I wish I could say something beautiful.
But all of the words I dance with keep stepping on my toes,
like the boy I danced with in 8th grade that told me
he was surprised by how graceful I was for my size.

I've always carried other people's grief and anger around in my extra pounds,
storing their feelings like I was preparing for winter
and I've never been graceful about it.

I fall and I stumble and I slip but at least I didn't step on Brandon's feet when I was so nervous about my first kiss following the Sadie Hawkins dance.

I wish I could say something beautiful,
but all of the metaphors I try to grow never bloom.
Because I overwater them the way I overwater all of the loved ones in my garden and all of the wildflowers in my lungs.

I've been told my thumb is black, and not green, because I never know when to stop piling fertilizer upon seeds that will never sprout,
and when to stop piling unreciprocated love upon the people that I care about.

I wish I could say something beautiful.
But my voice is always silent like lightning or booming like thunder
and I've never learned how to make it fill a room like the sound of rain,
without being a natural disaster.

I wish I could say something beautiful.
But I still have a hard time looking into a mirror without picking myself apart,
like diagramming myself for autopsy before I've ever even pulled the trigger.

How could I ever produce something beautiful, when I can't understand the work of art that I am?

How could I say something beautiful, when I stand in my hallowed exhibition hall and refuse to paint my walls because I'm so afraid of making mistakes?

How could I say something beautiful, when I'm afraid to frame my best qualities because what if other people think that they're overrated? Overrated like seeing the Mona Lisa in person and still not understanding what the fuck she's smiling about.

How could I say something beautiful when I've never been able to appreciate the different hues and shadows and brush strokes that fill my skin and my mind and my mouth?
I've never been able to appraise and value myself because I'm afraid I'll never sell and never find a home.

How could I say or create or become something beautiful when I'm so preoccupied with imitating others' paintings instead of allowing myself to be my own masterpiece?

I wish I could say something beautiful, but maybe the most beautiful thing I could say in this moment is that beauty is in the eye of the beholder,

and kid you gotta be beholden to yourself instead of those critics in your art gallery.
Jack Jul 9
I want to write but I don’t know what about,
“Write about her” my head will shout,
But it’s not fair to you,
It’s not your fault I feel so blue,
All I can think is “I love you” and that’s how I know it’s true.

I want to write about the flowers and trees,
And the sun kissed scenes
That I see in front of my grey face,
I want to find a place
That I can crawl into for a safety base.

I want to write about the state of the world,
Where everyone who is sad or lonely is hurled
To the back of everyone’s head,
And they have the audacity to have said,
“How can someone yearn for the silence of being dead?”

I want to write but I’m in a place that reminds me only of sorrow
Taking these random pills ignoring the knowledge that this will only borrow
The happiness that I was meant to feel tomorrow.

And so I’ll write about how I will always feel like this,
Just a ghost everyone can see,
An empty shadow that takes the form of me.
Arden Jul 3
Just a cut
just a scratch
what’s that mark
it was just the cat
just an excuse
just another lie
what’s with the bracelets
just fashion why?
just a tear
just a scream
why were you crying
just a bad dream
But it’s not just a cut
or a tear
or a scream
it’s just one more
until it’s not
until you die
Bloop poems Jun 28
I started counting
counting my calories
the numbers between my thighs
how many times I lied about being "fine"
I cant stop counting
I'm counting down
Ill stop counting when i hit

Zero
Kim Elaydo Jun 27
i want to be pretty
I want to be kind

i want to be loveable

i want to be wanted

instead

i got this ugly face
ugly personality
this ugly body
that makes everyone go away

I want to love myself
but i hate myself

i want to die die die
no i just want to be perfect

I want what she has
i know i never will

what do you see in her
that you cant find in me

you like because
you love despite

and you say you love me
but never despite

you like her because
she is all this and that
i cant be any of those and im sorry

why cant you just love me

well i do hate myself
a lot
so who doesnt give you the right
to hate me too?


its hard to stay sober
from self-hate

its the strongest drug
i’ll ever take

hooked on its bitter taste
hanging by its threads

tangled in its promises
that nothing will be good

for me atleast.

End.
just wanted to spill some thoughts sorry if the lack of editing is making you hate me dw i hate myself too probably more than anyone ever could.
opi Jun 27
something she can see,
something she can't own;
beauty.
i'm tired of myself.
Mariah Wynn Jun 22
Detached.
A stranger standing
In front of me.
Extrinsically scrutinizing
This figure staring back at me.
Eyes dead like a corpse
An expression of no remorse.
How did I get here!
Here, I stare.
I stare at a reflection I don't endorse.
Startled by who stands before me.
This is not who I want to be.
Just makayla Jun 14
They took me from school
They put me in an ambulance
My favorite teacher came with
Next thing I know
I have a hospital wristband on
It has my name printed on it
I have an uncomfortable gown on
Weird socks on with grip on the bottom
Walking the cold hospital halls
Personally escorted
I remember thinking to myself
"I'm officially crazy"
They use their keycard to unlock the doors
I carefully step into a psych ward
It felt so isolated, cold, and sad
They took me to what they called "my room"
Bathroom was locked
Walls were blank
Shelf's were empty
They left my room
It was about 12;00 a.m
There was a bright green clock light in the wall
I turned down the lights
I tried to make my thoughts go to sleep
But it was my soul that was more awake than ever
I just laid there
I asked myself why I was here
Suicide, misery, depression, self-hate
And cuts on my wrist is what came to mind
"Oh" I said to myself with a tear sliding down the side of my face
That's why I'm here
©makayla bailey
I walk by
"Here comes tiny"
My ears burn
"Wish I could wear those pants"
I hear the murmurs
"You're so skinny"
I hear the whispers
"Just skin and bones"
I should feel good, right?
"You should eat a burger"
I earned this long ago
"You're too bony"
I put the work in
"How about a bulk?"
But the reflection revolting
"I need to eat less"
Still a decade later
"I still need to lose more"
Why can't I just love my body
"I am such a disgust."
I struggled with weight issues as a kid till my senior year in high school when I finally decided to do something about it. This was in 2005. I still haven't learned to be comfortable in my body.
Lyn-Purcell Jun 4
Dear society, I'm tired of your
debauching standards of what
it means to be beautiful into a
mere commodity.

Dear society, why can't you look
into the windows of the soul? Are
you scared to see a flawed being
just like yourself? Scared to see
what truly lies in the heart? Scared
to see more and want more than
just a body?

Dear society, what you call
beauty now is only joy for
your eyes. There should be
more to us than just sex appeal.

Dear society, your expections
has done more harm that good.
Those who fall in line will always
be accepted. And the ordinary
will be rejected...

You've made me feel like I'll never
be good enough. That my life
should be dictated to meet your
standards. No matter what I do,
there will always be something
wrong with me. Some imperfection
that I'll be forced to fix.

I am more than flesh and bone.
I am more than blood and tone.
For years, you've made me sad,
you've made me hate.
And I refuse to die bound to
to a dark fate.
Society sucks.
There is more to people than outer appearance,
or is that concept boring now?
Oh well.

Be back soon!
Lyn x
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