#apperance - Hello Poetry

Hair Eyes Body Skin Face Piercings Tattoos Dyes Clothing Make-up Acts Lies Governerment Despise Friends Fakes Rated Hated Loved Appreciated Torn Complete Happy Obsolete Boyfriends Girlfriends Husbands Wives Career Jobs House Money Finace Struggles Children Reputation Drugs Pain Abuse Restraint *All of these words which complete the society in which we must compete

0

May 15, 2015

May 15, 2015 at 7:49 AM UTC

nikitam

Society

Hair Eyes Body Skin Face Piercings Tattoos Dyes Clothing Make-up Acts Lies Governerment Despise Friends Fakes Rated Hated Loved Appreciated Torn Complete Happy Obsolete Boyfriends Girlfriends Husbands Wives Career Jobs House Money Finace Struggles Children Reputation Drugs Pain Abuse Restraint *All of these words which complete the society in which we must compete

41

Sometimes I remember the scorn of my family, Effigies of bloodlines crossed into a tired face. I remember my mother, Her vice was appearance- Not her own but that of others. Every day was judgment She’d pick us before we bloomed and left wilted children Questioned the lack of fruit Not with self-deprecation but with scorn How dare we cross the farmer who sowed the seeds and watered the crops? How dare we look towards the sky for comfort? When that cold trowel could dig in our necks. I remember one time my mother asked me if she was the problem A lie, I’ve heard that question many times How can you curse a broken human more than she does herself And somewhere in my head, I justify it Consider the kindness built on vanity to be kindness nonetheless Flowers do not need to be alive to be beautiful They can be so frailed and dried up they become immortal A crumbling tombstone of decay And we marvel at them And I remember that I am a product of my mother

0

Jul 3, 2019

Jul 3, 2019 at 11:21 PM UTC

luna-craft

Farmer

Sometimes I remember the scorn of my family, Effigies of bloodlines crossed into a tired face. I remember my mother, Her vice was appearance- Not her own but that of others. Every day was judgment She’d pick us before we bloomed and left wilted children Questioned the lack of fruit Not with self-deprecation but with scorn How dare we cross the farmer who sowed the seeds and watered the crops? How dare we look towards the sky for comfort? When that cold trowel could dig in our necks. I remember one time my mother asked me if she was the problem A lie, I’ve heard that question many times How can you curse a broken human more than she does herself And somewhere in my head, I justify it Consider the kindness built on vanity to be kindness nonetheless Flowers do not need to be alive to be beautiful They can be so frailed and dried up they become immortal A crumbling tombstone of decay And we marvel at them And I remember that I am a product of my mother

22

If you start with the eyes— Rest becomes beautifully negligible

0

Jun 25, 2020

Jun 25, 2020 at 7:13 AM UTC

Dostoevsky

Appearance may be negligible

If you start with the eyes— Rest becomes beautifully negligible

2