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T A May 2016
They tell her she is talented
with special skills to spare
they say she’s got a winning smile
and sunbeams in her hair

She would end her skill today
and suffer every defeat
she would cut off all her hair
if she could just be sweet

They tell her that she’s popular
that she could win a crowd
they say she fills the room with cheer
her friends all laugh aloud

She would be shy as a mouse
quiet and discrete
she’d give up all of her fake friends
if she could just be sweet

They say she wears the greatest clothes
she has the greatest style
they say she has a pretty face
the boys would chase for miles

She would empty her whole closet
throw her clothes out in the street
she would wear an ugly mask
if she could just be sweet

They say she dances with such grace
she sings in perfect tune
her elegance is unrivaled
she makes the whole room swoon

She would trip upon herself
and sound like an old goat’s bleat
she would lose her every limb
if she could just be sweet

So many things they call her
talented, beautiful, witty,
if she could not merely be sweet
then what’s the point of pretty?

The compliments she gets
from everyone she meets
all of them are true and nice,
but none of them are “sweet.”
This is meant to cause the reader to analyze the compliments we as a society hold in high regard, and to think about whether or not such compliments are truly worthwhile.
Janine Jacobs May 2016
unbeknownst to this world
outsider looking in
absorbing, peculiarly
the arrogance surrounding me

oblivious to most
and easily ignored
for my skill is in books
and not in the well known

surrounded by immense talent
and the jealous meek
men that has learnt to walk
without having any feet

yet the stench of inequality
leaves a bitter taste
so easy to differentiate
the humble from the pack

more I pity the minions
wanting to be known
strip the fame and popularity
focus on them bare

will you still like the person
you've mounted in the air?
Sarah Marshall Mar 2016
She is as alone
as a tree in a rain forest.

I am as alone
as a cactus flower in a desert.

She is different
because of her friends.

I am different
because I am myself.
Alan S Bailey Jan 2016
I would write my poetry every single day,
To be trending
Not to be trending
It couldn't matter either way,
I'd write it because it is what I love
To do. Poetry isn't a game for popularity
Points, it is a form of art, and even  if it
"Isn't cool with you," I will still just do my best
To write my honest feelings through and through.
Probably an instant failure. I'll just trash it (as a private poem) Sorry to waste your space, guys.
AD Sifford Dec 2015
Hello beauties, my name is Austin D. Sifford.
If I may, please spare a moment;
I've prepared some needed words.
I'll get straight down to business,
and make short this introduction.
So if your ears are not too full
let them taste this sweet concoction:

So, I take care of my hair
Keep it cool, keep from frizzin'
I hit the gym five days of seven
Just the basics, not body-buildin'
I like my clothes, rock the shades,
but I've got a major question:
Who cares* what I look like,
Why's it matter what I'm wearin',
What good is outer style
If I'm a beast behind the skin?

Too many people, is the answer, I guess
I mean it's cool, right, everyone sins
But not to me, you see, I see it different
I strive my life to conquer sin
Why?
'Cause, listen: one Man didn't
He lived every second to please our Father
So don't you try to tell me we're Self-Pleasure's sons & daughters

Why you checkin' on externals
When the heart inside's infernal?
Now, God knows I love my beanie
But if I had myself a genie
I wouldn't be wishing for a cap
Or some Levis or the Lugz
I'd be wishing for a hand to hold,
Just some love, a friendly hug
For one to show me that they care
For a heart that's not afraid to dare
To be a better man within

I'd rather shine behind the skin

We don't need cash, and I don't want bling
No-- what we need, people, is a reason to sing
We need a Savior, man,
We need a bigger plan
I hope you'll understand this,
Guys, we've gotta take his hand

The world will never be happy
With shirts at three-hundred fifty
That ring may give you style
But what gives hope to your child?
Does your house? Does your car?
Do his toys? Or does his father?

Look I'm not trying to bother,
I ain't just here to preach
But you're flashing those ******, tanning at the beach
Ladies, where is your beauty?
On your skin? They just leech,
you know? Those guys all over,
they don't care about you,
just wanna know what you will do

It's time you wake up, and shake up
All this fake-up with your make-up
The jewel is in your heart,
and, girl, it's been there from the start

Look what Hollywood's paying, guys,
Now I'm not playing, right?

Now people are killing,
they're serial
While your just obsessing
with material

Hey media, whatchyoo saying'?
Sell your lies to the world
But I'M NOT PAYING

People, ask what matters here,
While you look in the mirror
Who's the preacher?
Go in deeper
You buy what they sell
You wear what they tell

But is it really worth it all
Is there Botox in Hell?

We've gotta ask ourselves
Really ask yourself
Where will I be taking
All these trends and this wealth?

What I'm saying: this is bogus
All this fashion hocus pocus
What you need is to refocus
And don't let society choke us

Now you've got an empty feeling
And your culture keeps on stealing
Your sinking deeper and deeper
While your cost just gets steeper

But wealth's not found inside your wallet
And it's about time someone called it
Happiness is only found when the masks all hit the ground
Don't live up to what they say,
You won't reach that anyway
The heart is what needs fixing
Not your hair, drop the bags
Tell the truth, show some love--
now that, my friends, that's swag

Let's get rich, people, let's get beautiful
Let's get real, and let's get valuable

Now listen to this, you People Mag
Seventeen, yo, this is rad:
Happiness is found one place
One thing will put a smile on that face,
All sorrow gone, without a trace
It's the love and the Truth
That will set you free
True class created you
Real value lives in me
| Written on, or sooner than, February 6, 2012 |

**Story**
I've never been popular. I'm also very short, so have often been made fun of as the small one. The weak one. And I've certainly never been popular with girls.
In high school, I began weightlifting, took a fitness & strength class, and did parkour. I started getting pretty muscular, and could impress guys in the weightroom who were way bigger than me, because of how much I could lift in comparison to my size and body-weight. I like to show off with backflips, handsprings, etc. A few girls were finally attracted to me. A female friend of mine said she liked how "buff" I was and that she was impressed. It felt good to finally have something, to finally not be the loser, I guess. To finally, maybe, be valuable in the eyes of some of my peers.
I found myself looking at my growing physique too much, and worrying about my hair too much...putting too much effort into making myself externally attractive.
I was a devout Christian at this time, and my constant attempt to grow spiritually and have a "relationship" with God really started to remind me that the outside isn't what matters, and isn't where my focus of improvement or of beauty should be. What I put the spotlight on for others to should, instead, be the things with real, lasting value.
While that stuff was in my mind during this time, the moment that actually sparked the poem was while talking with a friend (over text) whom I cared about like a sister. She was very insecure, and was reading Seventeen Magazine during our conversation, soaking up more destructive lies. My protective nature angered me for her sake and got me thinking about how the popular media has damaged us with its influence in all these ways, so I sat down and wrote this poem on the spot, after explaining to her why I wish she wouldn't read those. I then sent it to her. Her name's Markay.

**Trivia**
The intro was not written with the rest of the poem. I added it over a year later, on March 10, 2013.
I originally had this titled "True Value". My last line says "real value". Why did I then call the poem "true value"? Beats me.

© 2017 A.D. Sifford.
I'm okay with you sharing my poems, but I ask that you show courtesy. Please be honest about the authorship by attributing it to my name. Thank you,
- Sifford
Jane Bell Nov 2015
I care about popularity
I care about my looks
I care about the boy in the back of the class
Yet
I don't care about who I surround myself with
I don't care about my health, why eat more than 1 meal a day
I only care if the boy in the back of class likes me
Because,
I don't care about myself
I care about you. The one reading, it's You.
It's me,
Caring too much
Acting stupid for you
Starving for you
Just to look perfect enough so you know,
I'm here for you.
It's is such a selfless act of anxiety so discriminated.
This may be confusing so here's a summary!:  it's me saying that I change every aspect of myself,...for myself. But I don't do it for self-acceptance, it's so I can accept YOU accepting me. If I went to school with no makeup, I would think every word you tell me is a lie or that you only talk to me because you HAVE to. Because not even I can look at myself as normal human being when I'm makeupless without breaking down eternally.
V Aug 2015
There was once a fox, a fox whose name had gone unknown, but nevertheless was in truth all on its own.
With a pelt of fire and auburn, and eyes deep and serious,  it was no doubt why so many considered the fox "mysterious".
Yet, this tale is different, and I will tell you why, this fox was not like the rest, he sought to be like the wolves- twas' no lie.

He envied their beauty, their ability and strength, in fact his admiration went on to a fractured great length.
He would try to howl and change his stature- hell even his look, it was a matter of great indifference, but try as he might- no matter how long it took.

In time, after so much effort he took to the wolf, they welcomed him and never knew his story, pride and arrogance he was engulfed.
He followed and lived as one for the while he was deceived, but after all the time had past, disgust and mockery from all other animals was what he received.

It was only when the wolves outwitted him and made him a fool, that they chased him and slandered him, oh, the treatment had been cruel.
Now the fox understood why animals each held their own class and identity, when he realized then why he was meant to be.

A fox he was and would always stay, to the start of his life to the finish of his decay. Yet, he was reminded of why foxes were special, it was because they were no one else; it was stupid to compare, whether it be lion or mouse.  He saw beauty in an idol of its own, he became so mesmerized and driven, that even his heart he disowned. He saw no beauty in himself, when really all others did, that now his respect and dignity was so pitifully dead.

Though he admired the wolves and tried to seek them without end, let it be known fame and popularity is a horrid trend. So there are others greater and have more to do, but have you ever considered they may wish to be you?

Like the fox who wanted to be a wolf,  but in time fell too much in greed, be careful of the lies you choose to follow and take heed! Because not every beautiful face is as kind and free, be happy you are You and can declare "I am me."


A poem that had been in my heart for a long time, but took much time to understand it's true meaning as to why I was writing it-and how personally, it would mean to me.
I hope you find a meaning of your own as I did. <3
Alan S Bailey Aug 2015
I was not aware of what "is in store,"
When is an art not unlike a tool?
If it can be used for nothing what then?
Is it a toy for plain simple fools?

"This is my logic, hear me now!"
I yell at empty skies so pale,
Let there be an answer for once,
This rhetorical question growing stale,
I ask "Why am I here? To make an impact?"
What then is this to ask when no one
Answers back? My plan for the next day:
To eat peanut butter sandwiches like new,
To hear the sound of my own mind from the blue,

Own mind: OF COURSE!!!

Forget it, I've thrown my hand...it's clear now you all
Think I'm the devil, till the end my reputation marred,
This will be the way of it, to be left looking so hysterical,
All I'm asking for the last time is this simple question:

**Where did I go so wrong trying to do the right thing...?
Is loneliness the end result of not wanting to fit in by
Drinking, smoking and/or popular religious cults etc. etc.?
rebecca Aug 2015
At the back of the library
sits a dejected round table,
its legs shaky,
wood dulled after years of
seating outcasts.
This is my table.

In the middle of the library
sit a few rectangular tables,
filled with the kids who belong.
I watch their mouths move,
their eyes dancing,
dancing away from my gaze.

The walk to the round table is one of
"wish you could be us."

And I see him,
sitting at the edge of a rectangular table.

My legs become like that of my table's:
shaky, knees weak.

I'm accustomed to admiring from a distance,
but I want to grow accustomed to his diction,
how he talks to me with a "this is temporary"
and to them with a "this is better;"
his imagery,
the lopsided smile that grows wide when he
talks to the brunette on the track team;
his theme,
his purpose,
his everything.

But who am I?
Hunched over a book,
a knight at the round table.
A piece of prose turned "poetry."
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