Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
ryn Feb 2015
.
    It's here again...
   Heavy downpour...
   I inhaled the rain,
    cloying with petrichor.

      Standing at my window,
     looking out...
    Street lamps struggled aglow.
   People with brollies walking about.

   My eyes reached out to the heavens,
    tracing these glassy beads
      as they'd free fall...
        Falling by the sheets,
       the pattering hastens,
      periodically punctuated
     by the thunder's call.

     Mind is drifting and floating,
       intently listening to a
          million love wishes...
             Liquid beauty...melding, sketching...
           In light entrapped splashes.

         Raindrops descend and come,
         into my still life tonight...
          Won't you will me numb,
             with your chilly bite...

             Wide-eyed enamour...
            Catching a stray droplet or two.
             Riding the tail of a zephyr,
              finding a place where
                no trouble could ensue.

            An errant gust blew
           to meet with me.
          The refreshing moist
         meets my parted lips...
        Inhaling deep in this reverie...
       Into a sea of tranquillity,
        my mind slowly dips...

      Sigh... If the droplets were kisses...
      I would savour each and every one.
      If the moist wind came and caresses
     I would meet it in a tight embrace
   till the break of sun.

  What a sight...
   Almost surreal it seems...
      As the light from the surrounding
         lamps dances playfully...
        Dispersing and exploding into a
     barrage of shattered beams.
    Before it gets subdued in the drops
   caught by the leaves on a nearby tree...

   The drops would trickle
     and fall before merging,
      forming stranded puddles
       unable to flow...
        Rippling... Splashing... Reflecting...
      An image...
     Borne out of a fantastic show.

    An image of beating hearts,
     overlapping one another...
       Speaking of consequential love
          and feelings so true
        Intertwined...
     in the promise of forever...
  Slowly retrieving itself into an...


  image of you...
Eberhardt Nov 2016
Four limbs
Branching from a peach tree
My skin is a shield
My fat is fuel
A vessel for my weary soul
I will let it carry me
MalakF Aug 2018
Who in the right state of mind would rebel against the gods;
the ones whom kept them alive,
doing everything they can to not let you die,
the only thing that has done nothing but stand by your side?
Why would you rebel against the only thing that will always be able to forgive you no matter what you do?
This body of yours wants nothing more than to see you flourish,
it has a mission and is not programmed to abort it.
Take care of yourself and your body.
dmperez Jun 2016
Imminent grainy current
constrained in flight
downward
onto
a pile of past moments

                                              /#dmperez
message me for comments, concerns, conversation,--anything :)
Eberhardt Feb 11
If I sketched an angel without wings
would you be able to tell
she’s an angel?
The sky behind her would be pale yellow
The world below, gray
Like the color of the outline of her frame
I’d describe her face as angelic
Which is supposed to give it away
But maybe you’d only say she looks nice
zumee Jun 2018
Through the lens of your ***** mind
a universe is photographed:
The photo retains its lucid life
when my eye's the one looking

Within the reflecting walls
of our multiverse gallery
a picture is worth a thousand worlds.
Marisol Quiroz Aug 2018
i have been burning my whole life.
encased in immaculate flames,
flying too close to the sun
on these fragile wax wings.

— an image of icarus
Daisy Marrow Jul 2013
I know how much time you spent on your hair so I will not touch it,
but think of how soft it would feel running across my skin.
I know you hate it when I walk around in nothing,
so I'll try and teach you the ways to love your own body.
And I am here to be your crash pad when you get laid off at work
and come home crying.
And before the day is done I'll carry you into the woods and we'll put our feet in the lake to forget our tragedies,
and remember we're still young at heart.
There is no need to grow up and worry about your looks.
Worry how other people,
we don't know,
think about our bodies
and if they are silently judging.
Let's not worry about money.
We'll just camp in a tent on the lakeside when we lose our house.
And we'll go with the river,
play around like children
and enjoy life and live worry-free.
2013
Caro Dec 2018
No mirror to keep me company
No reflection to satisfy my lonliness
A dying narcissism
A quiet relief
A tearful goodbye
A quickly deteriorating something of something of myself

Self image vacancy
Mirrorless existence
Me only inside of myself
No me projected into my own brain

Just me, with me, however I am, having no idea how I am.
Age old vanity plane that could reveal all the illness in my head, covered in king sized, pure white, Egyptian cotton sheets

Oh how the body pinchers have fallen
CLARYT Mar 2018
When you,re hiding in a closet,
thinking no one really knows,
and you do the things expected,
lifestyle, hair, **** even clothes,
what,s the point in being someone,
even you can,t recognise,
when the real you is much nicer,
never mind the sad disguise,
shake the cobwebs off and show yourself,
i promise, you,ll feel better,
and the ones who,d diss you,
matter not, tell them "write a letter",
you,re unique, a one off, all your own,
don,t let them tell you different,
you may inspire some other closet dwellers,
how excellent !

(c)[email protected]    (re-edited)
we all struggle to truly be ourselves, from time to time
I see my reflection in the mirror
I see others holding hands
I think I found out long ago
I’m not your average man

I’ve missed opportunities a plenty
I've had more than my fair share
Great tragedies have befallen me
And have caught me unprepared

My ineptitude to reason
Is what’s breaking in my heart
It’s left me pondering the future
That has torn my life apart

I’ve not yet recovered
My inner cupboards are all bare
My bleeding heart feels for another
Even though they're unaware

As I take steps in moving forward
Leaving my sorrows in the past
I’ll trade grey days into colored ones
While lying on the grass

I'm picking up the pieces
Where I once felt solid gold
A melting *** of memories
Some new as well some old

I cast shadows in the bright lit sun
I set my bar too high
My feet are knee deep in the sand
And I have no reason why

I conjure up some courage
From where, I’m not too sure
Maybe hidden in my reflection
Or whom it is I’m waiting for

I’ve taking steps to forge a bond
I’m bound to see this through
With the waving of my magic wand
I’m relinquished and anew
dmperez Oct 2018
lemon bloom lifted
to sweet pink tongued suckle
down around a drop
Purcy Flaherty Feb 2018
I’ll be sitting on the fence;
until the cows come home,
You can steal my thunder,
and you can break my bones.
Blood is thicker than water
and you’re the apple of my eye,
you may steal my thunder,
but I'm a blessing in disguise,
Because honey!
I'm just so easy on the eye,
It’s true I’m shallow;
but i'm so easy on the eye.
Do you like the way I walk,
Do you like the way I talk,
Do you like the way I move,
Do you like the way I groove,
Do you like the way I scream,
Do you like the way I shout,
Do you like the way I spit, (Swollow)
Do you like the way I pout!
Because honey
I'm so easy on the eye,
It’s true I’m shallow;
but i'm just so easy on the eye!
conceited, self image,  narcissistic
Ruth Cardenas Aug 2018
You have the sweetest of smiles
But you have a broken one, too
I think your mind has you captive
It's like your mind won't let loose

You have such beautiful eyes
But I know they're hurting, like you
They share a weight that you carry
Reflect a part of your truth

And would you tell me, how is it?
To have a heart made of gold
How are you kind while you're breaking?
While this pain is scratching you raw

Would you tell me; how do you do it?
Keep that smile so sweet?
Tell me, how do you hide this
When it hurts the most while you breathe
Esther Aug 2018
Every face is a story
Etched into the air we breathe /
          And these journeys
Lead us to paper lives of survival’s manifest,
Where solid colours refuse to exist
- And black and white enmesh
To cloud the streams of speech
We use to guide us to
The non-existent chapter
Of complete understanding /
          Leaving fingerprints
That overlap over others
Until an artwork is forced
/out/ of our ghostly presence,
Always to be remembered
By all we’ve touched -
Long after memory has lost itself...
In the streets of brains
Trying their best to rest after they have successfully
/etched/ themselves into the fabric
Of spinning time and a gravitational pull
          -Irresistible-
Breathing out one last patch
To add to humanity’s short stretch,
To feel the very essence
Of reality within them
Before returning to the beginning /
Every face is a story
a lost poem, found, edited. est. jan 2016.
Farrell Nov 2018
the city is rich with image
blue eyes reflect a glimmering past and present
red bricks
canal wits
the city has grown for better
new fruits exotic
a (the) woman’s body (pretty pleasing)

is my reciprocal

her waist is my happy place

her neck is my doorway

the rest is
best when she is mirror accessorizing,
preening, **** upon first rising,
tallying the gains and the losses

unaware of my watching,
never satisfied she, tho she is 98% unadmitting contented,
as she shifts her weight,
from knee to knee extended alternating
with slow delicacy

for the pleasure is trebled
for her imagine image reverberates
throughout the house

for ever mirror is pre-positioned,
accidentally angled just so, lol,
her image transported from living room to dining alcove
all the way to the kitchen’s bleacher seats

she doesn’t know and asks why I’m grinning,
answer is
no confessionary, no telling I’m swelling and
sinning

eyes scheming-dreaming of her reciprocity

she smiles and says  
“good morning bad boy”

maybe she does know
but you won’t tell her,
we, you and me,
are pretty pleasing

she is 1/me
she is won over me
English Jam Feb 2018
The eyes of a supernova seeping into mine
So harsh, so hot, but so soft, so loving
Passionate but patient
So much in so few
It’s so warm

Cheeky grins and burning desire taunt me
So painful, so explosive but so comforting, so alluring
Painstaking but playful
Ablaze though we’re scared
It’s extraordinary

There’s no words to match this melodic image
So sweaty, so intense but so quiet, so calm
Dreamy but real
Like a fantasy
It’s blissful

The sensation of fire melting to stardust
Embrace it, taste it, love it, feel it
Crafted and delicate
Two stars colliding
His pulsating heartbeat needs me
My longing kiss needs him

He’s my lover boy
And I’m his
It’s so warm
Dark Ink May 2018
Let me apologize, to begin with because of my body type.
I will NEVER be good enough for anyone to date due to current 'hype.'
You know, the battle of 'bones' vs curves?
Just let me inflate myself to the  right number so I can properly serve
As the perfect specimen for your delicate eyes.
Obviously no one is good enough unless they've got decent thighs.

But just wait a ******* minute, because here I am again:
So let me apologize, to begin with, if I offend
You or your friends who think they're too good
To date someone size zero with some extra love under the hood.
How many times have I heard you exclaim in disgust
Of how large she is and how you'd drown in her,
If you even got near her? I saw you shaking in fear.
From your head to your toes, you were trembling dear.

See I'm told to eat less and maybe, just maybe
But if I was skinny, and let's tell the truth,
You'd be so disgusted by my looks .

I could eat a salad and still gain a pound ,
She could eat a salad and the crunch is the only sound
You hear a mile away and yet you would assume
That burgers and French fries is all that she consumed.
Do you ever stop to think, ladies and gents?
The true beauty of someone isn't based on the number on their pants.

So, let me apologize, to begin with,
If I bruise your massive ego,
But the way to tell if she's the perfect woman is not by your libido
I’ve always been insecure about my size and how I look. I still am ...  I don’t think I’ll ever be able to love myself .. but I’m trying to. It takes a lot of self love, confidence and courage to stand up to someone who calls you out.
Doing a dance,
to wear a mask,
To play a game that you can’t stomach...
Just so that the truth doesn’t have to face you,
The way you recoil from reflections of yourself.

You’d forsake your happiness, your health —
                                                  You would burn it all.

To do a dance, to wear a mask
To play a game you’ll always lose.
                                                  To look in a mirror...
             To tell an image that it’s anything but you.

But it's in that moment, that you'll find
                                you tell the unfamiliar truth
As you bleed and feed your own obliterated youth...

To feel, and then
                          to lose —
Just like the loss you always knew
                          you’d find in disappointment.
Like an unholy anointment
                          of your least desirable possessions
That retire from the heavens
                          Back to you.


To betray, and to amuse
                                                          A­lone.
The ides of irony rejoice!
               For they’ve found their lamb... or
their ever-dying muse.
                 Forsaking life itself, you clamor
To see others just like you.

And maybe, one day, one will choose
           the path that you can’t leave,
As it reciprocates to thee —
            Two partners in misery, fated to excuse
the waste of each other...
            until they find there’s nothing left.

To feel the flame within its breath consumed.

Wearing a mask,
To live a lie,
                And die a death,
                Whose dance you six-times misstep


                              And on the seventh, betrays you.

Eva Aloezos Sep 2018
I think I gave you nightmares,
caused a great scare

because you did yourself in,
when you dared
cross me

however, my level of anger is unjust,
this you can trust,
I am fully aware that I must,
get a hold of my emotions sooner than later

you are a spineless creature,
who was in the path
of my raging wrath

I do not hold myself fully to blame,
because the truth of the matter is,

the role model I was given in this life,
the one I looked to for guidance
has a temper like no other

throwing, screaming, kicking things in

you fail to comprehend I have come a long way,

and although your fear surpassed my rage,
I was more freightened than you,
because as I age,

I see the mirror image,
of my father
bringing down those around him
by the vehicle of bullying and fear

tonight I shed a silent tear,
knowing that I am him,
and he is me

on the alternate side of the mirror,
lives a fury so hot
it puts **** to shame

forgive me,

but remember, through the dusty mirror of painful childhood memories

stands my father, quite indistinguishable from my own volatile and broken reflection
So, you ask,
How would I explain it?
Well certainly, as something
Not fun.
It's like...
It's like carrying a leach around with you.
When I walk, I can feel it,
It is a dead weight on my chest,
******* the life from my arms,
Making my hands and face slender,
What should be full and strong
It's like...
It's like when you're sick to your stomach.
That feeling of tar in your gut,
But instead of being isolated, it's everywhere
Throughout your body,
It makes you feel sick everywhere.

This is how I explain dysphoria:
Have you ever looked in the mirror,
And wanted to just rip all your hair out?
When a bad hair day gets out of hand,
Have you ever felt the need to just start over?
Even when you tear out a clump of hair
And your scalp looks raw and a little ******,
But you keep going anyway,
Just to get rid of that ****** haircut?
...no?
Alright, how about,
When you're watching the outtakes of a 3-D animated movie,
the scenes that have "gone wrong",
When the girl's eyes are far too big and pop out of her face,
Her arms are disconnected from her chest,
Her head moves but her teeth do not,
And you just want to scream "DELETE IT!"
Because it's obvious that someone has ******* up here,
And this nightmare, this fever dream
Is not what they intended their creation to look like.

Alright, well have you ever
Done a pencil drawing?
And you've put a lot of time and effort into it,
You're so proud,
This is one of your best works,
But something about it is just off?
You might not be able to tell what it is,
This will bother you for a long time,
You will spend hours on end thinking
About what exactly separates this piece of art from everything else,
What it is that keeps it from perfection...
Until suddenly one day, you realise,
You notice exactly what's wrong,
You grab an eraser to fix your mistake
But then, oh no
Your eraser was *****,
And when you tried to rub out that single wonky line,
You leave a huge black smudge across your paper
And now there's no way to get rid of it
All your work on this piece, ruined,
And you're really upset,
You were so proud of this drawing,
It was so close to being perfect,
It could have been so beautiful,
It was almost perfect, but now...

But now, it's wrong.
It just looks wrong
It just IS wrong,
It wasn't meant to look like this
I am trying to explain as simply as I can
That this body is wrong,
That it wasn't meant to look like this,
That it wasn't meant to BE like this!
Don't you understand?
This is how I explain dysphoria:
Have you ever looked in the mirror
And wanted to just rip your chest out?
Do you ever see your body, your parts seeming broken,
Your chest, legs, hear the sound of your voice
And just scream "DELETE IT!"
Because it's obvious that someone
Has ******* up
Someone was using a ***** eraser
When they created me, erased me,
And they've left smudges, mistakes, that I
Cannot get rid of,
And however hard I try to pretend
That I don't care,
I do,
And I still feel the need to erase them.
These leaches that I carry around,
They drain me,
And I was so proud of myself
I,
This body...

It could have been so beautiful
An attempt at a spoken-word poem. I wrote this a while ago but I came back and edited it, and figured I’d finally publish it. It's very different to the style I usually write in, I think at some point while writing it it just turned into venting. I figure if this speaks to one person, I've done well.
From the dust of earth,
Father, You created man
In Your image, birthed;
By Your Spirit’s breath, began

Purposed to shine
Your glory all around
Of all the good things
That You made: creations crown.
Next page