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i fake a smile at dinner;
try to recreate it in the mirror
when alone -
checking to see if they
could’ve seen through it.
MA Feb 2021
Hey, I’mamess
Can I have a moment with you
Don’t you know that you’ve been looking like the world is against you?
Well, ya know
I’m just curious what the hell are you going through?
If you wanna talk, just tell me
I’m all ears for you

Hey, I’mamess
So you’ve been feeling stuck
And you can't figure out what’s causing you to feel like that
Could it be your mom, your dad, your grandma, or pa?
Or maybe it's just yourself
Oh, I guess that's that

And now you’re telling me you also feel uninspired
And you can’t even write a song, a poem, or anything that rhymes
Singing is now boring and your fingers are tired
Tired of playing the same tunes almost every night

Hey, I’mamess
I heard you know God
And you’re telling other people about His great love
I must say, it’s a good thing and I salute you for that
But now you’re telling me you’re a hypocritical wing nut

Hey, I’mamess
You are indeed a mess
You’re an unproductive, recalcitrant, idiotic wreck
But hey, I’mamess
A lot of people like you
They appreciate your talent and the things that you do

Lastly, I’mamess
I think the world is not really against you
You are a mess because you criticize you
I’m just talking to myself
Michael R Burch Jul 2020
Reflections
by Michael R. Burch

I am her mirror.
I say she is kind,
lovely, breathtaking.
She screams that I’m blind.

I show her her beauty,
her brilliance and compassion.
She refuses to believe me,
for that’s the latest fashion.

She storms and she rages;
she dissolves into tears
while envious Angels
are, by God, her only Peers.

Keywords/Tags: reflection, mirror, image, anorexia, bulimia, cutting, reflections, self-image, self-worth, self-criticism, self-shaming, mrbref
maria Jan 2020
I
I'm sharing a house with her;
She's the moodiest person I know

She drinks her coffee without sugar
in the cold days,
and with sugar in the sunny days.
She calls it way of living;
      I call it lost of interest

She sleeps all day
to drive her demons away
     -I think
      she's creating more-
and if not,
she cries over a crack in the wall

Melancholy should be her second name
      -she annoys every cell in me
        I'm not even trying to explain-
so much sadness in a face
she destroyed the colours of our furniture  
in the very first day

I think of driving her off the house
but then,
  an abandoned house
is the most miserable thing
I can think about
voices in my head
I'm bored with myself
I am her that's annoyed
or am I, me that destroy?

written on January 25, 2020
© ,Maria
Allison Wonder Oct 2018
You feel so ignorant
When you share and express
Everything that haunts you
And what makes you a mess.

Yet nobody listens
Nobody seems to care
Unwilling to lend help
Or even say a prayer.

But once it's their turn
To cry on your shoulder
Your existence is essential
Forcing you to grow colder.

Don't take time for yourself
Accusations you've gone ghost
Even if being alone is
What you really need most.
Allison Wonder © 2018
Aixela Jun 2018
I think guilt might be killing me.
Now you may ask yourselves: "What did I do to feel so?"
- **** someone?
No. Nothing so radical.
In fact, nothing that might actually warrant this level of guilt.

Misplaced guilt is like my personal ******* -
an addiction that my brain can't get rid of, constantly calling to be fed.
I latches on every small mistake
Sinks its claws deep into the marrow of my bones
and stews for a very long time -
whilst my brain vainly strives towards perfection.
NeroameeAlucard Oct 2016
You scratched the record
And now my head is back on repeat
It goes over that same beat
Over and over again to the point where
I don't even wanna attempt to speak

If silence is golden
Then I'm the biggest known mine
Because it feels as though I've been skating over myself when putting words into rhyme
Always the same topics from me and not to interesting metaphors

You scratched it like a DJ on turntables because I'm winding up to the end of this fable, I can still write and I'm more than willing and able but I gotta stretch my muscles again before I lose the sharpness on my pen, that's my sword

— The End —