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I see so many ads now
they feed into my insecurities
and help me to notice everything that is wrong with me.

"Got stretch marks?"
they ask, and my eyes shamefully
trace down my chest to my inner thighs and I learn to hate what I see.

So I read on, hoping to learn
how to get rid of the natural signs of an ageing vessel
"Neosporin, coconut oil, and olive, and they'll be gone in a week."

The ads proclaim, and so I do as they say
because how can I be pretty
if no one else thinks me so?

"10 Tips on How to Get the Relationship of Your Dreams"
"5 Signs that You're Not as Pretty as You Think You Are"
"4 Things to Try to Spice Up Your *** Life"

"1 Way to Tell Whether the Creepy Old Man on the Corner Thinks You're Worthy of Being Catcalled by Him"

I read on, trying to understand what it is to be pretty
but the more I see,
the more hopeless I become

Men will only ever see me as a piece of meat,
just a pair of **** and an ***,
only there for their enjoyment or pleasure.

but I am not here to make things easy,
I am more than the sum of my parts,
more than my cellulite and hip dips

I revel in my stretch marks
I have grown into the woman I am today,
and I refuse to erase the proof of that.
I am not here to be a ******* incubator. I am not here for man's pleasure.
Eslam Dabank Jan 18
A breadcrumb I am - the morsel of my old dough,
     a piece of chewed bread rotten, missed near a toe,
shredded by the sons of righteousness and “normality”,
     entombed I am under the carpet to fulfil “morality”.

Mum added the yeast for me to grow, as well as flour,
     Hoping my crust would golden as a vivid live flower,
She sprinkled little salt into me, to know the grimes,
     Sugar too, for life brings out the salt to eyes, at times.

Dad poured the water, to soften toughness uncalled,
     For man is kind too, not merely clay masked, walled -
And above all, they added affection and compassion,
     They wanted me to satisfy mineself, not one’s ration.

Into the oven, 9 minutes, under fire: I show colors,
     The warmth turned the heart warm for all others;
I am left to rest, to harden the shell and eternal body,
     To be perfect as ma and pa wish: not adverse, shoddy.

But the stale, unpuffed, unfresh bread of this world,
     covets but loathes what is good and not yet twirled,
It wishes for me to inhibit mold and evict dignity,
    Mais allez, étrange moi, expose me not to malignity.

The least of their gurgling sounds puncture heads,
     And the weakest of their advice the spirit dreads;
The making of me is the capacity of mine flexes,
     Your ingredients suit not me, mortals and sexes.

Days yearn for you, not this battle of complexes:
     You, mine old dough who suddenly “complex” is,
My parents baked me on low heat nice and gentle,
     And they sear me with words not for me, mental!

Know you: Pita, Kmajj, Brioche, Shrak, or Baguette,
     Bread is bread, could be different, but it is no threat.
Evie G Aug 2022
When he says I’m not fat ,
but a bit overweight.
When I’m hot enough to ****,
but never to date.

When I am called brave for just wearing a dress,
But they say I’ll lose weight just after that stress.

Because I am called brave cause I dare to exist.
Because my fat hand can’t fit right around my fat wrist.

No matter what’s won
Theres just more to lose.
Never cry love, only sing blues
Cause fat, when in love, is the funniest sight
Reserved for comedians on a dark and late night.

Because I am a journey waiting to happen
Because I am not a person,
just a fat one.

When I’ve drawn out in sharpie where I’d take the scissors.
When In social settings I start to wither,

When somebody thin starts to talk about weight
My heart starts to race,
And reddens my face,
What if I am called out and called a disgrace.

Because if they are disgusting when they are size 8
Then what am I?

So Please,
allow me a moment to breathe,
Reset, internally scream.

Then smile back, polite as can be.
Because you refuse to understand what it’s like to be me.
CJ Jul 2022
Fire up your talk boxes
Life’s such a bore
Until we discover
Today’s Rage du Jour

Do we have to turn Red
if they’re feeling Blue?

Does screaming more loudly
make it any more true?

Is it fate we must hate if
They want to make it great?

Must our faces turn redder if
They want to build back better?

What if we hear different voices?
And what if they make different choices?

Do we choose to lash out
always feel justified
As our fears turn to rage
and we’re bloated with pride?

Who among us sees clearly?
Whose judgment is never astray?

What great one among us holds just the right viewpoints
to keep cyber pitchforks at bay?

He said sinless stoneholders
could fire away
Yet there’s rocks hurling
constantly every which way

Can’t we sew up our lips
and ***** up our our ears
and realize there’s much
we can learn from our peers?

It’s hard to see it through our spite
But life is rarely black or white

Whatever happened to nuance?
When did we lose the gray?
How did this digital mob get the power to police every last thing we say?

There’s a whole vibrant world in 4K
We’re all welcome to come out and play
Let’s not label them Other
When they’re truly our brother
Only Kindness can show us the way
Skyler M May 2022
Don’t wanna be restrained to,
Allow for the politicians abuse,
Freedom from the celebrity ruse,
As I struggle with these hues,
Red, White, and Blue.

We’re like toys,
We make noise,
Bring them joy,
We’re easy to poise.

Grab me by my hair,
Throw me in the chair,
Scream at me, “It’s not fair!,”
You say, “You’re a burden I can’t bare.”
I’ll kick your teeth out, it’s only fair.

Life couldn’t give you a more silver spoon,
Sat up in your high chair, tightening our noose,
Drinking from a sippy cup, it’s alcohol abuse,
I hope you forget that karma is on the loose.
Cause we’re coming for you.

Half-dead brutes,
***** of dried prunes,
Master of child abuse,
You are the fake news.

Others will avoid,
You will destroy,
The bombs you deploy,
For the middle east oil,
Brainwashed toys are easy to exploit.
stillhuman Feb 2022
Spiders are crawling
on every flower
and they have feet
caked in gun powder
They invade the blooms
of roses in the winter
The world is shadowed in doom
and my fingers bleed with splinters
from the homes of freedom
crashing down to rot
but this is the hope of a people
that grow like moss
on fallen trees
they stand like those flowers
and march like bees
They are the bloom of freedom
in the dark ages of evil
These are my thoughts on the Ukrainian situation. I stand with you and applaud your strenght and resilience. Let's not forget the reason diplomacy and democracy exist.
Evie G Feb 2022
Did you notice the crisis going on outside,
It’s terrible really they’re trying to hide
Atrocities behind a wall of big lies
The badness of this is incredibly sized.

So get out and help, you useless ****,
Shout and whisper you absolute schmuck,
March and stamp and tiptoe around red tape,
Call it ****** harassment, but I wouldn’t call it ****,
Donate and berate but most of all-


(Tenderly, like a lover, to not upset the way of things of course.)

Why aren’t you looking for missing kids
Why aren’t you crying at the dead body
Why aren’t you saying what Russia forbids
Why aren’t you crying at the dead body
Why aren’t you aching from every pore
Why aren’t you crying at the dead body
Why aren’t you saving all of the ******
Why aren’t you crying at the dead bodies
Why aren’t you giving your money to us?
Why, aren’t you someone the people can trust?

Did you notice the crisis going on within,
It’s terrible really, a huge massive din
Is crashing and smashing alone in your head
You can’t ever stop, unless you are dead.

Oh wait, you posted a brightly coloured infographic on your instagram story?
You’re good, never mind.
Bryan Dec 2021
Tiana Nov 2021
Just know,
You'll  be lured, attacked and get trampled,
By the ones for whom you sold,
Everything to keep them closer,
But before you know this wish will be over,
And they'll move from your ruins to search for another;

It'd have been still alright,
if that shattered wish was the realization of you being used,

But born under the fool's star,
you feel guilty for having them lose;

So you pick up your scattered pieces
and run after them;

Then there's your family,
your daughter and wife,
Whose warnings you don't listen
nor see their burning compromise;

But you still have the nerve to
ask them to adorn the enemy's feet
with the rubies of their broken temple;

                                      …(to be continued)
Based on a story I see Everyday
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