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Saanvi Sep 15
My skin bleeds in anguish,
I do not understand my eyes.
My lips are charred,
My legs are aching.
Perhaps because for a long time they have been carrying the burdens of beauty.
I feel ugly to my core,
It's a truth I have accepted.
I see pretty girls in glamorous fashion,
I look down at my worn shoes and jacket.
I don't like my body.
Perhaps we can exchange our mortal trappings.
Then I could be the beauty with a brain,
And I won't have to compensate
For the ugliness running in my blood veins.
My hands are trembling,
I dislike my ****** structure .
Nobody could love my body, they could perhaps love my soul.
It's a compensation that I always pay.
For If I am ugly and mean,
I think I will be a bigger loser.
Somewhere I have to win.
Pride is a false illusion that I feel for my medals and trophies.
Nothing matters because
My body cannot be loved in this lifetime.
Perhaps they could love my soul.
Jamesb Nov 2023
I wish I were a *******,
A ******* in both senses,
No father to be embarrassed by,
Worse still to understand,
No consideration care nor conscience,
Go where I wish,
Do what I wish,
When where how and to
Or with who I wish,

But although I'm called
A narcissist by those who
Did but a minimum research,
And that with biased filters too,
It is precisely my non-narcissisticness,
If indeed that be a word,
That leads to many if not all
My misdemeanors,

So yes I wish I were a *******,
For a me free of conscience
Would far closer conform
To the norm
Of society,
And then although I
Would have hurt some,
It would be spread about a bit,
Not all at once

Nor now
Bit of a flight of fancy? Maybe. Maybe historical? Who knows
Francis Oct 2023
Someone told me,
To water my own grass,
But what they neglected to mention,
Is that my grass is crass.

This is due to my unfortunate past,
Every minute spent kissing ***,
To be walked on and trampled by,
Boots and heels of brass.

So no, I will most certainly not,
Water my own grass,
The thoughts and evaluations,
Of the judgment I pass,
Is necessary and voluntary,
In a sea of largemouth bass.
Another poem about judgment of character since I’m always in defense.
ky Jul 2023
I hated it.
Every single time
you called me beautiful,
I hated it.

I get it;
I have blue eyes,
long hair,
a thin body.
Everything you wanted.

But there's so much more to me than that.

I bet you wouldn't have liked me
if I had shorter hair
and a little extra weight.
That's why I realized I don't want a guy
who constantly calls me beautiful.

I want to be called
mesmerizing,
fascinating,
breathtaking.

Those words say much more about the real me
than "beautiful" ever will.
Blue Butterflies Mar 2023
I wanted to be so **** beautiful
I wanted nature to fall to my feet
I wanted the mountains to bow
I wanted the trees to weep for the love of me

I wanted to charm the dumbest of boys
I wanted to tempt the strongest of men
I wanted to break thousands of hearts
I wanted them to wake screaming my name

I wanted to be everyone's wildest daydream
I'd play my game without a fault
I'd fulfill my role to perfection: be it
Angel or *****, beggar or queen,
I'd be whatever they needed me to be
And when they relied on me the most
I would leave without a trace, without remorse

Because then, I would never be the one to wait,
The one to cry to sleep each day, I'd
Never be rejected, but keep them staring
At the blankness I'd leave behind me

(As a sidetone:
There are fantasies I'd never dare project into words
Thoughts I've buried deep within my soul,
But, believe me,
This might be the most honest poem I ever wrote).
louella Dec 2021
You’re ugly
I told you already.
You touched me with the hands of a coward.
I took away your despicable power
But now I’m the monster.  

She’s ugly.
Her eyes are brown like dirt
And a smile with teeth like cut onions.
Who called it a smile?
I call it wild.
But now I’m following the crowd.

He’s ugly.
He looks like a wannabe female.
With tears that stain on his feminine lips.
I call him out
But now I’m coming for his throat.
You were just poking fingers.

I’m ugly.
I draw myself with pencil marks.
Pencil my own beauty standards in.
I’m not desirable or prudent.
You torch my skin
No one breathes a word.
And I’m still the enemy.

Weird how standards work.
You’re pretty until she’s prettier.
Weird how standards work....

So let’s just get rid of them!
Isabella Nov 2021
Young girl, this is the beauty you’ll grow up to be- she's charming, pretty, loved endlessly
A head that behaves, nods never shakes, knows her place in the world, where she stays
She’s oh so adored, teeth white as pearls, a smile that brightens the desperate world
She’s graceful but strong, knows she belongs, and never dares utter a word we’d deem wrong

Young girl, this is the beauty you’ll grow up to be- it only takes practice, as you’ll soon see
Even out textures, messy imperfections, it’s a small price to pay for a life of attention
Don’t wear too much or you’ll look like a ****, but once you wipe it off you’re not trying enough
Time to embrace your flawless new face, nobody will miss the one it replaced

Young girl, this is the beauty you’ll grow up to be- you’ll look young forever if you do what you need
You can start now, it’s never too early, you’d hate to get older and look more than thirty
But it’s not all your fault your body failed you, you’ve got surgery now to come and save you
You’ll be cut apart and sewn back together, needles, knives, bruises, and scars til you’re better

Young girl, this is the beauty you’ll grow up to be- thin and starving until you can’t breathe
You’ll never look at food the same way again, for dear it’s nothing now but a weapon
Avoid or purge but never digest, do what you can to stay looking your best
Headaches, discomfort, the cycle of shame, you cannot turn back, no never again
Emaciated, weak, but see you fit in what you wear! Don’t give up now, you’re almost there

Young girl, this is the beauty we’ll raise you to be- you’re on your way now, I know it’s exciting
Glowing, shining, beaming fulfillment, there must be a hole but this beauty will fill it
I know that you cannot wait to grow up, a shell of you now but you’ll at least be enough
A life of affection that outshines your cries, smiling bright, even if it never reaches your eyes
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