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I have baptized myself by immersion of studying your photograph, examining as each constituent lives under my scrutiny. I have been waiting for my brain to acknowledge the imperfections on the details of your physicality and introduce itself to your blemished deficiencies.
So far, it has already shook hands with the distance between your eyes, and the murk residing below the pair, the defined philtrum proudly standing in the middle of your nose and your mouth, the abnormal upward curve at both ends on the side of your parched lips, and the scream from your pupils that seem to sympathize with my observations.
With utmost patience, I have waited for my brain to perceive you under the category of ugly.

But I think that's just an excuse I say to myself so I could reason out why I'm still staring at your portrait after we have come to a compromise of parting.
Steadfast and unmoving
Sarah Flynn Oct 17
as you held me,
your hands moved across me,
your fingertips tracing
every curve of my body.

your hands wandered
until they found my scars.
every muscle in my body tensed up,
waiting for you to comment on them.

they weren’t new.
by this time, I had dealt
with all types of reactions.

there were the people
who were disgusted
and didn’t try to hide it,

the people who were made so
uncomfortable that
they didn’t know what to say,

the people who
insisted they understood
when it was obvious that they didn’t.

you were hard to read.
I wasn’t sure what to expect from you.
you pulled me closer to you
and held me tighter,
and I felt myself relax.

you didn’t tell me you were fine with them, you didn’t tell me you were sorry,
and you didn’t tell me they were beautiful.

you were honest,
and I loved that.

you weren’t fine with them,
but neither was I,
and that didn’t stop you
from caring about me.
you weren’t sorry,
you didn’t pity me,
and you didn’t change
the way you acted around me
like most people do.

but most importantly,
you did not call them beautiful.
they aren’t.

there is nothing beautiful
about self-hatred,
and these scars
are nothing more
than its byproducts.

self-harm is not pretty.
my past is not pretty.
my scars are not pretty.
I told you all of this.

you didn’t disagree with me,
you didn’t try to argue.
you simply held me.
you didn’t look at my scars,
you looked at me.
you didn’t say much.
you didn’t have to.

when you did finally speak,
you told me,

“you’re right.
your past isn’t pretty.
but that doesn’t mean
your future can’t be.”
Alexis Oct 6
know you don’t miss me
you just miss the way it feels
to not be alone
Terra Levez Sep 21
It was funny
How as I stepped into my city

With its blackened air beating my face
  each breath a war with chemicals

With dust, grime and garbage at every street
  and shops which no one ever enters

With all the noise and clamor of traffic
  and the neon lights which blind my eyes

It was funny really
How much I had missed my ugly city
My Dear City,
For every time I come back to you
A house made of screams and fear .
Hedge in by the high brick walls.
A place whose all loved one disappeared
And darkness masked fear crawl.

Here every room has a story
In which each is a character.
But time and world has taken his glory
And called it a sinister.

This ghost house is similar to many of us
Engulfed by our own darkness.
Stiff but eaten by the rust .
All these make feel starkness

As of this house , THE GHOST HOUSE
To the lost ones who are not yet lost
Saïda Boūzazy Jun 2019
Beautiful like a butterfly
Yet, like a larva she is
Her truth is hidden beside a butterfly
She is hiding her ugliness behind her beauty
They said gorgeous
But, she made from her ugliness a marvelous pictures that captured every one
Never judge her weakness
It can hid a different image of strongness
From nothing she made a marvel
She becomes  the incarnation of beauty
Ugly faces no one adores
Beauty beauty beauty galore
Ugly faces have many traits
They are seldom straight
Ugly faces come to fore
In many ways of course
No need for eyes is there
You can find them everywhere
There is a special variety
Which comes to fore
Through 'silence' in turmoil
Ugly faces no one adores
Beauty beauty beauty galore
dexter Aug 23
Over and over going under
Left my body again
Underneath another sweaty dude I don't even like.
It helps to fill the void.
The blind leading the ****
Clinging to an unobtainable freedom and love
Untold desires
Tragedies, fires burning the valleys in my rib cage
Control taken
My token of power stolen
Use me, use it against me
Cryptic, insidious, vicious, and rancid.
dexter Aug 23
Eyes wider than Ohio
Staring directly into the truth I've spent years in denial about.
Psychedelic doubt
Ugly within, uglier without.
Questioning myself and every decision I've ever made
Ego dissolution, consequential confusion
Every move has a karmic influence
So we spend our days in the sunlight of the spirit
Summertime eternal
Flowers will die but ever we are in bloom
Screaming "doom" & "i love you"
From the womb to the tomb.
a poem i wrote after tripping face with my not-blood sister. i love you jandalyn tai
dexter Aug 23
Filling in the blanks.
Throw away worn out pages from the journal of my past.
Forgetting names, relationships that didn't last.
No class, sensible sass on the *** of my jeans.
Playing with words when I want to be mean.
Don't want to be needy.
Forgotten peace treaty with the demons eating my psyche.
I'm ugly, you're boring, we're all like vampires feeding on each other.
Undeniable hate, but I still always say "We should love one another."
Denial undercover, smother the problems I'm not yet equipped to recover from with a sly wit.
Another temporary fix to cover up the shiit that somehow replaced the mud and the blood in my veins.
I'm lonely and strange and beginning to prefer it this way.
Not well behaved, I don't feel like pretending to be today.
That's okay, I'll try again tomorrow.
Indian giver, time's always borrowed.
Mostly hollow but I'm trying harder every day to gain the patience it takes to fill in the blanks.
fill in the blanks :)
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