larni Feb 2019
i spend too much time on my makeup
to let you mess up my mascara
couldn't think of a title...
Danielle Jan 2019
mascara running like painted lines down my face
almost like i did it on purpose
almost because i did
i keep it short even though i have a lot more to say

lowkey because i actually **** at poetry and this enables me to mask that factiod
JJ Inda Nov 2018
Keeps searching,
Hoping.
If not this one,
The one still to come.
Heart is rapidly beating,
Constantly grieving.
Eyes flickering,
-Always losing,
Gaining years
And mascara infused tears.
Shannon Oct 2018
My baby.
You’re wondering about the type of women you want to be. It’s a sad and soggy Sunday and you sit by the railing while it’s raining and the wind sighs at your presence.
You long for love, and peace, and mystery and excitement and you long to be wanted for who you are not who you could be if you were small.

My baby.
Everything you want isn’t everything you see.
Damaged isn’t pretty, my baby and maybe it looks it but the pain, oh baby the pain is like nothing you’ve ever felt.
And maybe you crave the mystery, maybe you crave the smudges mascara and the hunger pains.
But honest to truth my baby
Being this ****** up ain’t cute
Being this ****** up isn’t safe.
Being this ****** up makes you wonder what in the world is.

My baby there is nothing like the ache of being empty,
The sad and solemn nothing, the pitiless void that seldom empties but when it does you put stars in his eyes for he is the only other person with the key.
And a lot of the time the key doesn’t fit your locks,
The walls you’ve put up are brick.
Solid.
And for every brick you stack he takes one away, eager to pull them down he tries and baby one day you might stop building.
Maybe it’ll be on a soft and sunny Saturday when both of you are laughing and you see it within him.
You’ll stop building and he’ll smile knowing that
Yes.
Finally.
Free.

My baby your walls are thick and strong,
Most of the time,
Sometimes they fall but you pick them up and rebuild don’t let anyone see the truth.
He knows.

My baby the boy you love will never quiet fill your cup and it’ll break you but it’s not his job to.
You have to try too.
Because baby I know you hurt and I know you just want out of the cruel ******* world but now no.
Now you have someone to love you.
To love you for who you are and not who you would be if you were small.
Someone who loves you so that to go would be to take a piece of him with you.
Maybe that piece is the spark you fell in love with.
Baby no now you have someone to live for.

My baby I know you think smudged mascara and running away is desirable and makes them want more but baby.
On the good days you feel like a well oiled machine, task after task focus, seem well act well everybody laughs, smooth machine yet still lack the basic humanity that should consume you.

My baby on the bad days, broken down, some days you manage to trudge your way out of bed and into the daytime, empty but there,
Worse, the days where you can’t get up. Where you open the window and stare out into the garden you’ve always seen and you let the sadness and elusive sleepiness win until you’re exhausted with sleep.
Days where blades help you feel and help the anger inside you escape when the blood bubbles through your torn skin.

My baby the overthinking will drive you crazy, where the concept of an ear is weird even when he whispers sweet nothings into them and tucks that little stray piece of hair behind them.
Where *** is a mechanism by which sounds so wrong but feels so right but baby do not use it to cure the sadness.
It will always win.  

My baby home is haunting.
The ghosts of who you used to be haunt you, taunt you, and the love you used to feel is gone. Home isn’t home. Home is a house in the hillside.
Home is the space between his arms where your head rests against his chest and he breathes in to smell the coconut in your hair, home is the way he stares at you and smiles, home is the way he plays video games with you in his lap, home is his dilated pupils, home is the weird way you hold hands on the train, home is short jokes and home is when he looks at you as if you
You
You my baby
Are just absolutely spectacular
Even when you feel like a fleck of dust on this pointless world.

My baby though he is home, mental illness and distress isn’t pretty.
Panic attacks and ugly crying in public isn’t pretty. The disability of breathing isn’t pretty. Being perched over a toilet bowl isn’t pretty. Not eating for days isn’t pretty. Pulling out clumps of hair isn’t pretty. Being clumsy because you are so anaemic isn’t pretty. Passing out isn’t pretty. Wrist scars and bloodstained sheets aren’t pretty.
Being sick isn’t pretty.

Baby I wish we’d stopped when we knew.

Baby I wish help meant something because though you’ve tried,
Nothing gets through.

Baby when it rains it pours, and through every storm I have you, my hand is there to hold.
So we’ll call Noah’s arc and we’ll start a new world.
I know you’re hurting.
But my baby I promise one day we’ll be safe.
No longer shipwrecked.
My baby one day
One day
We’ll be free.
“Peaceful piano” - Spotify
“For stormboy.”
Madison Nov 2018
At the end of the day, no matter what, I find my mascara smudged.
Whether it be from tears of sorrow or joy.
After a great day, when I feel there is nothing wrong in the world, my mascara is smudged.
After a day so bad it makes me question my will to live, my mascara is smudged.
No matter what it looks like someone could be going through something completely different than what you think.
I'm trying to get across the point that No matter what it looks like, you never know how someone really feels.
Kartikeya Jain Jun 2018
Her body.
the only wonder
of the world
I wanted to visit.
the smudged mascara,
the rosy moist lips,
the sheets on the floor,
the only mess
I ever wanted to create.
Oh, my heart!
Andreas Simic Feb 2018
That Kind of Day

Woke up late
Too much wobbly pop
The night before a blur

Race to get ready is on
Make up applied
Toast burnt

Out the door
Car won’t start
A bus is no fuss

Miss it by that much
When it begins to rain
Mascara running in shame

Hail a cab
Hair dripping went
Am I there yet

Andreas Simic
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