"concealer" poems
Those purple circles
Under my eyes
Marks of sleeplessness
I can't disguise
Concealer only covers
The layer of skin
But underneath the makeup
There's still weary eyes within
I haven't slept
Not a wink of rest
Ever since you came
And made this mess.
Sweet Dreams
Apr 16, 2012
Apr 16, 2012 at 2:27 AM UTC
And the circles that I use to cover with makeup
have gotten so dark that not even "industrial strength" concealer covers them up anymore.
it doesn't even make a dent.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 1:41 AM UTC
Milyun-milyong mga blankong mukha,
pipintahan,
papahiran ng pintora
ang iba’t ibang kastilyo ng pangarap.
Subalit sa paglipas ng panahon
ang mga kastilyong ito’y rurupok,
at sa isang ihip ng hangin
ay pwede ‘tong gibain.
Masasanay kang matalo,
para sa atin ‘tong mundo.
Para sa atin,
hindi para sa kanila,
kailanman hindi ‘to masasakop
ng mga mapapait na luha.
Nasanay ka na sa panonood
ng mga teleserye o pelikulang
kung ano ang theme song
ay ‘yon din ang pamagat.
Nasanay ka nang mag-abang
sa paiba-ibang kulay na buhok
ni Vice Ganda, o ni Yeng Constantino,
ang umasa rin sa paiba-ibang desisyon
ng mga tao sa paligid mo.
Nasanay ka nang magmahal ang gasolina,
at iba pang mga bilihin
ngunit hindi ang magmahal ng totoo,
dahil takot kang masaktan ulit,
ang iwanan, o umasa ulit,
sa isang relasyong pang-post lang
sa FB, IG o Twitter,
‘yong pang-“#relationshipgoals” lang,
nasanay ka na pero takot ka pa rin.
Nasanay ka na sa mga surprise quiz.
Sa exams. Sa reporting. Sa thesis.
Sa Singko, INC, Withdraw o Drop.
Sa pag-jaywalking,
dahil late na naman sa 7:30 AM class.
Sa paulit-ulit na sorry.
Sa paulit-ulit ding pagpapatawad.
Sa paghahanap ng ka-red string.
Sa paghahanap ng ka-forever.
Sa mabagal na internet.
Sa job interview. Sa gobyerno.
Masasanay ka ring matalo
dahil ganito ang konsepto ng mundo.
Patitikman ka muna ng pagkabigo,
bago ka ulit maging buo.
Baka rin bukas-makalawa
maiisipan mo nang mag-aral ng mabuti
at iwasang ang usapang mabote,
ang bumangon ng maaga
at hindi papatayin ang naka-set na alarm,
ang maging totoo
sa taong nagmamahal sa ‘yo,
o kaya subukang ipa-Photoshop
ang 2x2 picture mo sa resume
para sa paparating na job interview.
Masasanay ka ring matalo,
masasanay ka rin sa mga peklat mo sa puso.
Dahil hindi ito matatapalan
ng pulga-pulgadang concealer ng Maybelline,
o kahit ubusin mo pa
ang stock sa AVON, sa Watson, sa HBC, o sa Lazada.
Kaya tanggapin mo na lang
na ang buhay ay puno ng pagkatalo,
dahil sa huli para sa atin din naman ang mundo,
kaya wala kang dahilan para sumuko,
dahil ang sumusuko lang ang natatalo,
at ang hindi takot sumubok ulit
ang tunay na panalo.
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 8:03 PM UTC
Light brownish **** lip stain to match the season,
Gold eye liner to make my brown eye color lighter,
Concealer and foundation to even out the skin tone,
bronze pink blush to add a bit of color and define my cheek bones,
Medium brown eyebrow pencil to perfect my eyebrows,
A stripped black and tan shirt with a brown scarf, blue jeans and black boots;
Hair is in a delicate curly updo so that my face gets more attention,
Burberry perfume to bring a soft delicate trail of her aroma,
my make up looks natural yet it adds color and defines the beautiful features of my face.
I do this not to cover my flaws,
not because I am insecure,
not for attention,
Simply because I want to pamper myself.
simply because I deserve to look pretty.
simply because I want to be as beautiful on the outside that I am on the inside.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 12:13 PM UTC
Handbag~ 1994
exam timetable
£5 from my Mum
shiny key for the front door
fresh-mint chewing gum
Handbag~ 1998
keys for work
keys for home
£20 and a bit of change
photo of my best mate
and a bloke that's twice my age
lipstick~ lacy knickers
condoms~ ID card
ticket for a bus to town
UV sparkly stars
Handbag~ 1999
keys for work
keys for home
spare key for his flat
condoms~ contraceptive pills
No.7 powder-ivory/matt
VISA/Delta debit card
paper
gel ink pens
number of a bloke
who says our love
will never end
Handbag~ 2000
keys for work
keys for home
key for the gas meter
Teletubbies picture book
list of baby-sitters
new mobile phone
herbal teething gel
lipstick~ Anadin
vanilla impulse body spray
children's Nurofen
photo of my baby boy
really tiny socks
under-eye concealer
secret stash of chocs
Handbag~ 2002
keys for work
keys for home
pull-back-and-go car
baby wipes
mobile phone
estate agents' cards
picture of my little boy
list of things to do
Boots own brand pregnancy test
both windows coloured blue
Handbag~ 2005
keys for home
card from work
tissue full of tears
photo of my boy in school
that shows his gappy teeth
photo of my baby girl
and one of both of them
a ring that used to be my Mum's
Pro-Plus~ Diazepam
Handbag~ 2009
keys for work
keys for home
one SLIM~FAST bar
one Cadbury's wrapper
Haribo~ Calpol~ tissues
assorted Disney plasters
treasured stones~ special shells
sand and bits of twig
money to buy ice creams
photos of my kids
Oct 14, 2011
Oct 14, 2011 at 4:52 PM UTC
"She puts too much make-up"
That's what they say.
They don't know that..
Foundation is for her pale skin
Concealer is for her stressed eyebags
Lipstick is for her sad lips
and eye-shadow is for her dead eyes
Is she conceited or she just hides everything well?
Think again.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 6:16 AM UTC
Celebrating an identity in a gender
Oh! The lipstick,
Oh! The spanx
To God I give thanks!
Being female,
What a blessing,
Even though, I've got to tell you,
These gender roles can be depressing
Nothing like dressing up for a date,
Don't forget, you must be royally late!
Pile on the mascara, concealer and lipstick
Hey mama, don't forget to pull down your dress a bit
You almost forgot to reveal your cleavage!
Please, by all means, empty that pretty little head of yours
Of any intelligence or reason
Girl, your only purpose is for a man's pleasing!
Now, get to that appeasing
You shouldn't be wasting all your time teasing.
Oh, mama, cry it out
Weep and pout
Gossip with your girls
Reject that pretty girl...
Who does she think she is, being naturally beautiful?
She doesn't deserve friends
If she needs support, she has an abundance of men who can pretend.
Go ahead now, pull up that mini skirt more
What do you think he's looking for?
Do you think he cares about your brain?
You're insane!
Do you think he treasures your heart?
Oh please, don't fall apart.
Do you think he'll still love you when you're old?
What, do you think men fall in love with your soul?
In celebration of being female
Let me spare you some advice
Love yourself with all you've got
And please, stop begging for it (love)
Stop showing your legs for it
If you cultivate dignity for yourself and
Love yourself
True love is guaranteed forever.
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 12:32 AM UTC
Damsel in this dress
is a damsel in distress she just using clothes to cover up the post traumatic stress,
but they barely cover anything--
her lady parts at best,
she attracts hood ****** but they barely give her thanks when she gobble up their ***** in her head is regret,
her past is her future so abuse is where she heads-- wears her heart on her sleeve so she empty in her chest
wearing make up just to make up for the confidence she lacks
and I admit I looked back when you walked by in that sun dress
I knew your name around the block bout how you ****** the meanest ****
the greatest *** and I imagined if I knew the words for access words to claim your assets dinner did I have to invest-- from a glance,
and at a simple glance back,
to advance the fact still remain man plans to slay that,
she knows it; the shades on her face tells poem how bright lies jaded minds and money bust her open so who's the poet--
but we judge off her appearance,
and lose our morals,
when she throw it back aren't we daring; but aren't we caring making compliments and swearing,
smearing make up on our ugly truth
conceal,
conceal,
concealer,
you a bad *****
another body is you willing?
but to her its more than *** its the embrace its not the feeling,
her innocence is safest and awakened when she feels it reminded of the time her boyfriend lied, as he took ***
In these predicaments she says its innocent;
he loves me,
that's after broken rib number 5 she says; he loves me,
that's after **** kit the doctor swab;
he says I'm worthy,
that's after black eye number 9;
he says he trust me,
he trust me,
he trust me,
He trust me,
He Trust me,
He Trust Me,
HE TRUST ME,
and he never means to hurt me.
Problem is my novel is too common,
I'll never share his name cause his name is not the problem,
he don't deserve my shine or fortune to be acknowledged:
Ms. ********** control your hatred, stedfast
my mind is changing-- stop judging demons,
Contrast.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
We waste our lives
chasing some false ideology
of what it means to be beautiful
dressing ourselves up
in the latest paper doll clichés
of magazine quotes
of how to look like a “10”
hoping to see something
other than our own reflection
in the mirror
hoping that a layer
of white washed lies
and vibrant coats painted
over fabricated truths
will somehow make us feel...
how do they say it
on the West Side?
“I feel pretty and witty and...”
isn’t it somewhere around here
that the truth gets lost
where we allow the definition of beauty
to get painfully distorted
that we hand over our paychecks
and self-esteem
for the latest cure and concealer
to that ugly feeling
we get when we are left by ourselves
to face the doubts of our truths
and what is that truth?
how was beauty defined
before we had a vocabulary of deception
before we danced to radio jingles
and sang along with our self doubts
what did beauty look like
when it was out there
alone in the dark
what was it that was beautiful
before we opened our eyes...
what was beautiful then
is still the same
as what is beautiful now...
and it is nothing we can define
with our words
or our books
or the noises we make when we speak
it is nothing we can see
with our eyes
it is as simple
as it is easy
it is there inside all of us
beneath our clothes
and inside our skin
and protected by our bones
and our marrow
living and blooming
every time we exhale
and every time we inhale
the truth of what it means
to be beautiful
is in just
being
and this truth is sung
with every beat of our hearts
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 9:26 PM UTC
I tend to shy away from makeup
I rarely pick up spray or brush
My heart is in flesh beating
and will one day turn to dust
I don't want to put forth creme facade
so you grimace when it rains
the trails of salt from filmy tears
are all that streak my face
If foreign objects draw you
jeweled tones upon the eyes
I do not fault your fancy tastes
or call concealer lies
But love is not burst into fire
by the curving of a kohl stick
And cheeks that redden with a kiss
are all that I would wish
to feed the flame upon the wick
that brightens and brings higher
two souls too bright to miss
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 3:42 PM UTC
I remember the first time
that I was called pretty.
I was eight years old.
I remember feeling
a bubble of insecurity
hover around me,
like an ant
under a microscope.
At eight years old,
I had experienced
my very first wave
of expectations of women
in a male dominated society.
I had no idea
that would be the first
of many by the time
I reached womanhood.
I was just a child.
I loved playing in the dirt,
and capturing bull frogs.
I was a girl
who played like a boy.
I never thought I was pretty,
not because I had
low self esteem,
but because
I was eight years old.
I was to young
to have pretty
wrapped up in my identity.
Fast forward
eight more years.
I am sixteen now.
I am no longer
playing in the dirt,
or capturing bull frogs.
I am painting my nails
bright pink,
and dying my hair
every two weeks.
I am trying to be pretty.
I am no longer
feeling the bubble of insecurity.
I am living in it
twenty four seven.
I am always concerned
with how I look,
how I act,
and what I say.
I am a girl
who is no longer a tomboy.
I am just a girl.
I no longer know
who I am,
because I am
not allowed
to be who I am.
I am expected
to sit quietly
in the corner,
straightening my hair,
perfecting my makeup,
so that a boy
who loves my body
can tell me he loves me,
and make me his wife.
Fast forward
4 more years.
I am twenty now.
I am numb
to the insecurity.
I am now expected
to live in a suburb,
raise three kids,
clean the house,
love my husband,
and my white picket fence.
I am just another girl
who is seen as pretty.
I am living a lifeless life.
I am at a crossroads
to either stay down
under the weight
of societies expectations,
or burn my picket fence
right down to the ground.
I am remembering
that tomboy I was
before I was called pretty.
I can either reconnect
with her fierceness,
or hide beyond a mask
of beige concealer.
I can either be a dove,
or I can be a phoenix.
I think
the choice is obvious.
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 2:38 AM UTC
Girl,
You’ll be a woman
Soon, so start
Straightening your hair
So it’s smooth and shiny
And cake on your cumbersome
Concealer because
Acne is for boys.
Browse bras in Victoria’s Secret
The ones with plentiful padding,
Push-up, so your cleavage
Screams: “I am a grown lady”
Even though you’re only thirteen.
Trade your sweats for slimming
Jeans that squeeze, skin-tight
Telling you to take a trot to trim
Your waist because you weigh
More than a delicate number.
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 9:56 PM UTC
**Hometown
Heartbreak**
You wonder how much you can take
Couldn't fathom what you do
He left you to start anew
The dishes pile up
Even though you haven't been hungry
You wait for the call
To fly out and make money
LA for a week
You live day to day like the rest of us
I see past your concealer
You go back and its mixed love
*There's a tenderness you've known
You know it best when its fading
You just wanna feel at home
But there's no escaping*
You've gotten used to the names and how mean they can be
They take who you are in scenes too seriously
But there's some things you can't help
You've loved and you've lost and protected yourself
And through it all you've stayed who you began as
And you still will if it doesn't pan out
Looking for that one unbreakable connection
You just want to feel true love
You still believe with every wrong step and misdirection
Even pornstars fall in love
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 6:14 PM UTC
Dear Little Girl,
Putting on that shirt,
Wishing your body was different.
Dear little girl,
Trying new concealer,
Wishing your skin was clearer.
I see you,
Watching the others,
wishing you got the same attention.
Babygirl, it isn't a competition.
Little girl,
Close your eyes,
Open your ears and listen.
You are a beauty
You are a beauty
Don't be insecure;
Be assured.
We've all felt this way,
It still goes on today.
(You are a beauty,
You are a beauty)
Your heart, it beats for a reason:
You are a work of art.
(Beauty, beauty)
Dear little girl,
Wear what you'd like,
Love your body the way it is.
(Beauty, beauty)
Dear little girl,
Wear make up if you'd like,
But know your skin is perfect.
You are a beauty,
You are a beauty!
Don't be insecure,
Be assured.
We've all felt this way,
It still goes on today.
(Beauty, beauty)
Fingerprints on your skin;
Of the creator man.
Your heart, it beats for a reason:
He made you a work of art.
(Beauty, beauty)
Don't be insecure,
Be assured.
We've all felt this way,
And it still goes on today.
(Beauty, beauty)
You are a beauty,
You are a beauty!
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 5:41 AM UTC
For her art was all the colors,
Present in the makeup pallete,
Erasing her pain like cleansers,
And making her life go all set,
So ready to be brushed up with some makeup,
To meet with her all time pain healer,
By letting her face go through a little scrub,
She covered all the dark secrets like a concealer,
She had a past darker than her smokey eyes,
With eyeshadow blended so perfectly,
She looked so pretty and wise,
Killing people with her charm and spectacularity,
By using her lipstick dipped in blood red,
And like a sharp weapon she carried her contoured face, With her lashes so widespread,
She turned into a strong woman who got over all her depressing days.
-Faeza Kazim
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 4:05 PM UTC
I sit in front of my dressers mirror,
Stare at the plain adequate girl staring back at me,
Is she enough?
Can she walk out this door and hold her head up high?
No.
And so I pull,
And tweak
And brush
And dry,
I look at the girl in the mirror again,
Her hair is done up,
Pretty and well kept,
But dead dry and limp because of damage,
And I can’t help but think it represents my inner self,
Though dead,
I look substantially better,
But is she enough?
This girl staring back at me?
Can she hold her head up high with the confidence of knowing what she wants?
No.
And so I apply base,
Concealer,
Try to fix my uneven complexion and blemishes,
Eye shadow,
Then eye liner,
Mascara,
Lipstick….
And again I stop to look at the girl,
She looks like women now,
As every feature is defined and highlighted,
Her complexion even,
Blemish free…
But is it enough,
This women staring back at me,
As the make up smudges and rubs off,
She’ll become the drab adequate girl underneath it all,
I can put on beautiful clothes,
Amazing jewellery,
But I remain the plain adequate girl that stares back at me,
With her sad eyes,
Set jaw,
Lips that barely ever quirk upwards with a hint of a smile,
That girl who’s cried so many eyeliner smudging tears,
That girl who fears,
Everything,
Everyone,
No matter how much I do,
To hide her away,
Keep her from the world,
No matter how many layers of,
‘Happy’,
I try to mask her with,
She will come out,
As my clothes grow rumpled,
My jewellery loses its shine,
Its glow,
As my hair turns grey,
My make up smudges,
I become her again,
And is she enough?
I stare at her long and hard,
I notice the high cheekbones,
The strong set features,
I realize this girl is only adequate,
Because she believes it,
Only plain because it’s all she’s ever been convinced to see,
With all her wear and tear,
She is beautiful.
And so I grab my make up remover,
Wipe away the mask suffocating me,
I shake my hair out to its full volume,
I remove the jewellery that’s cold against my warmth,
And I look at this plain adequate girl,
Not so plain and adequate anymore,
And I ask myself,
Is she enough?
Enough to face the world proudly as whom and what she is?
Is she?
Those sad eyes stare back at me with a new found spark,
Those set lips quirk up into a hint of a sly smile,
And she winks at me.
Yes.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 1:21 PM UTC
I wear concealer to hide the dark bags under my eyes
To make them seem less dangerous
To hide the imperfections I find in myself
The flaws I want to break
There's more to it than beauty
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 8:49 AM UTC
When I was a baby I was given a doll
It was pretty though it was small
I thought I wanted to look like her when I was tall
In kindergarten I took dance
I had to learn to wear lipstick as well as my stance
I had to look good to be given a chance
In sixth grade I had a flaw
Acne began and others saw
Kids in my class began to haw
I went home and told my maw
She gave me concealer and a bra
In highschool makeup took half the day
Just to hear nice things people would say
When asked I'd say it's just for play
I didn't have time, it was late
I had to be out the door by eight
No one called me pretty, I would never find a mate
Something better happened, I had time to create
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 7:47 PM UTC
War Paint
Woman's Makeup
Sphinx Eyes
The Disguise persists
Miss Kiss
Blood Red Lipstick
Stick it
to the man
Cover up
myself from me
from you
Concealer conceals
the lies
Surprise,
Pretty Girl
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 2:34 AM UTC
You tell me I am beautiful. That I am perfect. You tell me you love me and then order me to take off my clothes with the same breath. You tell me I'm beautiful as if I'm only beautiful when you touch me, or I'm only beautiful when you have me. Like I'm only beautiful when I'm around you naked. Like I'm only beautiful when you love me. Like your love is the concealer I use to cover up the scars you left on me. You tell me I am beautiful as if it's your decision. You touch me like it's your right. Like no one has ever told you otherwise. Like my "no" means ask me again. Like it means tell me you love me again. Like what you do to me is the only way to love. Like it's actually love. Like the only way you can respond to my "no" is by reminding me of all the things you've done for me. This is not one of those things you've done for me. I repeat, this is what you do to me. Make me feel guilty for saying no because "you can't say no to love". "You can't refuse to accept love". Make me feel bad for you because unrequited love is painful. Make me feel bad for you until you swallow my "no" and spit out **** you", when you take my "no" and spit out "too bad" when you say that it's not my decision, when you tell me that no is just a word and it can't really make a difference. When you tell me that no can't save me. When I realize that no can't save me. I've been told, don't wear provocative clothes and just say no. And it's funny cause I'm here broken, literally broken, cause no one told you to listen when I say so.
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 3:17 AM UTC
2am
I'm addicted to heartache
The kind that rips you apart inside
Leaves you shaking
Tears streaming down your face
3am
The moon bright in your eyes
Sparkling behind the moisture
Sobs wrack my body
The stars seem to be falling from the sky
This feeling is what I know best
4am
All is quiet
The night doesn't make a sound
Theres nothing left to come out
Tears have dried
And my mind is numb
I feel nothing
Hollow and empty
This feeling is all too hauntingly familiar
5am
The morning approaches
And I am still awake
Staring at the wall
Nothing left
6am
Time to get up
Plaster a smile on my face
Smear concealer under my eyes
And pretend like those dark circles aren't there
9am
Everyone is oblivious
But I know
That tonight
I'm going to go through it all again
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 10:20 PM UTC
beauty does not come
in lipstick tubes,
in concealer,
in eyeshadow
and liquid eyeliner.
beauty isn't
perfection,
beauty isn't
fashion,
beauty isn't
grabbing everyone's attention.
beauty hides in
the soul of she who faced her fears
beauty hides in
the heart of he who is brave
beauty hides in
a joyful heart
beauty hides in
brokenness made new.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC