#self-image
To look at my face
you need the mirror of your eyes.
Your eyes never wonder
how they reflect
an image of my ‘I’ to your senses.
When you read this poem,
you find an image of my thoughts
through a mirror of expressions
and judge my acceptability,
just as you do when you face this ‘I’.
All through one’s life
this ‘I’ is reflected by others,
parents, friends, wives, children, foes….
giving us a feeling of existence,
solid proof of this inseparable ‘I”.
24th Feb. 2017
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 4:03 AM UTC
If only your skin was a lighter shade
Here, this bleach might come to your aid
If only your lips weren't so full
Maybe the boys would like you at school
If only your hair wasn't so *****
Here's some caustic chemicals to make it more slinky
If only your ******* weren't so large
Here's the number to a surgeon, call and see what they charge
If only your waist was smaller (just a few inches)
Here's a corset, see how tiny it cinches?
If only your *** wasn't so round
How 'bout you run some laps to lose a few pounds?
If only you'd get your nose out of books
I bet you'd garner more stares for your looks
If only you'd change your curious personality
I hear the masses prefer banality
If only you'd see me for me
Do you know how content I'd be?
If you can't do that
Then leave me be.
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 2:09 PM UTC
by pretending I am more than I let on,
to like myself more,
to be able to forgive my weaknesses;
by pretending I am normal;
by pretending I am special;
sometimes there is pain, too much of it.
sometimes I numb the pain.
sometimes I worsen it,
sometimes forget about it.
I smile a lot, even when I don’t feel like it;
by forgetting to cry;
by allowing myself to feel good enough;
by thinking I’m worthy;
by telling others I love them,
when I am not brave enough,
caring enough,
too self-absorbed, to love.
by thinking that I will ever change;
by thinking that I will never change;
by giving up on myself;
by still hoping.
because I cannot lie to myself.
because I do not even know who I am.
because I’m trying
to become myself
and to get away from myself,
always at the same time.
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 8:12 AM UTC
I look through my photographs
And see a person I never knew.
An open smiling soul you might
Tell almost anything you wanted to.
And what a fine face I had
With shining unlined skin.
I look at that face and shake my head
Wish I looked like that again.
I don't remember being that cute
It must be a camera trick.
I'm surely not that hot now.
This just makes me sick.
Someone just managed to
Aim that cheap camera right.
Or else it was the lighting
Whether day or night.
I remember that outfit
And the length of my hair.
But I am sure someone doctored
This picture up somewhere
Because I never take pictures well.
I always look like a freak.
I mean these picture make me
Look like I had a widow's peak.
And, look how tiny my waist
And how great my style was then.
I wish I could be that hot
And that young once again.
I would take that face back again
In a minute if I knew how.
But please no pictures of me today.
I don't like my pictures now.
Jul 22, 2016
Jul 22, 2016 at 5:27 PM UTC
Is there perfection in imperfection?
Or is that just a personal projection?
I look at my own reflection,
With mental disconnection.
The only thing I see is rejection,
Everything needs a correction.
Especially my midsection,
There is no perfection.
Only objection,
To the imperfection.
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 7:24 AM UTC
I have wished for years
That my collarbones would make themselves
Known.
That my muscles would
Atrophy.
And my skin would become
Paper thin.
All for the sake of exposing the calcified lattice
That holds me together.
Holds me down.
I have wished to see my ribs
So that I could better understand the bars that my heart
Beats so fiercely against.
I have wished my spine to rise from beneath sinew
Form peaks against my skin
Just so I can see
What makes a man
What backbone is
See what makes me
Stand
Against those things that I do not desire.
Yet here I am.
Synapses stretched between
Head
And
Heart
Eyes sundered, seeing what my heart can't take.
What my fragile fingers fail to grasp.
I am a graveyard.
Made of stars that decided they were meant for other tasks.
Rub your charcol across my bones
Just to see what stories the universe has told.
For it has lived and died a thousand times, and now
And now, this time around it chooses to call this body
Home.
So although there are days I wish my hip bones would rise like
Mountains
In the desert,
That this soft skin would part and give
Rise
To bones like Aspen trees,
I will accept that my
Clavicles
Are the bottom of the sea bed.
And I am
Mile
Upon
Mile
Of stormy ocean.
Still waiting to explored.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 1:32 PM UTC
I am stuck
In a maze of empty corridors
Lined with a thousand mirrors
Distorted and evil
And all staring at me.
When I look into the first mirror,
I do not see myself.
I see a malformed human
Staring back at me.
Ugly.
Fat.
Unlovable.
With blue pools of sadness
That well up
And drip tears of helplessness.
I am scared.
So I run.
But I stop a few mirrors down
Because I see another girl
with bruised skin
And cut cheeks.
She has been beaten.
But by whom?
I am scared.
So I run.
But again I am distracted
By another girl.
She sits alone, naked.
With wrists that are red
And thighs that drip the same.
She has been cut.
But by whom?
I am scared.
So I run.
I want to leave.
But the exit eludes me.
I start to panic;
I don't know what to do.
So I sit down
And cry.
But I hear a voice
Calling out my name.
So I run towards it.
But it's dark.
It's so dark.
Where is this person?
I run past another mirror,
And there is yet another girl
Who looks just like me
But happier.
Prettier.
Loved.
She is the one calling my name.
She wants to help me,
And yet she can't reach me
Through these mirrors I've created
For myself.
I am unreachable.
So I walk away
And, seeing an empty mirror,
I climb in,
And I am transformed into
A malformed self-image of a girl
Who has been beaten by her thoughts
And carved by her own hand.
And I want to go back.
I am scared.
So I try to run.
But I can't.
I am stuck in this hell I've made for myself.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 7:52 AM UTC
you filter every pixel pore
you angle yourself thin
my darling, which
do you love more?
the girl on the screen
or the girl in your skin?
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 7:51 AM UTC
We all have seen
people,
places,
and different situations
that questions
everything we have learned,
believed,
seen,
and heard.
It is up to us whether to
label those things
as mere fallacies,
or to uphold them
as utter truths.
But this isn't always the case.
The process of acceptance
is not always easy.
It involves a lot of self-berating,
self-loathing,
listless moments,
melancholic states,
and finally,
reluctant adaption,
to the current norms,
notion,
and societal views,
that forces us to change
our views,
our versions of truths,
our perception of reality,
and our own self-image.
We must always beware
those situations; let it not
deter you.
For, dear, you are
what you are,
and what you believe;
your conviction,
your truths,
your freedom from
these mind-altering moments,
will not be taken away from you.
Do not let yourself
be washed away
by the waves of
fanaticism.
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 11:39 AM UTC
The light catches his body and
will not let it go, as I lie
and smile and make the appropriate
movements, always thinking -
my head never shuttering, never silenced
as I count up the crimes of the day,
reflected from sight of the light of him,
slapping my face as it hits.
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 3:46 PM UTC
i miss the dogfight
of our teeth squaring off
in a shiny mirror.
you could call our canines
moon kernels or portents,
but the sentiment
is sharper. the poem
tautology to a bracelet
of crescent dents.
self-portrait: light
shadow, shadow, light.
a plane reflecting
other planes, an edge
biting an edge, biting
an edge, bitten.
the bracelet tautology
to a skyline sans sky,
one wedge of evening
held in your periphery.
i press my fingers
into a warm glass throat.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
Stirring morning
Open eyes then feel… open ear starts to listen… open mind learn humbly to think and to grasp… open heart with passion to feel… (Continue quietly breathing in and out)… "What that feel deep inside?"
Sensing and intuiting, searching with all feeling and wits, while heart and mind still clear and unblemished.
Attempting to fly off into the morning wild blue yonder. Once again, no ponder souls' supposing… only relinquish… go beneath the core of being human: "What that feel deep inside me?"
At the culmination, golden morning rays teach, to experience the surrounds as they are, as gold as they are naked… as warmth as they should be… allow diminishing self-image first to be humble… then I might cloth being in the present and be a friend with I am who I am…
"What that feel deep inside me?"
And I know…
When…
There will be…
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 9:36 PM UTC
Green tea equations and cigarettes and
a distinct lack of food and
dark night lovely lonely walks and
maybe tomorrow
she will wake in a life
where she can love all parts of herself.
Can you feel that?
What a wondrous sensation.
She takes cold hands and
questions and buries them
in that empty stomach that
sings loudest when she fails
at sleeping. This girl with worn patches
and an overwhelming sense of
irony; there's too much to her
but still she is not enough.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 10:25 AM UTC
All your ugly faces
Glaring at me
Constantly glaring
Twisted teeth
Beedy eyes
Crippled souls.
Reflections of myself
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 2:43 AM UTC
I realize I am young
I realize I am small
I realize I'm mature
I realize that I'm really not that mature at all.
I realize that I'm chatty
That I murmur endlessly
I realize I'm not perfect
I realize I'm not skinny
I realize that I'm funny
I could make you laugh for days.
I'd say I know myself pretty well.
But the hardest thing for me to realize
Maybe the hardest thing I've ever had to,
Was that you don't love me.
That you probably never have
And you probably never will.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 7:44 PM UTC
This world has a lot to take in.
It turns and turns stopping for no one
While I just sit and take it all in,
Take turns, take turns. Waiting for the next one.
No, this first-grade paradigm
That controls how I think and see what's fair
Doesn't really apply this time.
Cause first-grade knowledge isn't for just anywhere.
It's for the classroom,
The safe room.
The place where I sit and wait room.
I'm dying just to break through.
But I can't. See they hate you.
They take what they think is theirs.
Never waiting for the rule of turns.
Never thinking how the world fares.
When every bridge they cross burns.
What about the rest of us?
How are we supposed to move forward?
When none but the "very best" of us
Move on past our story's fore-word?
It's horrible and grueling.
Cause the "special ones" are ruling.
They ask, "Who you fooling?"
You'll always be a normal.
Why can't we all be special ones?
Why can't we all have that privilege?
Why must we all be the fretful ones,
Always worried about our image?
Worried that we won't look right.
Or that we won't be up to *****
Cause when we take off our makeup each night
We no longer feel like enough.
No, it's too much.
Our minds are filled with thus and such.
But thus and such are just a crutch.
When we aren't enough.
At least, that's what they tell us.
Make us think we have to be gods.
Cause honestly that's the best way to sell us.
It doesn't matter if they're frauds.
See Humanity longs to be sufficient.
Able to satisfy itself.
So we do what we can with vision.
But leave our skills up on the shelf.
It doesn't matter or make sense.
To make some sort of recompense
When we never lost our innocence
Except by failing ourselves.
See, we fail to see our potential.
That special thing that makes us us.
But in the end it's the most essential.
It's the only thing we can trust.
Whether it's our brain, or our brawn,
Our very will to survive.
It's the very thing that let's us press on
The only think that makes us alive.
We have talents, our gifts.
But our spirits they need lifts
That come through paradigm shifts
From what's fair to what's real.
It's a hard disparity to master.
But in the end it's always alright.
Cause it's only part of growing up.
Seeing the changes that came overnight.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 9:57 AM UTC
What makes me feel beautiful is makeup and hair dye.
I love to paint my lips a bright pink, but I get upset
When that is all anyone sees.
I work on my physical appearance so much,
pasting my hair down perfectly, making sure my
eyeliner is symmetrical.
I get angry when no one sees what my personality can be
but truthfully, I don't work on that half as much as I work
on my outward appearance.
Maybe my insides aren't beautiful enough to compliment.
Maybe my hair is the best thing about me.
Maybe I'm not worth what I think I am.
Unless you count my "beauty."
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC
I'm done trying to make myself beautiful
I'm bored with mascara, weighing down my eyelashes
gunking up my sight like a city sewer
I'm finished with lip gloss
a pop of shiny color on my wet mouth
pulling you in for a sticky kiss
I want to be ugly
to let my pores gape wide and let in the air
my skin breathing for the first time in years
I want to claw off my clothing
my fabric fittings sewn to slim me down
to tailor me into something worth loving
I want to be repulsively human
maybe all of this is because you said
how you always love the most disgusting things
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 9:30 PM UTC
she looks in the mirror and
she disgusts herself
she digs her own grave
and she puts herself out
she puts up a story and
paints her own mask
she sits and wonders how
she got so off track
she was on her way
all the way to the top
now she can’t do anything
but beg herself to stop
she sits all alone
in a room she painted black
she cried for independence
but she’s always brought back
she can’t be on her own
and she can’t be by herself
she sits on her knees
and contemplates hell
we all make our own
and she creates the worst
because she sits on her own
and pushes it down her own throat
(r.e.)
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC
*Attention
Affection*
These are the things She strives for
Perfection to get attention to gain affection
But what is perfection?
She starves so She can be skinny, even when She's told She has a **** body
She cuts to punish Herself for eating, yet sees Her scars as imperfections
She puts on make up so She can be pretty, even though She is told She is beautiful
She straightens Her hair to look perfect, even though She is told She looks pretty anyway.
When will She be perfect?
She dresses up,
dumbes it down,
changes Herself
but is let down.
When will She be perfect?
She tries to capture the attention of men and and gain their affection,
But shys away from affection, emotion and the human touch.
When will She be perfect?
Maybe She will be perfect when she changes Her definition of 'perfection'
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 3:24 AM UTC
I
Am awkward
And jumbled
I fit together
Like sticks
And stones
With childs elmer glue
Like a macaroni smiley face
With the edges all wonky
And you say my "curves" are beautiful
But i say my "angles" are awkward
Too sharp
My hips
Too prominent
You can see my collar bone
For miles
My ribs are
All too
There
My skin has become transparent
My veins
An ugly blue
My freckles
Out of place
I just dont know what
To do
Im a scarecrow
Of human peices
Individually
Good
But sow me together
I dont quite fit
I
Am awkward
And jumbled
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 7:52 AM UTC
Maybe it's your eyes
Or maybe it's how I wish I could trace my lips down that perfect jawline
Maybe it's your smile that makes my heart speed up a little more
Maybe it's your humor and the way you put joy in my heart
Maybe it's your apologies when you've done nothing wrong
Maybe its the way I feel as if I could write you a thousand songs
Something about you is so enticing
I'm drawn to you like the current of electricity
I wish you could see yourself through my eyes because if you could you would envision the beauty I see and never again wonder about your adequacy
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 1:07 PM UTC