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Zywa Nov 2022
Alas, making love

is the worst, so self-conscious --

we are, both of us.
Letter 3, to Theo Peeters, spring 1966 ("A pleasant postumity: letters 1965-1997", 2004, Herman de Coninck)

Collection "Shortages"
Monté Carlœ Dec 2019
Me and Depression, have been ****** for years.
I've wiped away many tears, and even a few fears.
Been with self consciousness too so I avoid mirrors.
And lately flirting with anxiety so I avoid my peers.
Sometimes our worst relationships happen within.
Eileen H Oct 2019
you're too skinny, girl
I want to be just like you

you're not healthy,
lay me down
right next to you

broken and free is a fine line.
(everybody's pretty
in the right light)
think I could be pretty
unhealthy                       too
Eileen H Oct 2019
grounded in this reality
always, something keeps me. today it is my jeans, digging into the soft skin under my belly, reminding me
this world was not crafted around my form
Laurence Worsham Nov 2018
Sound the horns before the crash of the drums,
Reign forever the promise,
only as long as does not perturbe the ageless splendor of it's denial.
The angry man is vain in his resentment of luxury as he toils,
and so he proceeds in vain of his resentment.
The happy man is foolish in his love of life, forgotten to that horrible heaping part of himself,
sprawled with constricting joints and bleeding that blood,
Pay he luck not to remember.
Always eager was accepted by the Earth.

Always downward impress the power and cascading mountains of the horizon.
Ever so that the dwindling height impresses the speck at the edge of it's microscopic lense.
From what pestle were ground these grains of what the body shivers to behold?
From what tree was made sacrifice and ripped the shreds of this beautiful scenery?
From what point does the needle steer it's compass,
Pulsates the ebb of the magma of power.

The excretions of raw turmoil brews,
Below the vats of anamorphic hell was raised,
And up was risen low on high and behold that it was seen.
The slumber had encroached upon itself,
Flitting it's tail at the flies and leftovers of the night.
The spoils of day at hand make clear the path of the arm.
I am stretched about it's expanse and yearn the pangs of inward loss.
The melting hot aftermath boils my blood dark and red,
I am ready to sanctify these old bones with new fire.
I lurch my eyes upon the stocks and bundles,
I am in love.

Flesh loathes the indulgence of the mind,
masked in the light by its submission.
I have made acquaintance with the tonic of breath upon the bellows of breast,
I met the waves that mirror this and thine.
Well met are they, and I said that it was good!
To the heavens which impress me impress myself!
Know my mind you manifold of high towers!
Know me that lightning had stricken the chapels of your Kingdom, my name in blazing stars.
Know my name to the inextricable folds of your searching rebuttal.
And behold my pride,
erected there with bricks I would bet against mountains.
Was my blood so bold to creep back whence it came?
If not so, then was made slave to my own boldness.
So there it was,
and so wept the Earth for a thousand years.

Tears falter to the sun, and my cheek is dry.
You know me, but what are you hiding?
Amongst the flags of nations the sweat of day unfurled,
There in the depths must be hidden.
Feed me or be refused the exhilaration of my tongue.
Set loose the fruit into my view,
I will do the rest.
Having filled my bucket of what belongs to me, harken to my plea for more,
To the adoption of my whimsy,
flicking fast the worm of yesterday.
I had worms in my thin stomach.
Aside it, the froth of snails had savored,
molding the lowest of all my opinion.
Better is the least of my gripes,
entrust me this day or all days hence I will mock you.
The threat twas modest now cast into hard metal for the shackles of a generation of tender feet.
What had inspired now falters,
I can weep no more.
kiran goswami Oct 2018
They ask me a question every day,
They ask me 'Oh darling! How much do you weigh?'
And I answer this question every day,
I wish to tell them,
'I am not made up of flesh and bones,
I do not weigh on scales and stones.
I weigh the love letters never sent,
I weigh my heart I gave on rent,
I weigh all my insecurities,
I weigh Ganga's purities.
I weigh the prayers of my mother.
I weigh the hard work of my father.
I weigh the thirty-two-inch smile I carry and flaunt every day,
I weigh the fears which haunt me every day,
I weigh all the love I have for him,
And I am certain that weighs more than the stories I dream,
I weigh the fairytales I've read,
And I weigh the kindness I've fed.
I weigh my hope,
And I weigh my dreams.
I weigh my faith,
And I weigh my screams.
So I weigh the lightest I could ever be,
And the heaviest you could ever imagine being.'
But then in the end,
I murmur the words '47 kilograms',
A lean and skinny girl is what I am.
jihan kim Mar 2018
“Where am I?”
I asked Depressed.
Timid walked out the room.
Dumb drank his coffee.
I walked to the closet
And found Proud showing off.
Weird ran away, um, weirdly
And Attentive stared at her.
Jealous went out the front step
And Sassy commented on EVERYONE!
Copycat copied Sassy
And Embarrassed covered his face.
I asked Smart where I might be
As Cheery skipped happily past.
Distracted followed Cheery
And Smart followed me.
Speedy zoomed past, but
Where am I?
I followed Speedy, and then found myself
Suddenly back in the room
Where I questioned Depressed.
I looked in the mirror,
And I found ME!
Naomi Hurley Jul 2017
Van Morrison wrote a song
about me.

And yet the beachy, surf-rock
guitar and loving lyrics
couldn't convince me
that I

I envied those with light eyes
Green, or
I saw mine as being
Dull, and

And found yet another reason
to wish that I was

But then you came along.

You saw more than just...

You looked at me with those
bright baby blues
those shining windows
of a clear summer day

You told me they were brown...
but also
in the sunlight
with specks of gold
"Big love crumbs"
as one of our favorites
would say

I always wanted to be
someone else.

Now, I dread the thought
of being anyone
but yours.

And now, I hear
Van Morrison singing
for the
First Time.
Sha la la la la la la la la la la te da
AmberLynne Dec 2014
No amount of camouflage on my face
or ornamentation upon my skin
can hide the insecurity I attempt
to keep hidden deep within.

— The End —