Symmetry deficits call for chiaroscuro.
Highlight the summits,
and diffuse shadows at the vertex
of cheekbone and mandible.
Colour the apples, rubescent as newborn flesh,
and soften edges for a gentle definition.

If you paint claret from bow to corner
it can create something fuller; induce desire-
Valencia can bleach the blemishes.
Liquid or matte lies in pesky furrows
and rots like carrion in warm weather:
remember to blot excess sebum prior.

Are you pneumatic? Applications can support you-
with enough you can acquire
something ample for a decade.
Look to the lens. It winks;
raise brow in a clean cut, diagonal
from nostril edge: the playful frame apertures admire.

Flash.

Share with friends:
refresh/close/open,
and sigh at affirmations.

This body will never be beautifully at rest

I will always have to **** in my stomach to appear graceful
I will always have to lift my chin to slim my jawline
I will always force my collarbones forward
I will always lift my elbows to keep my arms from splaying against my body
I will always push my hips back to have that coveted thigh gap
I will always wear heels to define my calves
I will always cover my skin in paint and color
I will always force my hair to lay sweetly covering parts of my face
I will always cover the scars I gave myself trying to be beautiful
I will always
I will always
I will always

I will never be at rest.

You ask if I’m depressed.
I’ll have to say, it’s true.
If you wouldn’t mind,
Tell me, why aren’t you?

Aren’t we all depressed?
Or do zombies roam around?
Do you see through colored glasses
All the bodies on the ground?

I’m certainly depressed.
If you aren’t, you might be slow.
The world burns around us,
As they’ll all burn below.

I’m naturally depressed;
I have great pity for our kind.
If you call yourself content,
I assume you must be blind.

I’m incredibly depressed.
The standards are so high!
I can’t keep up with social trends;
They make me want to cry.

Of course I am depressed.
If you’re not, then you’re insane!
Life is so demanding,
And existence equals pain.

So yeah, I am depressed.
Doesn’t that make sense?
This world is like hell,
But slightly less intense.

I’ve said that I’m depressed,
And I’ll stand by what I said.
Society is torturous;
I’d much rather be dead.

I’ve never quite understood
Those who judge beauty
On a checklist
Whose boxes are drawn
By the pens of society

Because what is beauty,
if not in the eye of the beholder?
And what is beauty,
if not abstract
and utterly idiosyncratic?