"eyeshadow" poems
Someone stole my color
And threw it to the wind
Scattered like ashes
I don’t know if I’ll ever find it
Someone stole my color
From the face I know so well
I saw it in the cotton candy clouds
And the teal ocean swell
Someone stole my color
I guess that’s where it went
The world looks so much brighter
Like something heaven-sent
Someone stole my color
And that’s what no one knows
Depression isn’t black
It’s the color of a rose
It’s the light orange in a sunset
And the yellow of a peach
Light blue, my favorite color
So simply out of reach
Purple like my favorite eyeshadow
No, lavender, I’d guess you’d say
And my favorite music artist
Although he has passed away
Someone stole my color
Now everything’s too bright
I suppose sometimes darkness
Isn’t the opposite of light
Someone stole my color
So I’ll wear grey and black
As if in mourning
Until I get it back
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 9:18 PM UTC
Your beauty may birth from shaved legs
red clown lips, gaudy eyeshadow
flimsy black crumbles beneath
your eyelid
You are sexy-sun-kissed;
I am opaque.
Blotches of color
Lighten my smile
cheekbones never as sharp
as your words
Jul 3, 2019
Jul 3, 2019 at 3:18 PM UTC
A lady in blue.
In a purse
unzipped,
A coral pink lipstick
A rose blusher
A bronzed eyeshadow
A fuschia eyeshadow
A black eyeliner
A mascara
A compact powder
A lipgloss.
Strolling in a park,
The purse
clutched.
Poised.
Protected.
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 12:17 AM UTC
its not fair for the sky to be mean to the clouds for crying so much
its especially unfair because the sky cries every night too
silver sparkly tears washing off blue eyeshadow
but its ok when the sky does it because the sky pretty-cries
the clouds ugly cry
and thats not okay with the sky
its not fair that no one likes it when the clouds cry
because the clouds only cry because they are heavy
and want some of the weight to go away
the sky cries and everyone loves the sky
maybe because the sky is older
and can smile again when it is done
because the sky cries to get what it wants
but the clouds dont know why they cry
they cant help it
they are so heavy and it hurts so much to carry all the raindrops
and the sky does not care
the sky says, “but you look so light and fluffy
so i think you are not heavy at all
i think you just cry because you want people to talk about you
and you know unless you cry
no one talks about the clouds”
the clouds try to hold their raindrops in now
even though it hurts
and they are very heavy
because they live in the sky and they must
do what the sky says
when the sky is watching
but of course they cant hold it all
and the sky gets mad when they let out all the raindrops they were holding
so the clouds try to explain “I’m sorry
the rain was heavy and i had to let it go”
and the sky does not listen
the sky says “you are so dramatic
you do not have to cry so much
over something so small”
but the clouds do not understand
because the clouds have never had a reason to cry
not a big one or a small one
they just do
so the clouds start holding more and more and more raindrops
they dont let themselves have thunderstorms anymore
it hurts so bad
so
so
so
bad
and the sky still does not seem to understand that
the clouds just want to not be heavy
the clouds wonder if the sky will miss them when they are gone
they suppose that the sky will be glad to be rid of the rain
and then the clouds go away forever.
May 12, 2019
May 12, 2019 at 9:44 AM UTC
dressed in all black
to show some class
keep my front
covered up
but still
show off
my **** ***
high heels on
and some
red lipstick
hoping to
catch your attention
blue eyeshadow
white nail polish
hoping i'd look good
with all of this on me
sweet perfume
with a heavy
price tag
hoping to
smell like
roses
and
vanilla
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 12:51 PM UTC
If there were a formula
for the way her lips seek out
for mine while I am still attached
to those of a boy,
I would plug it through with
the determination
of a scientist, feeding it
back and forth through the
machines until someone
could give me an answer.
She visits me
in my sleep, bleeds
through the walls of
our separate dimensions
until she finds a way
into my heart. From there,
she rides my bloodstream up
into my brain, she puts
her hands on my controls
and guides my dreams
through to her childhood
home, where she knows
I'll fall in love with the gap
between her teeth and the way
she practices the word
"kindergarten"
when she thinks no one
can hear her.
I could never find her
through the keys
of my Macbook,
she calls to me
through typewriters in
store windows, when I think
I've lost her, I go into bookstores
and flip through the pages
in the poetry section until
teasing
she gives me a word,
just enough
of a puzzle to hold me
until next time. I think
when it's completed
it will look like her freckles,
the eyeshadow she spreads
over her heartache, the lipstick
she wears to feel like a woman
on the days when she needs to act
like a man, if I were a man.
I'd no longer be captivated
by the mysticism
of their skin. No longer see
the revolutionary twisting
through their spines. But
if I were a man, I wouldn't have
the same parts as my lover.
Maybe then
we'd be
just different enough
for me to tell her
how I feel.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 12:59 AM UTC
”How To Not Be A People Pleaser”
below are listed 10 bullet points
on how to toughen up,
on how to avoid the blow of others
wiping their ***** feet across
your ‘welcome mat’ heart.
Surely I have the look down, right?
Skinny jeans fit for skinny girls (who I am not),
tucked into loosened combat boots that have never seen a good shoe shine. Black eyeshadow smeared in the form of war paint,
"Today is a good day to die"
But the fact that this is all a charade,
that ‘looking tough’ does not mean you automatically
become some brazened ******* who does not let anyone inside
of your crazy head or heart,
loosens the grip you try so desperately to hold on to.
If you look the part, surely you feel it in your bones.
You feel the anger and the need to not be so polite all of the time.
Yet you still hold doors open, say please and thank you, smile at strangers on the street,
your mouth cannot form the simple word ‘no’ in fear of hurting another person.
So how can you not be a people pleaser?
You can’t. No matter how grungy you look,
no matter how loud you listen to rock ‘n roll
no matter how dark and damaged you let your soul appear
maybe you can allow yourself to become something you are not,
but you can not bury something you are.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 12:59 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
If you’re gonna
Die in the apocalypse
Drop out of school
Dump yourself into that little
Ditch you made that was stemmed from
Decades of anxiety and
Depression
You might as well look good doing it.
If your mascara runs in the eternal
Race to your dripping baby chin
It might as well be mixed with the glitziest
Eyeshadow you can afford
(Mine is hand-me-down from my mom,
Who has been called a drag queen too many times
For her to count but somehow
That makes me, her little genderless clown,
Feel connected in some cosmic way
To her ****** again).
Save your pennies so you can
Splurge at the thrift store on
Sweaters that go down to your knees to hide
Vaginas and **** bits
That maybe you wanna be coy about today,
So all the people spitting in your eye can at least
Trip on your pronouns and your triumphant
**** YOU
Can scrape the heavens.
You’re allowed to buy that tie, I mean
Easing the pain in your wrists and your heart and your stomach
Is done best in floral print,
In pop culture t-shirts,
In femme/butch/femme/hard/soft
**** culture, *** tantrums,
If you’re gonna get called by the wrong ******* name all day
At least look your best when you resist the urge
To send fists sailing into their face.
And it’s not just us but anyone,
If you’re ******* angry that someone keeps commenting on the size of your
Thighs the lush of your
Lips and some ******** keeps
Trailing you on his bike
Shake your studded gloved fist at him and tell him
THIS IS NOT FOR YOU, LORD OF THE *****
LORD OF THE NORM, I PICKED THESE
FIVE DOLLAR SHOES FROM THE RACK OF GOOD WILL,
SHONE THEM UP LIKE I SHINE MYSELF
FOR MYSELF
WITH MYSELF
I AM MYSELF.
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 4:14 AM UTC
~
*Imagine a box
In shadow
Of utter regalia
Iris, dressed as a waterfall
She comes scattered
Imagine an eyelid illusionist
Praying for more palettes
Enters steelbook cathedrals
To a ministry of colour
For the street outside
Cannot offer as
Interesting a hue
As those fascinating within
The pigment of her imagination
It's compelling artistry
Like oil on canvas
A slight of hand
Smoke and mirrors
Her skilled fingers
Kohl mining
For soft medley
And the new liminality
Above the spectator's eye*
~
Jun 7, 2022
Jun 7, 2022 at 1:02 PM UTC
SUN GIRLS: sun-kissed goddesses, some a little darker than others because the sun loves them just a little bit more, writes poetry sitting outside a local coffee shop, always happy all the time, loves the color yellow, wears mom jeans and tucked in t-shirts all the time, is soft and loves love, long hair, mostly in braids or ponytails.
MOON GIRLS: dark circles under their eyes, parties a lot, drinks to forget their heartbreak, red lipstick and black eyeshadow, sleepless nights accompanied by anxiety, owns over 20 different leather jackets, loves adrenaline, risk-taker, a smoker, strong smell of cigarettes and mint gum, smirks a lot, flirty, secretly likes sun girls
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 10:02 PM UTC
you need to live for the little moments.
for dancing in your kitchen all by yourself.
for spinning around in the rain.
for the random bursts of inspiration.
for little adventures in the city, for exploring
and getting lost but
enjoying every minute of it.
for body-positive days, when you decide
that you feel like rocking that almost-too-short dress
and those glittery heels and eyeshadow and that dark red lipstick.
for baking at 2 in the morning.
for having movie marathons, complete
with popcorn and lots of chocolate.
//
for that feeling you get when you discover a new book
that you fall instantly in love with.
for that feeling you get when you stumble across
something you accepted was lost.
for the feeling you get when you can finally play that song
that you've been practicing for hours and hours and
it sounds amazing.
//
for all the times that you'll laugh so hard
you can hardly breathe.
and all the days that you'll spend in that one coffeeshop,
surrounded by people that make you feel okay.
for being able to see the bands that you listen to constantly
live in concert, and your voice getting lost in the crowd
as you all sing along to the song that has kept you
from falling apart time and time again.
you have so much to live for.
but most importantly, you have to live
for yourself.
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 10:44 PM UTC
They didn't listen when I said I was tired
I said that being different was hard
Because my jeans don't fit right
My actual genes weren't right
And so I came out in comparison to everything
Already didn't have a father to teach me
The skies will cry if he ever tries to reach me
Not knowing who to trust was something girls my age don't worry about
They're far too happy living oblivious
And I question myself off of this-
How do they possibly not know
That they are all the same person?
Same gloss on smooth Pink lips
Smiling a shark smile that they do like kindness
And they name the rainbow by shades of eyeshadow- as if there wasn't enough color
Girls like that are happy with the same person for a week
And yet I cannot be happy with myself for a day
Then they switch partners because "Don't worry he's sooo cute!"
I wonder if they are happier naive
And how hard it will be for them when they realize how the skies are actually smokey black
And they've been looking up through perfect eyelashes- but beauty doesn't last
It must be nice always being average
With a cover girl to cover you sitting next to you
And manicured nails to scratch your way through life
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 7:32 AM 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
//
if a woman
drops her clothing
and shows what is
too precious to
be shown even on
film,
she has her miranda rights,
her indecent exposure trials
and ever dollar used to bail her
out of a cold cell were they offered
her a hospital gown
but she also has the
eyes that follow her up
the street, asking, begging
to touch
and if that woman says no,
or says nothing
than the woman still has
control of what is done
to her body,
control of every hand that tries to
pry away her god-given
right to be safe in her own skin
//
if a girl decides to
wear a short shirt,
or fishnet tights,
or bright lipstick
that costs anywhere from ninety-nine cents
to ninety dollars,
and she applies it with a heavy hand,
like her mascara and eyeshadow,
then she is still
human, she is still
a valid human being
who does not deserve
your time and voice
to call her a ****
or say something along
the lines of
don't go out looking like that
*or you'll get *****
but **** is never,
ever, ever
the fault of the victim
//
if a woman
or girl
decides to cover her hair,
to abide by her
religion, the religion that
held the hands of every woman
in her family,
from sister to great-great-great-great-great
grandmother
she is not a threat
to our country
she is a member of our society,
a valuable and beautiful one, at that
who's culture can guide us
to be even kinder
in the name of god
and if a woman
or girl
decides to long sleeves
and a high-necked top
with a long skirt
alongside her hijab,
she is not matronly,
she is modest,
and modest is as beautiful
as a gucci crop-top
or a pair of sky-high louboutins
//
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
*there were men
who were there for us,
who fought for us,
and then now,
there is a man who will fight
us as we march,
so we need to be strong
and support each other,
remember the golden rule,
and know each of our gods
would want this for
our world*
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 8:31 PM UTC
1. seeing my mother cry
2. people that can't let go
3. anxiety
4. lies
5. thinking about the people I've lost
6. unblended eyeshadow
7. careless people
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 4:30 AM UTC
Alright page…okay, fine, I admit it;
I've been avoiding you.
Your face, beautifully smooth and innocent, reminds
me I have yet to find the time to paint it…so:
I apologise,
to the eyes I should have coated in the eyeshadow of
romance (scorned, loved, lost, lived)
to the cheeks I should have blushed with eroticism
to the ears I should have punctured with anger and
passion and vanity
to the skin I should have smeared foundation over: covering
bad rhymes like concealer over spots (still there, just less obvious)
to the lips which I should have animated with laughter and
sarcasm.
I apologise,
to the body of the poem which never:
Felt the stanza of a corset
Felt the **** lace of an internal rhyme
Felt the bra of a title
Or the shimmering dress of a metaphor
Or the thrill of removing every last bit.
I've missed a million date nights, and I
want to try to fix it.
Please? Despite our marriage of minds, we have drifted, I'd like permission to take our hands on a date once more
Letting the wine of ideas pour between
Sighs of Sibilance
complete contentment
Tasting the catharsis of your lips
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 7:46 PM UTC
I'm not an obvious kind of pretty
I don't have natural blonde hair
Or bright blue eyes
No perky little *****
No gap between my thighs
I don't look like anyone else
I bleach my own hair
Use drug store eyeshadow
Wear dresses from the clearance rack
That show the red bumps after shaving my legs
I have lumps and bumps
Cellulite and pudge
Blackheads and bacne
A recipe for nothing special at all
Just someone average
Who has a bright twinkle
In her **** brown eyes
And curvy hips
That sway in the sun
You have to look close
To see all my beauty
I'm not a model
Or a ******* bunny
Just someone on the sidelines
Watching the models and bunnies
While they get the attention
And I get brushed by
It's not obvious that I'm beautiful
Until you look into my eyes
Until you see my semi-white smile
Then you notice the little moles
The silver scars
The way my body curves
In a voluptuous way
And you see
Just how perfect I am
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 12:23 PM UTC
You paint your nails
ten different colors
and wear three layers of shirts
Two shades of eyeshadow
and twelve favorite songs
in six different genres
and hide
a rope and a gun under your pillow
because you are indecisive.
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 9:03 PM UTC
Put them around mine.
Full of fake happiness.
Tea.
Forced poems.
& eyeshadow.
All as the cars go by.
Of the style.
And demise.
Written weary for the try.
Pretty bi.
Because of course.
Garrett Johnson.
Sep 29, 2021
Sep 29, 2021 at 10:23 PM UTC
Sometimes,
when the face in the mirror isn't who I want it to be
and those thoughts,
those ******* disgusting worms crawling out of my brain,
to simply drive me insane
I think it's subconscious,
I never quite think it,
before the thought is reaching my hand
A little mascara
brush through my hair
(I want to feel pretty
again)
A dusting of powder
touch up my chapstick
(this face
THIS FACE ISN'T RIGHT
THIS ISN'T THE PERSON I WANT TO BE-)
-
It's ok to be.
-
Switch up the perspective:
I Will fix my issues,
one brush at a time
A swipe of lipstick
layer eyeshadow
Please don't clump, mascara
Add some concealer
(I NEED TO FIX
THE VOICES IN MY HEAD)
Some brow gel
Some eyeliner.
Top it off
With a
[[I hear voices say,
voices far away
"say cheese!" click]]
I-
I'll be O.K.
Dec 30, 2020
Dec 30, 2020 at 12:57 AM UTC
Her cigarette laced breath,
her promises that she'd quit,
broken,
I remember it clearly.
Hair bleached with the roots brown,
fried,
I remember it clearly.
Green of her eyes murked with swampy brown,
Surrounded by eyeshadow and poorly drawn eyeliner,
Surrounded by crows feet and clogged pores,
I remember them clearly.
Barbie nose,
Bridge lithe,
sharp,
I remember it clearly.
Everything about her was frail.
Wrists of a 9 year old,
bones of a 70 year old,
her body wasn't her age.
I remember.
I remember,
Her crooked back,
Stooped with age and baddened posture,
I remember it clearly.
Her rotten teeth,
Her eating disorder,
What did you eat today?
It was a habit to ask
She doesn't think I remember,
But,
I remember.
I remember my mother.
You left me.
but I remember.
Jul 8, 2012
Jul 8, 2012 at 7:02 AM UTC
The trees overlapped
overhead creating a warm
cloister.
Harvey's car cooed past
the vibrant green
and sputter-stopped
at the plastic, fishhead
mailbox.
He drove up the grey gravel drive,
hopped out of his car and
with eager stride
headed toward
the door of the widow Prine.
"Hello, Harvey," Mrs. Prine
greeted from behind the screen
in her always-sugary-hushed tone.
"Hey, Mrs--I mean hello, Margaret."
"Haha, you remembered this time.
C'mon in, sweetie."
Harvey's steps matched gentle creaks
in wooden floor.
Pictures of Mrs. Prine's
three children lined the walls.
"That's Mattie, Cindy's baby. My first grandbaby,"
Mrs. Prine beamed.
"She's a cutie."
"Well thank you," Mrs. Prine picked up
some magazines lying on the couch,
"feel free to sit here. Can I get you something to drink?
Some wine, maybe? It's a red."
"Sure, sure. Sounds good."
Mrs. Prine stepped into the kitchen,
as the evening news played at a barely
audible volume.
"Oh Lord. I forgot to put the wine in the
fridge, Harvey."
"That's okay, Mrs. Prine. I can--"
"Margaret."
"Margaret, I can drink it warm."
"How about some ice cubes?"
"That works too."
Mrs. Prine's husband died
driving an 18-wheeler,
six-miles outside of Dallas
two or three years ago.
One of the few times
a sedan won a war
against a big engine.
Her cheek bones
jutted sharply from
her face,
deep crimson lipstick
and light eyeshadow
emphasized her
few deep wrinkles,
as if she wore them
with pride.
They sat sipping lukewarm
red wine, saying nearly nothing--
touching only during commercial
breaks.
When the news ended,
Mrs. Prine grabbed Harvey's hand,
led him to the bedroom,
filled with pictures of her and her husband.
The love they made--
textbook in its precision,
light in its passion--
finished chapter,
Harvey reached for his cigarettes.
"Sweetie, please don't smoke in here."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Margaret."
Harvey stared at her old life's relics,
wrapped his arm around her,
pulled her naked flesh against his,
a summer breeze crawled through
open window,
and Harvey said,
"So, tell me more about your husband."
Mrs. Prine smiled, brushed her hair
out of her eyes,
and with a retrospective sigh,
she began.
May 19, 2011
May 19, 2011 at 5:31 PM UTC
eyeshadow ground into
a finely powdered bath rug
feet stained gold and as
straight as sink ringed coffee
*(it's a perfect day
to run away
from all the crew neck
collars choking you)*
fall face down into a
cornfield and climb
dead pine trees clear
up to the blackbirds
*(i think you were once
upon a time the one who
never spent weekends
home and hurting)*
i am not your past
not your mistakes
i am not who you used to be
but won't say it didn't shape me
*(clattering red and
white checks skittering
across the floor as
hydrogenated oils)*
i know you're
disappointed
sometimes in who
i've turned out to be
but i am also
disappointed
sometimes in who
i've turned out to be
*(only ever thinking about
ceiling fans and my latest
mistakes or an odd assortment
of unspoken disagreements)*
i can't breathe under
highway overpasses
in parking garages or when
my hands are made of leather.
*(suburbia is just a
repainted mid-century
modern way of covering
up dysfunctional families)*
here and there
then and again
i remember that you
probably don't love me anymore
i understand that
neglect destroyed you
but you don't understand
that involvement destroyed me.
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 2:34 PM UTC
It's okay to say no.
You're more attractive than you tell everyone you think you are.
Always moisturize directly after showering.
Never forget a lantern when camping.
Brown eyeshadow during the day makes you look slutty.
You don't need to flirt with everyone.
Don't assume all men are the same. Just because one made a mistake doesn't mean another will make the same one. Just because one does something wonderful doesn't mean another will do the same.
Never shop hungry or unhappy.
I write bad poetry when I'm sad. I write good poetry about being sad when I'm content.
Matching ******* and bra makes for a good day.
Talking to him makes everything better.
He is a lot more trustworthy than you think he is.
It's okay to want to be alone for a while.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 9:24 PM UTC