"cosmetics" poems
"This girlchild was born as usual
and presented dolls that did ******
and miniature GE stoves and irons
and wee lipsticks the color of cherry candy.
Then in the magic of puberty, a classmate said:
You have a great big nose and fat legs.
She was healthy, tested intelligent,
possessed strong arms and back,
abundant ****** drive and manual dexterity.
She went to and fro apologizing.
Everyone saw a fat nose on thick legs.
She was advised to play coy,
exhorted to come on hearty,
exercise, diet, smile and wheedle.
Her good nature wore out
like a fan belt.
So she cut off her nose and her legs
and offered them up.
In the casket displayed on satin she lay
with the undertaker's cosmetics painted on,
a turned-up putty nose,
dressed in a pink and white nightie.
Doesn't she look pretty? everyone said.
Consummation at last.
To every woman a happy ending."
-Marge Piercy
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 10:08 AM UTC
The dictatorship of our state is profound in its mass propaganda, where the discernment of individuals seeps into an eternal chasm of self-sacrifice on the altar of political conformity.
Let us actively withstand the passivity of our conventional hypocrisy as we engage with this ontological sleepwalk through sinister passageways of presumed social advancement.
In our age of grandiose moralistic eclecticism where imperatives abound, I burn incense and contemplate the cosmopolitan artificiality which lavishes abundant gifts upon our self-opinion.
Criminality is the result of discovery.
So, oh thorn in my flesh, cover those rancid corpses by the veil of popularity, gain and pleasure.
Subconscious social conditioning is the scourge of lustful appearance, don’t you think?
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
In the drawer were folded fine
batiste slips embroidered with scrolls
and posies, edged with handmade
lace too good for her to wear.
Daily she put on shmattehs
fit only to wash the car
or the windows, rags
that had never been pretty
even when new: somewhere
such dresses are sold only
to women without money to waste
on themselves, on pleasure,
to women who hate their bodies,
to women whose lives close on them.
Such dresses come bleached by tears,
packed in salt like herring.
Yet she put the good things away
for the good day that must surely
come, when promises would open
like tulips their satin cups
for her to drink the sweet
sacramental wine of fulfillment.
The story shone in her as through
tinted glass, how the mother
gave up and did without
and was in the end crowned
with what? scallions? crowned
queen of the dead place
in the heart where old dreams
whistle on bone flutes
where run-over pets are forgotten,
where lost stockings go?
In the coffin she was beautiful
not because of the undertaker's
garish cosmetics but because
that face at eighty was still
her face at eighteen peering
over the drab long dress
of poverty, clutching a book.
Where did you read your dreams, Mother?
Because her expression softened
from the pucker of disappointment,
the grimace of swallowed rage,
she looked a white-haired girl.
The anger turned inward, the anger
turned inward, where
could it go except to make pain?
It flowed into me with her milk.
Her anger annealed me.
I was dipped into the cauldron
of boiling rage and rose
a warrior and a witch
but still vulnerable
there where she held me.
She could always wound me
for she knew the secret places.
She could always touch me
for she knew the pressure
points of pleasure and pain.
Our minds were woven together.
I gave her presents and she hid
them away, wrapped in plastic.
Too good, she said, too good.
I'm saving them. So after her death
I sort them, the ugly things
that were sufficient for every
day and the pretty things for which
no day of hers was ever good enough.
May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 6:24 PM UTC
Under the bluish yellow marble sky
I introduce my soul;
to the demon & the angels
By the lemons tree, I've unleashed my hair and unbutton my blouse
Then cried
as if my teacher called me the black girl
I will call to the 1st passing girl:
"Slow down, please wait for me;
Rise me up by my arms
like a little girl.
I wanted her to Plait 2 branches;
of hair for me
To walk over the world's cold grass
And lie down in front of the sea
Forget the stars - she said
Forget the sea - I said
We left the world coughing its smoke;
of poisoned kids' toys,
cast the residuals of cosmetics and tore bras
Into this sacred sea
So come with me my friend
Delete all of my contacts
smash my mobile phone by your shoe's heel
And let's vanish
from this world
Toward shiny white space
Toward inky smell books
Toward white skies and pink kisses
infinite daylight
For you and for me.
- Sally S. Ali
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 6:00 PM UTC
sweet serendipity serendipity sweet
i enjoy the air rushed below my feet
love me hardly, a splendrous treat
sweet serendipity serendipity sweet
cool cosmetics cosmetics cool
the intergalactic hate makes one a fool
lust of the item, human as the tool
cool cosmetics cosmetics cool
boom boom tunes tunes boom boom
nothing but ignorance fills the room
dance and sway right into your doom
boom boom tunes tunes boom boom
cool cosmetics cosmetics cool
infinite love yes thats the rule
embrace thy brother dispose the tool
cool cosmetics cosmetics cool
sweet serendipity serendipity sweet
let us enjoy the air rushed below our feets
may passion alone lift us from seats
sweet serendipity serendipity sweet
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
Murva fashion collection introduced at Eco Fashion Week has been a life long process for Ivana Knezovic, Creative Director / Designer. This was not only the 29 year old Croatian designer's first collection, but also her first international performance.
She debuted her eco-friendly collection titled Rust & Flow on the runway at Eco Fashion Week in Vancouver, Canada. Her pieces are all made from eco-friendly wool flannel.
Ivana Knezovic made interesting use of symmetrical lines, and I admired the draping from the shoulders framing a dress low-cut in back. One dress had several parallel vertical cut lines on the backside.
Many of her tops had capes, hang from one shoulder or both, paired with slim pants or a skirt. A nice touch of dramatic flare as the models moved down the runaway.
“Fashion design was always in me,” say Ivana Knezovic. Having resided in New York, Toronto, and Switzerland, designing was something she always wanted to do. "Murva is the name of a tree in my village. My company represents a return to my roots, to who I am at my core."
"I like structure. I like hiding the body behind some kind of a structure," said the designer who makes all her own clothes and cosmetics. "Eco is a product of maturity and of wholeness that you can only achieve when you really and truly grow up."
As a designer, she told me that she strives for “pure minimalism,” yet her eco-fashion designs are made for a sophisticated, minimalistic, and determined woman.
Exactly what the eco-fashion movement needs.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2015
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
so greed took mankind
with genetics
decomposed from the inside
a sick thought, I thoughts.
... inhale your doom, I thought. change your ways, you ought, I thought.
choke the carcinoma cells.
knee swells, Capricorn.
better go later for assurance of;
Death.
talk to those doctors;feed your own lies,
only to discover
them being drunk off of disguise.
sick conditioned,
The words definition, domestication
of everything
Everything
gratitude gratitude to Pavlov, whose name capitalizes;
a way of nature
creature creator, part of the world's annihilator.
cousin to eugenics we have cosmetics, anesthetics for the mind.
a nice golden walkway for mankind.
inevitably so, We herd along, too dumb to fight what we refuse to know.
Ignorance, etiquette, silence; rhyme.
herbal healing humans; survive.
© 2015 Kate Volk
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 3:07 AM UTC
You know why I'm obsessed with makeup?
You know why I literally BREAK. DOWN. when I see myself in the mirror on one of those REALLY ugly days that I have?
You know why I seem f!cking vain and beauty obsessed and attention seeking because of how self-deprecating I am?
You know why I am currently crying...alone...on my bedroom floor...kind of pathetically?
Because now I'm a little bit scared
That maybe I DO have a disease of the mind
Maybe I DO have something in my head that isn't right
It just seems so impossible
Because I mean
I look in the mirror
And all I see is this hideous shameful beastly girl
So ugly
In fact, I genuinely feel terrible for the people who have to look at me
and I don't know why
I just don't see how anybody could ever possibly think that I am pretty
And for some reasons I'm crying right now
And I feel really alone
But no no no
There is no way I really have dysmorphia
Is there?
I feel embarrassed
Like I come across shallow
And stupid
And makeup obsessed
Because I can't ever see myself as pretty
NOT EVEN ONCE
not even decent
Not even reasonable
I just. see. UGLY.
and ashamed of my face,
And ashamed of my obsession
With cosmetics
Because it is like the only medicine they made
To fix this affliction
Makeup can make up for how ugly I am
maybe it can fix me
maybe I won't hate myself anymore
but it never does
and I hate crying alone!
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC
Thrown into a sea of perfection.
Drowning under the falsity of cosmetics.
A fake smile is more geniune,
you taught me that.
Covering myself up with what you find ideal.
Starving myself for your love,
turning a blind eye on the bruises you leave everytime I slip up.
I have memorised your words by heart,
tattoed them on my wrist.
I hear them everytime I breath.
"LIVE UPTO MY PERFECTION"
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 8:48 AM UTC
In department store foyers, free samples sprayed,
A collision of cosmetics muddle the air.
The olfactory overpowered by such obvious odours,
Why do natural notes disconcert you?
Not the gym heavy sodden or overworked,
Recognition of an individual, whilst eyes remain shut.
Faint trace of the familiar or frenzied pheromones,
A headiness misplaced by the cologne wearing clones
Preference for the perfumed, the artificial sweetener.
Marketed meticulously
Musk manufactured yet not made by man
Of flowers dear, of oils and compounds.
Fresh, fruity, citrus or spiced
Artificial aromas keep your own scent disguised
Society simulates this sophistication of the senses,
Masking yourself from me as you are wooed,
Accustomed to this attraction, till you let down your defences
How shall I know you when you are ****
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 6:10 PM UTC
Through the rejections and all the hate,
Just before your faith crosses the Pearly Gates,
Though allegedly claimed impossible by the Fates^,
taps you on your weary shoulder - "Hi,
could you help me, no one else is ...” -
the lonely voice of your soul-mate^^.
^Rumour has it those Greek hags have stock options
in the military-industrial complex, the cosmetics industry,
and favour Eris's 21st century avatar called Consumerism.
^^Your soul is not a super-market produce,
For feckless mass appreciation or consumption.
Your soul is a dauntless beautiful sapling, that
'the one' will rescue from its interminable fire,
and nurture it, till it blossoms and glows.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 1:11 PM UTC
Plastic,extensions,cosmetics oh my!
High heels and gel
Perfumes and bells
Ah! The great lengths
and lows we reach
to achieve that image
from some big shot magazine
you tell me what's real
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 10:50 PM UTC
A face as white as snow with cheeks blushing
Lips painted in red pouting
Hair so soft and silky
Arranged so neatly
Hanging around the neck is a diamond necklace
Wearing a glamorous gown accented with a ****** red lace
Illuminating the skin
Making it look whiter and thin
Walking graciously
With a pair of Cinderella shoes so pretty.
This is what most girls would want to look like -
A princess;
Obsessed of the physical beauty.
Physically, one can easily possess beauty
With the help of modern technology;
Lips can be as red as an apple,
Face can be as perfect as it can be;
But a heart as pure as an innocent child's
And as good as an angel's
Cannot be made by the use of those cosmetics
Nor be fixed by any advanced technologies;
Inside appearance
Cannot be made beauteous
Even by any expensive make up.
If you really dreamed to be a princess,
Be one who possesses the real beauty -
The one that never fades -
Not the one seen just from the outside;
It is through the goodness of your heart that you'll see
You claim the genuine beauty.
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 5:55 AM UTC
comedy
clandestine couples
clamerous cosmetics
coughing guffaws
garrulous giggles
gratefully grinning
grotesque charlatans...
tragedy
torrid transgressions
tornado turnabout
tempestuous tradition
transcendent puberty
punishing parable
poignantly
pointless.
Shakespeare.
wove both into
his weft of
words.
SøułSurvivør
(C) 5/12/2017
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 11:18 PM UTC
#NoMakeUp
Chic lookin' like death,
with her dyed platinum blond hair,
her fake silicone **** and all that make up,
over dressed like Halloween **** girl I'm scared,
the less you wear,
the less impressed I am,
you get dressed up just to get messed up,
smoke a cigarette then get your teeth whitened,
you get done up glam,
just to get run up in,
when,
in the world was it ever okay,
to,
disrespect yourself that way?
Getting fckt by strangers,
without getting money or commitments,
that means you're like a **********
a ********** that's not even good at business,
you're a despicable disgrace,
to the entire female race,
you wear all that cover-up,
because you've got Krocodil face,
that's Krocodil with a 'K',
better get it straight,
the kind from Russia,
that will eat your face,
eat your whole face off,
face it,
the facts are basic,
real women look way better without any fake make-up.
The only reason you need it,
is because you don't see this,
plus you fill your stomach,
with fast food *****
you're going down in flames,
what was your name Halley Comet?
Saving money on food,
so you can buy cosmetics,
maybe if you changed your diet,
you wouldn't need cosmetics,
there's nothing romantic,
about cosmetics,
cosmetics cause cancer,
don't you get it?
More vegetables,
less processed cheese,
and your face won't look,
like it's got a disease,
please,
remember these words,
real women look better without any make-up,
without all those name brands we're all naked,
believe whatever you want to,
but these words will still be true...
So stop dying,
your hair to death,
and trying,
to get the guys to stare at your breast,
you are,
so much more beautiful naturally,
and if you,
go natural well actually,
you might find,
a man who loves your mind,
a man that truly loves you,
for who you are inside.
and I promise this,
in all honestness,
no man will ever fall in love,
with a woman because of the size of her breast,
or the color of her hair,
or the brand of her dress,
no real man will ever really care,
whether your outfit is Versace or Guess,
because good men care about the real you,
not fake fashion brand names,
you are not a cow nor are you cattle,
so why would you want a label branding?
And I promise this,
in all honestness,
that this is,
honest honestness.
Real men fall in love with real women,
because of who they really are,
not who they pretend to be,
real men fall in love with real women,
because they love her soul's avatar,
and her divine femininity…
So let your hair grow,
back out to it's natural color,
if you honestly want,
to find a natural lover,
and save your self,
for those special lovers,
that are truly deserving,
of all of your natural wonders,
leave the fake hair,
for the fakers,
leave the toners,
for the loners,
leave the make up and fake dyes,
for the hookers and transvestites,
you,
are beautiful,
without,
the manicured cuticles,
you are beautiful,
just the way you naturally are,
there's no need to alter yourself,
with some silicone and scars.
Just be beautiful Beautiful,
there is no need to pretend,
and leave the makeup and fake body parts,
for the trannies and mannequins... ∆
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 3:16 PM UTC
Impression or suppression
an utmost subconscious decision
or an utmost practiced precision?
to cover her natural moving canvas
so he can see the physical bliss
never mind the festering dangers
that breed within her heart's cancers
until the day her painted face
is defied by time and space
of an old ancestral rival
time when death itself in arrival
comes and leaves none in its wake
evangelism; Cosmetics' new grace
offered at every corner and place
'that you must accept me or be ugly'
if she only knew
beauty fades like hubbly
the self conscious issues would be few.
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 1:29 PM UTC
**Nowadays they want you to have a big bust , slim waist , big **** , pretty face.
Half naked , trying to fill a void they think males are supposed to validate.
Trying to be something their not which leads to self hate.
Slow down , stay at a steady pace.
We're young running fast to win a race.
Fixated on being the definition of beauty , we don't clean our plates.
We wake up & beat our face.
With cosmetics faces looking like cake.
They love our breast but disregard our brains.
We can say anything as long as we have an *** to shake.
This society is a disgrace.
We look for social approval from birth.
Strongest creatures on the Earth, but we still hurt.**
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 10:53 PM UTC
Like other girls,
Trying hard to get rid of the black scars.
Home remedies, costly cosmetics, medicines,
Tried everything, but no results.
Why don't these ugly circles disappear?
I asked myself every time I stood in front of mirror.
Then, one day, I saw my face, carefully
And came to the conclusion, that dark circles don't make me look ugly.
Many people close to me,
Have left me,
But these circles never did.
When I thought that I was strong,
People made me feel weak.
But when I look at the dark circles,
They remind me of all those nights,
I was awake,
Working hard to make my dream true.
Then how can something, that makes me feel proud of myself be ugly?
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 8:22 AM UTC
When tears seep out
it doesn't smear
the cosmetics I use
to cover and accentuate
as is expected of me
a little urn
tasteful walnut box
paw print on pottery
I admit, I shook it
to see if anything rattled about
but thankfully there was silence
Sometimes we lose
what we most want to keep
Every living thing
is precious
irreplaceable
I want to get a little black kitten
with some white on his chest
but it won't be my little black kitty
it won't be the one I found
on a road
next to the beach in Haifa
covered in tar and fleas
skin and bones and ear mites
and who became
a member of my family
my Shakour
Aug 7, 2012
Aug 7, 2012 at 9:09 PM UTC
Six a.m. and the morning leans
To kiss the night;
The streets are full of stars
And sleepwalking business suits
The citrus woman
With peroxide blonde hair
And peroxide blonde fingers
If she spoke I imagine it would sound
Like lemon trees and smoke
Her cigarette burns holes in the sky
But when she passes me by
She smells like the Boots Cosmetics Isle
She paints the yellowed-ivory
Of her finger-claws
With crystallised orange
To cover the nicotine stains
And maybe I think I recognise
My lemonade shampoo
And tangerine hand wash
Like a setting sun over Sicily
The beer can boy
With stuffed up hair
And a stuffed up liver
He’s grey like a November playground
Once all the children have grown
And he’s hole-punched right through
I might think he was heart-broken
And trying to see how many other lost souls
The bottoms of bottles hold
If he wasn’t here every morning
Lolling down the pavement
Like a spring stretched too far
Asking for a paper
That I’m not allowed to give
And trying to drown himself
In the pooled rain under the streetlights
The coat-and-cardie bundle
With wind-swept hair
And wind-swept grimace
Like a tornado tore up
The geography of her personality
And left it with just a bike and a death wish
And those features heaped together
Between chimney-tops and table tops
For consolation
Her feet on the pedals while her hair throttles
Because she’s unlit
Unseen, unprotected
And she rides like this morning is the last
As if she knows that skulls
Crack like eggshells sometimes
And handlebars are sometimes not in front of you.
If my Dad was here he’d see
A smoker
A drunk
A dangerous cyclist
But I see lemon zest and love hearts and black liquorish
After all I’m at home
Among these mistakes
That the morning hours make
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 2:58 PM UTC
This woodland
differs by lack of
Nothing.
Backward on the road
lies the stifling Void -
granted safe haven
behind complex cosmetics -
crass trivialities -
and labeled
"the real world."
Here, in the forest,
there is only
Incorruption.
No effort
is required
to breathe.
- fr
Jul 25, 2015
Jul 25, 2015 at 4:40 AM UTC
I knew her before
She coloured her hair.
She'd wash and brush,
With a simple part down the middle.
I remember it falling silently over
Her shoulder blades, down her back.
It always looked like that,
After a full day at the lake.
And I knew her before
She used cosmetics
The way they're used this day.
Her cheeks glowed with youth,
Her brows arched like shorelines;
Lashes balanced droplets
Over rushing ruby lips.
I knew her to play tennis,
To swim, run,
To laugh and be fun.
I knew her
With lights on,
At dusk and at dawn.
I knew her for long.
I knew her so long.
May 11, 2021
May 11, 2021 at 5:42 PM UTC
Lost in the fumes of a cloudy exhale
I search for a glimpse of myself in grimy water.
My remains are scattered somewhere
between boyhood and gutter trash.
The present is hardly of concern
when the blankets of mud offer such astounding
silence.
This swamp was flooded with the prosperity of quitters.
-
The face of the street I grew up on
has been radically warped and distorted.
Leave a good thing to the elements long enough
and you’ll see it begin to degrade.
Dust gathers and mold begins to creep in
from the moisture lingering in the air.
It happens to our childhood toys
just as easily as it happens to the people we know.
-
Everything still holds the same shape;
the same structure that casts a shadow in memory,
it’s just that now the cosmetics have worn off
and you can see the tired lines start to show.
You can hear the creak of arthritic wooden steps
to front porches where old kin with liver spots
sit and drink a shared Ice House 40 oz. while spitting into the wind.
Cavities from a candy coated childhood.
-
There are strangers in my old home,
that place where my uncle lives
surrounded by VHS tapes, pictures of Brett Favre,
and reminders of dead cockatiels.
The biggest struggle is trying to recall
if he was always this way,
or did it take a forty year dope binge
for the hoarder to finally stir?
-
I wrote my name in the sidewalk at the foot of steps.
I search for a glimpse of myself in grimy water
and check under the bushes for garter snakes .
My stomping grounds have been wiped of footprints
and grandma’s violets don’t come in very well anymore.
They cut down the walnut tree, and got rid of the porch swing.
No time for whimsy, no time for strays.
The cicadas will sleep for ten more years, ‘til summer.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 3:57 AM UTC
The dry dock cruise ship shop
sits still, basking in the
air conditioning’s cool breeze chill.
Makeup stays clad to the skin
of the marionette workers, well presented,
ever so stick thin.
Perfume scents the room as if a wrist,
but no carpals I know have
their own stock list system.
The ugly sit in seats made for them,
wide berth for the wider *** of
greed not guilt.
John Lewis is no place to be at Christmas,
as the hounds of cosmetics
will pin you down,
deep into the laminated, pretty white
ground
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 11:20 AM UTC
Change is necessary.
Change is require.
But is change sufficient?
Change is a diversifier.
Change is a niche filler.
But is change transformative?
Change is not good.
Change is not bad.
But then what changes do we keep?
Heuristic small change we like?
Perpetuating idiosyncratic Absurdities?
Selecting traits for "survival"
in a world of our own creation.
Do you understand the Michael Jackson trap?
Real Evolution is easy.
Diversity + Mobility = Survival
But cosmetics is much harder.
What will the monkey see in the mirror?
Will he like my face?
Will I have diversified my humanity,
change my BIOS for faces,
to an arbitrary Facebook,
Unrecognizable to a nostalgic monkey?
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 11:06 PM UTC