Sometimes it is not easy to give
up. You want to know what or
who to belong to. Darkness envelops

hidden parts to this patholigica.

If I cannot see myself, then who is
it that I am residing with? She calls to me
from behind the glass, love is my own

to behold from inside clear eyes.

What do I (want to) know? Who does she
long to be, when only half of the darkened side
decides to rush out these noises. She

watches me as she sleeps.

How can I know what this obscure
creature needs (to be)? Long hair drapes
from the edge of the violet pillow, washed black

from auburn, curls ever pointing down.

The empty is like the clear bluegreen inside
my darkness. She has her own voices, is lonely
from the silence I gave her. It is time she knew again

what their shapes sounded like.


© March 30th 2014

I talk too much
I speak too loud
My stupid round face
My stupid round stomach

My stupid tongue
Not making my words right
My teeth are stained
And crooked

My stupid head
Not thinking things through
My stupid eyes
Lazy and ugly

My stupid legs,
Not fitting through the crowd
My stupid hips
Getting stuck in things

My stupid stretch marks
Making me look like a zebra
My stupid *******
Not fitting in anything

Why am I always

Ugly
Fat
Clumsy
Loud

But worst of all,
I'm always looking
Through my stained mirror

I would not wake up to a war with flesh,
twisting and turning to pinch in a soft waist to lithe sinew.
Slim limbs and sharp clavicles—
my edges would cut deep.
Perfection; walking anywhere as a body
of art, letting everyone’s eyes peer through
me to sunlight, a curved heaven.

The women of my family have said that success
depends on matchstick legs and sleek hips that
insure a delicate beauty, seemingly effortless.
But if my smooth form fractures,
the weight swelling into weaknesses,
I would rather lay scattered as another’s
mess, so throw me down to the swift end.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
Or at least that's what is said
But what if your vision is unclear
& your own image is not beauty in your eye
& your self-esteem declines as you get older
You're still ugly in your head
No matter what compliments you hear
& you don't know how to explain your reasons why

Society is to blame
Overly  advertising "skinny" pills or another new diet fad
magazine covers displaying frail & gauntly figures sharing their dieting habit
& there's an unofficial showdown on social media trying to one up your peers
It's become so stupid & lame
People going completely mad
Nothing is being achieved is what I don't get
Unfortunately this will continue on for years

Enhancing your appearance is become quite extreme
Botox filled needles, toxic injections say good-bye wrinkles as well as ****** expression
Button nose or a pointed one, maybe a bump rhinoplasty will quickly fix
Broken, distorted & barely holding on, slowly losing self-esteem
Whatever it takes, anything they can do to receive some positive attention
Showered with empty compliments, their beauty is deceiving & they're covered in lies
**** pumped full of silicone, hard to the touch
Some implanted *** cheeks, now it's massive & anacondas all want to bite
Reality is becoming surreal, dream like hard to decipher the real & fake
A crazed addiction that's just too much
A corrupting epidemic destroying what's right
We need to figure out how to protect the years to come with prevention
Killing this trending fascination of a stupid mistake

We continue to change it, hide it, deny it, maintain it, lie to it, cry at it & accuse it
Everyone has got one, no one is exempt
Year after year it's a bigger obsession
Criticizing & judging what they view is their daily routine
With no plans to quit
Changing their thoughts & mind is something dangerously risky to attempt
Unable to change what they view on their screen
Drifting farther out of any reality
Claiming they're unaware how negativity can quickly poison
In denial that it does any harming
Oblivious to the unraveling image
No longer obtaining any slight speck of your originality
& got caught up in the deadly alluring fascination
For results that were nonexistent
Ridiculously absurd & quite alarming
Side effects include blurred vision, forever tainted thoughts & more unfixable damage

Lost souls, a pointless quest to change what was never wrong
Leaving all those confused & badly broken & a mind almost rotten
A spirit was just no longer there
Emotions shut off & an expressionless face remains
Failing to reach society's idea of "perfection"
Another one gone, that didn't take very long
The light in people's eyes faded & their smiles joined the forgotten
Beyond the looking glass we lost our stare
& our spirit it claims
Nothing is left now but an invisible reflection

I hate my acne,
How it blemishes my cheeks,
Leaving scars for you to trace in the dark
as you kiss away my skin

2. I hate my weight.
The rolls of fat unevenly proportioned around my middle
so that my jeans will never
fit "just right"
and my broad shoulders reminding me every time
I pull on a shirt that I'm not built like a woman

3. I hate my appetite.
My stomach's never satisfied with a salad or a soup.
No,
I need the whole **** steak.

4. I hate my laugh,
how it crescendos through deep rolling hills
starting in my belly and ending in my soul.
It's infectious, because
once I start
you can't stop

5. I hate that I'm beautiful,
because I know that I'm not,
but ****, when you look at me like that,
I outshine the stars.

6. I hate my honesty,
"No, I'm fine," why the hell can't I just say that,
but no,
I have to go bare my whole soul to you in hopes that
you don't bare it right back

7. Man, I hate that I'm faithful.
I hate that I'm never gonna throw in the towel
when things get tough,
and that every time you leave, I'll stay

8. I hate that I believe,
believe all the lies that you feed me,
hoping, maybe, by God's grace.
It's different this time and you'll stay

9. I hate myself.
I'm too good for you,
and not good enough for you,
and I'll never
ever be what you need,
but I keep trying and changing to become
bad enough for you,
and good enough for you,
and to somehow attempt to be what you need.
I hate myself because I have lost myself.

But 10.
Mostly, I just hate that I give a ****.
I hate that I care about myself,
my weight,
my height,
my face,
my attitude
I hate that I'm not happy being me.

Im not perfect by your recognition
Because by definition
I have flaws
And these beauty laws
Make us cut up our faces
Metal needles and saws
Just to look like a certain image
To these aliens we are in awe
But we do not know they are just like us

Imperfect
They are fixed and morphed by edits
But they still get credits
For not being themselves

My biggest enemy holds me back
These words of harm attack
"Fat" "ugly" "gross"
Is who I am
My mirror now knows
To change my image
Make me hate who I am
Im blind by myself
But my eyes are working fine
But inside
Im not good enough

The distress controls my thoughts
I become someone I'm not
My face is no longer me
A new nose and smoothed out lines
So much money and precious time
Spent, I can never go back
But Im still not perfect

So to everyone out there
Who's heard the words
Felt the stares
For being lower than the aliens in the magazines
Who want to be on top and feel pristine
Like the models on our screens
And go through the pain of becoming thin
Or a get a new face to finally win
Against the aliens who we look at in awe
Just know that there is no flaw
In having flaws

This picture of a perfect women
We will always see it , yes
But just know that being imperfect
Is more perfect than you could guess

His wrists are my favorite part of his body,
Bones pressing delicately through pale, unscarred skin in a way mine haven't since the 6th grade.
The only bones showing on my body are my elbows and knees, just barely
And the worried bones of my insecurities.
I wish I could see my shoulder blades and hipbones.
I'd never hoped to be a skeleton but
I'd hoped to be proud of my appearance.
Even though my best friend tells me that I'm pretty just the way I am,
I know I'm not as pretty as my sister;
We're twins but no one ever believes us
She has gorgeous blonde hair and pale skin and sky blue eyes,
Hourglass shape.
I think she got the looks, but I always hope I got the brains.
Today I don't know which is the better end of the deal.
I know I am fat. I don't need any doctors or parents or bullies to tell me that
My curves are not big-*****,
Obesity doesn't run in my family,
No one runs in my family,
And by no one I mean me.
My every outfit is prefaced by compression shorts and slimming colors and self-conscious shame.
My stomach has ugly purple stretch marks like tongues of hungry fire
Burning away my self-esteem
Summer evenings aren't fun anymore
When my father tells me I'm too big to swing on the swing set
And my mother asks if I'm pregnant.
I'm not.
I'm a size 14. My mother thinks I'm a size 10.
When I try on the too-small clothes she brings home  
I cry in the privacy of my bedroom mirror,
Oceans of salted pain worry over my face,
Try to rinse away the guilt.
At least I'm not an ugly crier.