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Amanda Kay Burke Nov 2021
I'm not pretty but that is what they say
Do not believe yet still I reply "okay"
I have cuts across my heart
Sorrow portrayed as a work of art
I'm always sleeping in late
Life lived in a foggy state
Dark circles rest on face
I've had plenty hours
In dreamland dancing barefoot picking flowers
Permanently bitter due to much neglect
Too far gone for innocence to ever ressurect
I'm too cynical to let anyone near
Not warm enough so people disappear
And I cannot fathom why anyone would stay
It's no surprise when good things slip away
I fake laughter to disuassade any concern
Joy is a blessing for which I desperately yearn
But in conversation I act like I am fine
Do very best not to reveal a single sign
I wear dark eyeliner to match my point of view  
Even black isn't quite enough to mimic the hue
Because insecurities constantly bring me down
Erasing smile then replacing with frown
I self isolate
I know deep inside
Loved ones would be better off if I died
Why are my demons so persistent?
Rosie Oct 2021
If I was a friend to myself,
I'd tell me "come over"
and I'd lean out my shoulder.

If I was a friend to myself,
I'd have tissues in both hands
and I'd be kind and understand.

If I was a friend to myself,
I'd take my side for a change
and I'd create a safe haven
where my demons couldn't hang.

But I tell myself I am a failure
for getting so down,
comparisons fill my mind up with sound
I'd never be this tough on anyone else,
So why is it okay to spew
this endless hate to myself?

If I was a friend to myself,
I'd suggest we take a walk
and let the fresh air restore
what we had lost.
I really am my own worst enemy.
E Aug 2021
my body is simply not conventional
to the clothes I wear
there are dips and hills plastered on my figure
hanes doesn't take into account
my weight or my height
so pulling up the waistband
drills the cotton into my skin
with no room to breathe
but I've gotten comfortable

my body is not conventional
to the clothes I wear
the hunch back of Notre Dame meets
a protruding belly that widens my waist
when I wear shirts
fabric strangles my hips
displaying my grotesque body
but I've gotten comfortable

my body is not conventional
to the clothes I wear
aged binders do their best
pools of skin are dipping out the sides
my ribs ache and it's hard to ignore
when my body wails a cracking chaos
pain and overstimulation have crept into dreams
but I've gotten comfortable

my body is not conventional
to the clothes I wear
my body is not conventional
but it doesn't bring despair
my body is not conventional
and you can't begin to understand it
because it's too crippling to bear
it's staggering to peep into a mirror
seeing my being labeled unpleasant
with the unnerving urge to rip my eyes out
and splatter my blood on the glass
why don't I just break down and sit there
it's heavy to carry my weight and be hyperaware
it's easy to not care and maybe I'd take that route
but I'm not conventional
so I'm taking another way downstairs
Looked at my body, thought to myself, "my body is not conventional to the clothes I wear" and just had to write. It's 2am at night but when writing calls, I have no option but to answer.
there are multiple things I am referencing when I wrote this.
I am referencing that I am not conventionally attractive. My body doesn't hurt people but people are disgusted by it because of its transness, obesity and blackness. Certain clothes and undergarments physically and emotionally cause me harm. Most people would not understand the relationship I have with my body. I like it but there are times an instinct comes in and wanting to mutilate it to fit into standards of what's beautiful. Splattering my blood is my statement to society to how harmful standards and social norms affect me as a trans person. And lastly, being ignorant to these issues is a solution, not a great one, but because I refuse to partake in willful ignorance as most typical people do, I will manage these problems in a way that is healthy and different somewhere else. I hope this is explained well enough. Goodnight
I scrub and scrub,
until my skin stings,

wondering why,
I don't look "clean,"

darker skin, darker hair,
they've led me to believe
there must be something ***** here
https://www.instagram.com/wutheringsbronte/
everytime I hate myself and
desire to be other people,
I lose myself
little by
little
when a God complex doesn't kick in (most of the time) I just can't see value in myself
cassandra Mar 2021
lonely in the sea of people
overwhelmed while being alone
craving you to like me
while praying that you don't

didn't know the colors
seeing in black and white
all the flaws seemed see through
despite hours sacrified to hide

naked between the sheets
pillows soaking the tears
and all this because
mirror was my worst enemy
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