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#blemish
You have one of the most beautiful soul I have ever come across. Not a single blemish on your body could represent your eternal self. With eyes that see through, I look upon the beauty of your eternal youth. See what you may of my surface and wonder of my underneath, I am but the spring of passions and countless quantum leaps.
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Sep 2, 2020
Sep 2, 2020 at 7:00 AM UTC
Blemishless
to bring back time is my only dream in this crazy world to separate the simple pieces of my odd castle to attach them with hopes obliterate the blemishes i miss a ray of light and petals appear - memories are here
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Feb 17, 2020
Feb 17, 2020 at 1:14 PM UTC
my mind is blooming
When melancholy besets And memories strike When roses lost in books Turn into silver spikes When you hear the sobbing sounds From the walls of your room And the world around you Feels like a perpetual doom When you feel that you’re trapped And that you’re a lost cause When people close to you Laugh at your blemish and flaws When you can not see a way And all your hope disappears I want you to read this poem And know that someone cares
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Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 4:01 AM UTC
Perpetual Doom
She is made up of scars, Hidden with the skin of elegance, She is a captive, To others' perception of her own fallacies. She is made up of bruises, Knitted with the yarn of invasion, Her eyes reflect the burning agony, She is the flowing torrent. She is made up of blemishes, Concealed with layers of optimism, She is made up of bewitching beauty; A crude exposure. She is an enticing amalgamation of- Rain and blizzard, Oceans and waterfalls, Breeze and vacuum, She is a world of paradoxes, Sealed with an air of rigidity. - Kavya Mukhija
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Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 10:44 AM UTC
Paradox
How can it be that you can have everything and still want more? Am I greedy when I ask "is there anything else?" How can it be that the ties of friendship can be undone? Are they not elastic? Aren't they impervious to the ever-shifting sands of time that weather meeker men down to disassociated piles of dust? How can it be that you can plant roots that spread and intertwine themselves, seemingly immune to any upward motion, just to pluck them from the ground that nurtured them for years and place them somewhere unlike anything they've ever known? How can it be that the world can hold so many secrets and yet our instincts tell us to discover the truth? No secret was ever discovered by trusting a single source; like the threads of a dream-catcher, we entangle ourselves in multiple realms to capture what we seek. I don't know which face means more: the smiling ones that coax me into song, and folly, and memories as precious as time, or the one blemished with melancholy as it stares back at me knowing there's so much more. How can it be that we have an imagination as wide as the universe, and yet we never dare to find the borders?
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May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 2:19 AM UTC
Borders
I like the dark. My scars are hidden and the stars don't judge my flaws.
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Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 12:18 AM UTC
the dark
The blemishes and scars so easily viewed on her broken city are beautiful in the dark.
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Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
kansas city
Sometimes I use Concealer As foundation Because my entire face Is a blemish I am desperately trying To cover up
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Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 3:38 PM UTC
Blemish
We are faults; we are despairing flaws that blemish the surface of our revolving sphere with the intent of making reparations. We collapse entire cores of foundations and tear down freshly plastered walls with family portraits and decorative ceramic angels hanging from stainless steel nails. We destroy entire civilizations, coating citizens in molten lava from a volcano that never overlooked them in the first place, leaving future lovers stepping over their remains unknowingly and blissfully clueless. We are natural disasters; we tear through corn fields, bring down windmills, and rip shingles off of roofs while toddlers sleep soundly under quilted blankets. But moonlight shoots through your veins and sun burns from the crevice of your chest and I can't help but cup it in my hands and put it in my coat pocket for safe keeping
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Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
We are faults