"eyebags" poems
Today I am superwoman,
I go to three jobs, one meeting, two classes
I wear five hats throughout the day.
I got those lovely eyebags as my trophy.
By being superwoman I accomplish anything,
everything that they told me I couldn't do.
I wanted to be in student government...
the popularity vote told me no but I showed them
I could do that too. They said you can't have everything
and here I am sitting with it all.
In this day of superpowers
I fly from class to job to job to job to meeting to home
but I am the most human today.
I laugh in the face of my fears of failure because I have already gotten on the road to success.
I cry because even I am entitled to a good cry every once in a while.
I am cranky because it evens out the crazy bubblyness that I always am.
I radiate happiness although I am drowning in work
I support and lean on those around me causing a tangled connection of love
In every capacity I am me, happy, sad, lethargic, energized, hyper, lost, leading.
In every Wednesday, I remember that my humanity all in itself makes me just as super human as the next girl or guy.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 2:59 AM 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
the shoes are imprinted with the paved streets
there is never enough time
our eyes sparkle
but the eyebags belied the many nights
whiled away
smiling at the stars
new maps every night
gazes change as the skies change
we traverse different longitudes
trees spill into trees
there never was a need to distinguish
our passports fading crumbling
paths always leading to each other
will we still be left with an identity?
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 12:02 PM UTC
generation d
generation depressed bold, underlined, size 12, arial
generation death is no longer a want it's a need, look at the eyebags this education chose to breed
generation dizzy this tequila doesn't burn as much as your name on the tip of my tongue does
generation dish your depression jokes on a platter, serve it warm, cold, frozen - whatever makes you laugh goes, right?
generation dobby is not a ******* free elf
generation dopamine, because honestly, where the **** is mine
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 9:18 AM UTC
A tired looking lady
With eyebags
Crumpled, wrinkled clothes
That are too big for her
Disguise whatever
Little curves remain
Her eyes
Dull
Black
She is drenched
Striding inside
Without a care
Like she belongs
In her shabby, shabby clothes
With her hair
A complete mess
She is soaked through and through
The thunder roars again
Muted due to the glass and steel walls
She walks in
A tiny spark
A flash of something
In her dull, dull eyes
People gossip
About perhaps an affair
A failed marriage
A mental breakdown
For one of those reasons
Maybe all of them
Generally, she comes
In the subway
Very particular
About umbrellas too
Today, she carries none
Little Miss Particular
She walks into
The manager's office
A letter neatly typed out
Black and white
Shielded by her brown
Worn coat
Three sizes too big
She has been working
For seven years at the firm
She puts it on the table
Says a polite, 'Thank you,
But I cannot do this anymore.'
And, she is out
Onto the streets
Her eyes
Still dull
A lady with crazy hair
The rain pelts down
As she disappears
Into the fog
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 12:10 PM UTC
She was grateful
For the concealers who hid her eyebags
She was happy
Even for her empty lunch bags.
The grumble of her stomach didn't matter
As long as her thighs were not touching each other
So what if she forgot her in the Victoria Secrets
She is no longer named unfit.
She still hears the murmurs on the hallway
Taining her dreams every day
She is aware of their glares
That are giving into her scars
Her wounds are still afresh and open for more salt
But her smile still intact by default
All alone she watched them feel her body
All along she bit her lips from screaming in agony
The scarlet blood joined her maple red lipstick
She stood there watching her self worth
Dropping like the length of her favorite skirt
The corset is painting her skin purple and blue
But she has no clue
May 31, 2020
May 31, 2020 at 9:33 AM UTC
It just rained.
The sky is pale blue and
the wind is surely pleasing.
I might just think that the weather is perfectly made for me.
I see some tables and chairs,
some drinks and snacks,
some variety of people
I only see during this time of the day
and only during this kind of weather.
It's 6 PM and
it's almost as dark
as the deepest of the night.
The sky now is indigo blue
and the moon is already peaking.
It's smiling.
And god, what I'd do to smile like that.
I see drinks, I am holding a cup of rootbeer
while my friends hold a cup of red horse.
We talk about life, and how scary it is to live;
we talk about ending it, and the many ways we could consider trying;
we talk about enduring it, and how strong we are to have ourselves survive 'til today;
and we talk about staying, just because we're still here.
Though we're barely breathing,
we are here,
and just like the moon tonight,
with the cup of rootbeer in my hand
and with the cup of red horse they have,
we are smiling.
It's almost 8 PM and
the wind is still as pleasing.
It's touching my skin
and
it gives me a different feeling.
I see hands holding a grip to its last cup of beer;
I see eyes looking down, sleepy;
I see eyebags which I guess I can say as deep as the night;
I see crooked teeth;
I see imperfection.
Though we are as imperfect,
we are smiling,
we survived,
we're on our way home
with car lights reflecting on our faces.
We wave goodbye to the bottle of beer for two and my rootbeer.
We made it through the night.
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 1:12 PM UTC
She's a mess
She wakes up at noon with eyebags all around her face
And in her markings you'll find unreachable desires, hope, and wishes
She's a hurricane
She has millions of chaotic galaxies of thoughts
And in her mind you'll find thousands of tangled up worlds of words and places
But she's a masterpiece
She makes your brain explodes while it wanders to travel her body
And in her company you'll find how life imitates art—long before art imitates life
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 10:03 PM UTC
we used to stay up all night
and i still think that the
eyebags are worth it
you were like a bird
chirping in the morning
and i like when you stroke
my back with your fingertips
we were like monster kids
when the night laughed with us
as we ran along the zoo
and called out for our little friends
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 10:48 AM UTC
you shunned when the light came through,
tousled hair, eyebags hanging loose.
you were always good at navigation,
your future though was in the opposite direction.
your smiles were fueled by smokes and dreams,
effervescing in snowglobes of sleepless mist.
i was merely a fly attracted to fire,
hoping your tendrils could propel me higher.
when you learnt that i glowed in the night,
eyes shut tight, you extinguished the light.
he was a fly who wanted to be a dragon,
his gaze held beats of 25 per second.
they said it'd sting when he touched me,
the devil's needles, they called him.
whoever believed in those stories,
couldn't be any more sorry -
dragonflies can't hurt fireflies,
for they're both creatures of the night.
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 7:33 AM UTC
Swear less
nobody needs to hear that
Eat healthy
your body could use the help
Sleep right
eyebags are so last year
Be productive
time wasted is time lost
Be organized
it'll make your life easier
Spend wiser
simplicity is key
Be kind
even if they aren't
Take care of your skin
and be proud of it
Exercise
it starts from the inside out
Make time for new friends
they could be forever
Be true to yourself
nobody's perfect
Be happier
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 6:42 PM UTC
I was 11 years old when I knew
"female" was not me
I never like wearing dresses or skirts
but as the first girl in the new generation, it wasn't my call
I was always a princess
I wanted to be a pirate...
a viking...
a wizard...
that's when I knew
and I blocked it
I procrastinated in my own gender
now I'm 18 and I put my old beanie on my head
just to remember the feeling
I didn't know I was bringing it back but now immortal
3 days have passed
my eyebags are darker
and my hair is shorter
I want the scars beneath my chest
and my beanie on my head
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 11:22 PM UTC
At fourteen, I didn't deserve to be in this way of being. Eyebags 4 years young and a newly broken heart, stubborn for loving the wrong person over and over. That is one of the stories I have under the crease on my face I'll have when I'm 93 and dying. If only I lasted till then for my smoke filled lungs are turning old and my throat is constantly burning. The etching thought of you still in my head none of which anything could take away but thank god for dying into new at 14 because now I don't love you as much as I did and maybe this is God's way of saying I'll be okay. But what do I know about all these bullshit,I'm 14 anyways
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 9:32 AM UTC
_i always get the same gift,_
_just wrapped in different paper._
_i pause, i listen,_
_respond, honestly._
_i pause, reach out,_
_remember, i love you._
_i pause, awake early,_
_you rise, feast on my labor._
_i pause, i pay,_
_open wallet, for our memories._
_i pause, remember you,_
_a simple gift, out of love._
_i pause, i pause, i pause._
_i pause to give,_
_give all of what i have,_
_to love you, care for you,_
_to bring a smile to your face._
_my pauses become longer,_
_my body becomes weaker,_
_my heart becomes depleted,_
_my mind becomes scattered,_
_& im exhausted._
_so tired that my eyebags have eyebags,_
_my tears like a dried up lake,_
_my heart shriveled & empty._
_i gave all of me, all i had._
_every pause belonged to you._
_but none belonged to me._
_you look confused,_
_upset, hurt._
_you scoff, angry,_
_that i have become empty._
_you think i am neglecting you,_
_i try to pause for me._
_you accuse me of selfishness,_
_accuse me of manipulation._
_you say my pauses were calculations,_
_that i am only there when i need something._
_but i never needed anything,_
_just for you to..._
_pause._
_the gift i get, is all the same_
_just wrapped in different papers._
_leeches, vampires, vacuums,_
_anything to **** my heart dry._
_yet told that i should be grateful,_
_for receiving a gift at all._
_but all my pauses are gifts,_
_gifts of all i have to offer._
_to give a smile,_
_is sometimes all i have in me._
_but i will give it freely anyway._
_but no one pauses for me,_
_they just keep on walking._
_taking with them,_
_fragments of me._
Sep 13, 2019
Sep 13, 2019 at 11:39 PM UTC
life might lead on like a patterned string
in avalanches of winters and spatters of spring
but I still don't know why the blackbird sings
She swoops and jives on sinatra's swing
but her eyebags halo like saturn's rings
and she patters around on tattered wings
purposefully hunting for the wasps sting
but why the blacker the bird the sweeter the sing
and its like through all that clattering
she can't hear she matters more than every thing
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 8:52 AM UTC
Most kids would dress their barbie dolls and have tea parties at the age of six.
I am a somber person.
At the age of six, I’d often lay in bed and think of ways my marriage would come to an end if I were to find a Prince Charming.
I learned from my mother; two divorces made an unhappy woman.
After three years of marriage,
I would still wake my husband at 3am and ask if he still loved me.
“Silly girl, of course I do.”
We’d go back to bed, his arms securely wrapped around my waist.
I felt utterly safe.
Now,
I can’t pinpoint when all these “late night shifts” started just how I can’t pinpoint when I first started being depressed.
Then came traveling frequently for “conferences” and with it my panic attacks.
I found “her” more than 6 months after it begun.
Now, I’d often stare at her Facebook page.
She had dimples and looked so jolly in every picture.
Me,
Eyebags and morbid.
Every time I looked at her, I would forgive you.
Sometimes, I’d “coincidentally” be at the coffee shops she goes to.
Then it was the clothing boutiques.
Before I knew it, I am wearing clothes she’d wear.
My makeup is done eerily similar to hers.
Today, marks five years of our marriage.
You said you’d come home for dinner.
That, I, cooked the best meals.
You’d bring a bottle of wine.
We’d dance to the first song we ever did to.
**** till dawn breaks.
11pm.
No show.
The food is cold.
The house is cold.
I am cold.
At this point, If I could, I was willing to strip out of my skin and wear hers.
12am and there is a creak of the door.
You come in, take me in to your arms, hands on my waist just like any night, two years ago.
I can’t really focus on the mantra of your apologies,
because
a) We both reeked of the same perfume
b) We both reeked of the same perfume
Perhaps, I have already started shredding my skin.
May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 10:25 AM UTC
Skinny jeans, black cardi
Iphone 8 with that cracked screen
Eyebags from assignments overdue
Longing for a natural view
Outside the screens and books too
I need to ask "How do you do?"
Apr 17, 2020
Apr 17, 2020 at 6:48 PM UTC
These past few days, I was over the moon. But I guess that's the danger of it. I was too high up and yesterday I crashed.
They don't have a lot of mirrors in this house and it's always dark where the mirrors are. I walked down the stairs, passed the full length mirror and was taken aback at how I look like. Flat hair, dark circles around my eyes with heavy eyebags. My eyes were red around the edges and my cheeks were stained with tears.
I couldn't reach out exactly to my friends. I can't even explain why I'm sad but I am. I couldn't control it but I feel so worried, so sad, so hopeless and helpless.
I washed my face and turned off my phone, everyone else was asleep anyway. I'll be okay. I've been through this many times and I've picked myself up all the time, with the help of supportive friends who keeps reminding me of my worth and how much they love me. I'm really thankful for that. For them. But I can't help the sadness.
I just woke up, it's not 9am yet but I've already cried like what, 4? 5 times? I have other things to do but you're taking up so much space in my head. I hate having feelings for people because it makes me weak. I'm very weak right now but I'll get better. This is just temporary. It's not worth it.
-m.b
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 9:01 PM UTC
Sleepless nights
Lost in a million thoughts
Everything is jumbled up
Eyebags always present
Pressure pulling me under
Not noticing the passing hours
Endless daydreams rewind
Even those lost in time
Dreading the morning to come
Escape to another land
Drifting off now...
Sep 12, 2022
Sep 12, 2022 at 12:32 PM UTC
Tried so hard it surpassed my limits
I'm a drained over achiever and a dreaming believer
Really my work is a reward if you could tell by my eyebags
Education system won't let me take a breather
Determination is my pill and I won't stop until I'm burnt out.
Feb 26, 2025
Feb 26, 2025 at 12:38 AM UTC
two in love, a picture found
hair as dark as midnight brushed up
against olive skin carelessly their strands
strayed in a lovely mess feather light
jawbones grazing the scalp
of this lost, doe eyed girl
straight, long eyelashes batted
against the eyebags you never had
somehow still those eyes were
never truly asleep in a facade
without the guilt of a lie
a gentle smirk painted across
that beautiful face you had
lighted treaded freckles
the softest of brown eyes
that always held cunning
mysterious how those eyes
asleep against her waved strands
managed to pretend for care
a yellow collar you had
a woman under your spell
and i had too, those brown eyes
beneath the thinnest lies
stood betrayal beyond lust
unimagined sin
without regret
in this picture
we slept
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 2:58 AM UTC
I'm sorry for my hair
and I'm sorry for my nails.
I'm sorry for my cheekbones and my eyebags (oh so frail)
I'm sorry if I was too loud,
Or if I was too quiet.
I'm sorry for my stomach, will it be better if I diet?
And oh I'm sorry for saying sorry
And I am sorry for thinking too much... too little or too less
I'm sorry I'm such a mess.
I am sorry if I pick, if I scratch or if I bite.
I'm sorry for wearing heels, was I too short, was my dress too tight?
After all, I'm just a woman,
Saying sorry is just my job.
Because if I don't apologise for breathing,
Then I must be a snob.
Nov 10, 2024
Nov 10, 2024 at 7:09 AM UTC
Messed up thoughts, and the words that intoxicate you are tangling in your mind.
And your eyebags and hoarse and unmelodious voice,
And your smiles that lasted for seconds you can count with your fingers.
And your lonely feeling, cold as the freezing village.
Your ideas of love are dying,
An perspective of the world is changing,
Just like the four seasons,
It's quick to change.
That thing called emotion and that
Thing called empathy.
Deviant, and no more trying to reach.
Sleeping in a lucid dream, a horrible one
Wasted out breaths and dumb headache
Ugly laugh and sensitive tears.
It's too boring if you commit suicide
So, goodnight, sweetheart
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 1:01 AM UTC
Dear diary. May 12 . Friday.
"Gettin' up was the first mistake I made today
Maybe if I'd stayed in bed I wouldn't hurt this way
For now I'll have to face the world admit that we're all through
And begin my first day without you."
I wake up today with dry tears and punch of eyebags.
Scrolling my phone. And here again, i received a text from him saying "im tired" i cant help but burst tears again. So i decided to off my social media's. And to be brave to blocked him to avoid bursting my tears again. Cause i know, you will never come back again and i cant do anything but to see you walking away.
Diary, now, i have to fixed my things. Cause ill be leaving far away today with a heavy heart.
May 10, 2019
May 10, 2019 at 1:24 AM UTC