Rebels are dreamers
Leaders are reformers
And dusty attic boxes are always full
Lovers are concealers
and Musicians are redeemers

I guess that makes me a
Believer

I have these imperfections
That I try to cover up
But recently I’ve ditched the concealers
For a more natural and tired look
And to my surprise
I have never been called beautiful
More times in my life
The warming of my heart
Stemming from the compliments
Adds a glow to my cheeks
That not even the most expensive of highlighters could provide
The wide smile across my lips
Creates a perfect shade of lipstick
That you wouldn’t find at the Mac store
The sincerity heard from strangers
Creates a sparkle in my eyes
Hence eyeshadow is no longer needed
People point out the allure
Where I myself see flaws
And instead of unattractive
I have never felt more beautiful

Mirror mirror on the wall,
cuts and scars and suicidal falls.

Mirror mirror on the wall,
pressures upon pressures,
mascaras and concealers
on the dressers.

The who am I’s
the broken smiles
upon short journeys,
feeling like a million miles .

Sticks and stones break the bones,
with sharp edged swords, depression is shown.

The melodramatic emphasis of artificial fixtures,
the wrong lessons from photo shopped pictures.

The melodramatic emphasis of the "It crowd"
People, rambunctious and obnoxious
malevolent and pretentious .

Mirror mirror on the wall...

Have you ever felt empty inside?
Have you ever felt that  feeling of nothingness in the pit of your stomach
and it just stays and lingers for a little while,
you can't tell if it's from the lack of emotions or food.
You say you have it under control when really it has control
One bite and your thighs are like balloons blowing up
Two bites and you are suddenly 10 pounds heavier.
Have you ever felt That beautiful feeling of a hot cup of tea going down your empty stomach almost as a warmth, cause it may be July but you are just so cold.
The concealers you use on your knuckles to hide the marks of when your teeth hit cause your finger
just can't empty out all the hate you have filling your stomach
this isn't a poem about getting better.
This is a poem of what it's like without the better ending
the story of the girl who starved her self with a plate before her.
How selfish she was.

I have seen broken glass at ice breakers
And dream paralysis for living dreams
The broken glass attempting to get stuck together
but being thrown away as if it was meant to stay in pieces
I have seen fulfilled nightmares and crippled wings just like how they would show a glorified warrior
I have seen wet bathroom floors, red sometimes, just as beautiful as the crimson sky and
I have seen google searches on why bleach and pills didn’t work just the way I have seen someone committed to get their promotion
I have seen blue and purple faces just as beautiful as Chantilly laced flowers,
Embracing themselves like roses even after being plucked – despite the pleading attempt of their thorns
I  have seen their rosy colour fade away as they struggle to show their best shade of red before they leave – because who likes disappointments?

And who likes putting back together someone else’s glass pieces right from scratch and you and I both know that even if it stuck it wouldn’t be the same again –
So it just melts itself to start all over again

And who likes seeing rotten shades of red, blue and purple when it’s easier to choose to see the glossy teary eyed side –
So we pretend everything is okay as we enjoy the sunrise

Those held thorns don’t like being appreciated but if you pluck their flower you’re leaving nothing behind but the dead corpse of an almost
But who likes to deal with the anger side of depression anyway?
So we just walk away, leaving the thorns un-watered to grow corpses of hatred

And of all the terribly glorified things I’ve seen
I’ve seen gladiators out of battlefields
Struggling with no weapons, fighting with themselves
I have seen children with fake smiles
Unused umbrellas in bags
I have seen attachment grow it’s roots all over to be simply cut by a scissor of betrayal

Of all the cracked ceilings and tight ropes,
Bridge edges and stoutly stiffened up hope,
Of the useless sharpeners and tiger prints on thighs
Crowded beaches drowning inside and sharpened nails all ready to fight
I’ve sat on quiet dinner tables where the only chewing sound is of the collapsing mind

I’ve seen friend lists filled only with acquaintances
And inboxes questioning their state
I’ve seen wrists smothered with concealers two shades lighter
And bags of eyes carrying weight heavier than that of broken dreams and flightless wings shrunk and grown tighter
I have seen fire burn bright of all the alcohol annihilate
And anger that can shake mountains with it legs tied together to a stingy abrupt volcano of abuse

And I have seen never ending nights
When blades are finally of no use

But who wants to talk about it unless its poetry anyway?

In an isolated system of demarcation
The juvenility flourish
Like a dead sea
Stagnant for ages
And fish surviving from the air within!
The cult of being survivor
And seeker at the same is
So demolishing,
That....; the demon inside , beg for liberation even.
A pearl deep in the sea, the colour of rainbow after rain in falling day
A glimpse from the side of ur eyes, for the face of beloved,
These all unsuals are so enthralling , high and above the smook of ****!
The tunes of all these sounds, i envelop deep down my heart, under folds of its colours, floating in the red blood
So after death,only concealers could reveal the reality and do remedy!