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I’m the opposite of perfect
I am not the most refined
Eloquence is not my nature
Speech is not the place I shine
I am flawed in many places
What some say of me is true
But this one thing I have learned
Blemishes aren’t worn by few
So we all have our shortcomings
And we all may fail at times
But the thing that makes us special
Is how we view other’s crimes
For when we may make a mistake
And one chooses to forgive
Do we follow that example
And say this is how we live
Or do we condemn and complain
With hate and pride every hour
Without taking a single glance
At the person in the mirror
When you pull each other down
It proves this one thing is true
I may have a lot of blemishes
But the **** one is you
Once there was a jungle
Every creature great & small
Was given special gifts there
God, he gave them ALL.

He gave monkeys humor
He gave gazelles grace
But the peacock was quite special
He gave HIM the fairest face!

Now, as with all great blessings
This one had a curse
The peacock... quite spectacular!
But he had an **** VOICE!

Peacock screeched displeasure!
He spread his tail... and then...
He saw his greatest curse of all
His VERY plain PEAHEN!!
Another poem to go with the illustration done by my friend Steve. A beautiful drawing!
Ceyhun Mahi Jun 9
I find your gorgeous face quite bright and sweet,
Like stars or angels soft; to eyes loved pleasures,
Because the eye adores the ones who're neat,
Comparing it in poetry to treasures.

Your shapely stature's tall, to me breathtaking,
Like waves excited is my yearning heart,
And to see you with others is heartbreaking,
My object of admiration, each part.

The world has seen so many girls like you,
Dressed in elegance, shaped as flowing fires,
Although it's known, it seems so fresh and new,
The scintillating source of most desires.

But still your temperament is quite ****,
If only pretty eyes of you could see.
"Who knew evil girls have the prettiest face?'
Rachel Cox Jan 8
We are made from stars
But we are made from dead butterflies
and dinosaur ****, too
A world recycling itself
The beautiful and the ****
And I don’t know whether
To love humans, or hate us… or both
Because sometimes I think we’re a cancer on this Earth
Polluting the bellies of birds and whales
with plastic for the sake of convenience
Wiping out species and forests
while we Netflix and chill
And I look at art and poetry
and rocket ships flying into space
And I wonder if the beauty we create
is worth the beauty we destroy
As if the two could be weighed
on invisible scales
Dondrea Dec 2018
When I attack she feels it
Feels it so well that she doesn't smile again
She closes herself off from those so called friends
She doesn't give her eyes a chance to twinkle
And even though she really wants to she doesn't laugh
I wont let her
I will be there when she tries
Ready to remind her of the ugliness that surrounds those dull brown eyes
I will be there when she wants to smile
Ready to fill her up with thoughts that surpass vile
I will always be there
Ready to invade her body and mind
Ready to show her that her life is also mine
She will not laugh, or smile
Because I will not let her
She is mine
A Simillacrum Dec 2018
not only is beauty supposedly
in the eye of the beholder, it
also reportedly emerges from
an intangible depth within

okay, then, so that means ugliness
comes similarly from within,
or doesn't it, baby?

so then, ugliness must begin and end
in the pit of your stomach, and in
the words that pass the tongue
on the exit from your **** mouth

so then, ugliness must begin and end
in the nerves buried in sleeves, and in
the actions that slip the heart
sneaking past the brain, and vice versa.

on the grab from your dead hands.
on the grab from your dead hands.

not only does it tend to work
unlike the excitable pretend it works,
the implication is, that half of your
worthiness is linked to the mercy

of the mass effect.
as for a thought, a dream,
an intent, an outcome,
a vision, a nightmare,
a hermit knows the good folk
permit attractiveness to good lines.
4 gibs. take it and do some super artsy dook on it!
Kira Sep 2018
She looks in the mirror and sees a mistake, a broken girl with no direction, a girl who does not deserve love or happiness, no way to cover the ugliness.
She hates her personality, she hates her face, she hates all the things that she cannot change. She wishes that everything she saw in the mirror would simply fade away.

I looked at her with only admiration for the beauty I saw in her soul. She was perfect in my eyes. She was everything I could never be. I loved her with everything that I am, but I was nothing compared to the truth in the mirror.
If only we could see ourselves through others eyes.
Afia Jun 2018
I feel ****.
the dark spots on a full moon.
The burning skin under the crisp sun.
The harsh stain of vibrant colours on a canvas.
The violent shade of the monsoon cloud.
The rustic smell of an old key.
The sad wrinkles on a tree trunk.
The tired stretch marks on a shabby body.
the birth of a life.
I feel less. I feel pigmented.
I feel lost. I feel strange.
This is my beauty to taste.
To embrace.
For years. people have been reminding some of us that how unattractive they look. Beauty can never be defined according to ''their'' perspectives.
Jack P May 2018
/ picked an iris from the garden / took a hacksaw to the petals / when i could have just picked them apart /

\ which garden? \ only one of its kind \ a blemish in the desert, a stubborn breakout of petulant colour \ under schrodinger's sun \ model's smiles so **** betwixt the natural verdure \ i tell them this \ to save myself from perceived slights \ and she does, indeed, look slight \

/ the word "help" drawn in the sand / the rusting handle of the shovel burning hands / as i hack at stems swaying nonchalant / in the stinging wind /

\ from left \ to right / then left \ then right / before bleeding out on the flat palm of the tool -

\ a wren \ tar-black \ perches on a nearby tree \ shakes the dust off a wing \ and casts a shadow across our little oasis \ before opening its beak to song \ dragging more people into the dark will not help you find the light switch \ and other assorted platitudes \

/ so the model walks out into the desert / i follow / dragging her garden along / it's wrapped around my ankles / oh the irony in losing blood to the vines tightening / dragging across hot sand / and eventually it's all too heavy / so i collapse / breathing in the arid ground / skin turns as red as a bull's nightmare landscape / yet she continues to walk / as if nothing happened / is it the heat that leaves me melting away? / or the guilt? / in any case / i got caught in the trap i set for her / eyes close / and she is leaving...

                                                                ­                   leaving...

                                                    ­                                  leaving...
                                                                ­                                   left.
begrudging other people of their happiness will not make you any happier i think. bu t i am no philosopher
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