"makeovers" poems
They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
When I look in the mirror,
I do not see beauty.
Flaws.
Flaws.
Flaws.
Growing up in this generation,
it seems you are not beautiful unless you are
thin, tan, airbrushed, well endowed, etc.
The list goes on
And
On.
All I see are in the mirror are
Flaws.
Flaws.
Flaws.
Countless times I have wondered
Why can't I be beautiful?
When I was seven, I came home after
Doing makeovers with friends.
I asked my mom,
Am I beautiful yet?
She looked at me with sad eyes and said that I was always beautiful.
Of course, I didn't believe her.
All I see in the mirror are
Flaws.
Flaws.
Flaws.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC
I don’t know how to rob a family
of their daughter;
A peptobismol princess they bruised and stained.
How do you erase an entire sister?
Where do sleepovers, makeovers, do-overs go?
When the pronouns shift,
And the T seeps in, where will I tell them
I hid their girl?
Blood is thicker than water in peeling families,
But when the ransom doesn’t come,
How do I introduce a family
To their son?
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 4:17 AM UTC
Seven New Poems For Seven Days #4: Judgement Day
After you put in some time on this planet,
You kinda know what the world thinks
About you, your rep, what they don't say to your face,
Sure, thingies, time and incidence and circumstance
Can sometimes cause makeovers external,
But each of us know the quality of ourselves,
Self-certification,
you can out your internal self,
Better than anybody else.
So I inquire of myself, about myself,
what will you be remembered for,
if at all?*
Why do I ask, today, now?
Do we not ask ourselves this
On the low down, subconsciously everyday?
Is this a poem?
Most assuredly...
And a trial.
You, the judge the jury and the prosecutor,
The defender, if u can, if u will.
For seven days my mother was adjudged,
Family, friends, hers, her children's,
Almost an 100 years of live, in color, HD, looking back video,
Tales told, memories dug up, old photos explicated,
Who what when where of the details of one women's voyages,
Creations.
I cannot, I will not, do the details here.
Suffice, acts of kindness, faith in people,
Feminist in a strange land, a chance taker,
Gifts of memories, streaming of adoration,
Many strangers are witnesses to me,
This trial a runaway train.
I am outed. There will be no such verdict for me.
I am outed. There will be no trial needed, just a
Summary judgement delivered.
Out yourself.
What will you be remembered for,
if at all?*
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 11:25 AM UTC
Three Little Women were best friends from the start,
Even though they were two and four years apart.
Golden Brown locks, all three in a row,
All dressed alike, from their head to their toes.
The oldest was protective, a mothers right hand.
Next was a gentle wild child always in dreamland.
Last was the one who was giggly and small,
And looked up to her sisters that broke her every fall.
Three Little Women at play in grassy meadows.
A secret garden they made with dirt covered knees and elbows.
Bare foot in jeans is how they’d always be found,
Just happy to have the others old hand-me down.
Fireflies caught at dusk in a jar,
Their faces aglow as they wished upon a star.
They swung on their swings and sat down for tea,
And ran to the mailbox singing “Ollie, Ollie, Oxen Free”.
Three Little Women would lay awake at night,
Telling stories and secrets in the glow of a night-light.
A room they did share with two big bunk beds,
And prayers said together before they’d rest their sweet heads.
Knick-knacks they’d exchange after doing their chores.
Makeovers and dress up were their favorites for sure.
American Girl Dolls, Barbie’s, and dresses,
Six tiny hands together making messes.
Three Little Women are little no longer,
All grown up and a friendship much stronger.
One day they will have little women of their own,
And once again they can enjoy what they once had outgrown.
Forever they will remain each other’s best friends,
Until their time together here on earth ends.
Nothing can shatter a bond so pure and true,
Sisters who love each other more than most sisters do.
Apr 21, 2020
Apr 21, 2020 at 7:38 PM UTC
Trembling fingers that have nothing to do with the heat,
beating hearts and breathless sighs,
are all symptoms of your love.
Flashing phone screens and vibrations on tables,
fidgeting thumbs hovering over keys,
waiting for that little speech bubble to appear,
are all symptoms of your love.
Closed doors and unanswered calls,
inactive screens and stagnant feeds,
wet eyes and damp sheets,
are the sideaffects of withdrawal from your love
Windows open to clear the air,
candles lit to bring in light and scent,
hair regrowth, makeovers, and new bedsheets,
were all cures to your love.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 3:18 AM UTC
there’s a great divide -
between the anatomy of my brain,
and the fluidity of my mind;
i struggle to make the crossover,
for i must advance in phases
in between their flimsy makeovers:
in, and out -
then back in again.
the brain is humbled by its own mortality;
the mind boasts of an eternal life;
both petrified by dubious thoughts
of yesterday -
and the day before that -
and the month before that -
and the years before…
as i regress -
slowly, and infinitely -
i long for my natal mind,
and a tougher cranium.
Dec 27, 2024
Dec 27, 2024 at 1:25 AM UTC
There, I met you,
Where I had the familiar sense,
that I have met you,
somewhere around the fence.
There, I saw you,
looking at me already,
that I heard you
doing all the makeovers ready.
There, I felt you
in me, that I fell in no second.
I want to live with you
my rest of my life in seconds.
There, I held you,
that the world turned upside-down.
Now that I get you,
for my lifetime, to find no clown.
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 10:40 PM UTC
Nightmares
are really just
Dreams
with makeovers
that've gone
dark
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
THE BEST TELEVISION PROGRAM
THAT I'VE EVER SEEN
JUST HAPPENS TO BE
SHOWING ON MY SCREEN
I HEREBY TENDER AN OVERVIEW
OF WHAT THE PARTICIPANTS DO
THEY RENOVATE HOUSES THAT
HAVE BEEN LEFT TO ROT IN MILDEW
RENEWING OLD FLOORS WITH
LOVELY HARD WOOD
AND THEY GIVE IT A COAT
OF SHINNY LACQUER TO LOOK GOOD
BATHROOMS ARE REFITTED OUT
IN TILES AND GRANITE TOPS
THESE KINDS OF IMPROVEMENTS
CAN ENLIVEN THE SAD SOPS
YARDS GET CLEARED OF ANY
WEEDS AND OVERHANGING BRANCHES
WHICH CERTAINLY LIFTS THE DEMEANOR
ON THE OUTSIDE OF THE RANCHES
I ALWAYS MAKE SURE THAT THE TELLY
IS ON BY 8:30 PM SHARP
TO WATCH THE MAKEOVERS
REDEEMING HARP
Oct 22, 2017
Oct 22, 2017 at 9:57 PM UTC
Kim (one of my BFF) brightened with inspiration, “Oooo! Send him a **** pic!”
“I’m NOT going to sext a guy out of the BLUE,” I grumbled, indignantly.
Kim turned to her phone, “No, No, of COURSE not.” She said as she texted.
“Come on” she said, as she pulled me off my chair and out the door. We raced over, on foot, to my friend Bili’s house (two houses away). We entered without knocking (as usual) and ran upstairs.
Bili lay on her stomach on her unmade bed, fiddling with her phone, ankles up and crossed but she twisted up to attention when we came in.
“What should we do first?” She said, as if there were a million things to do.
They set upon me and had my regular clothes off in a heartbeat. Like all makeovers, this had a prelapsarian purity - the ritual stripping down to blankness before rebuilding.
They quickly went through about half of Bili’s closet - selecting just the right combination of ****** and classy clothes designed to ******
They finally settled on a black slip under an ivory peignoir, stockings with garters and black strappy heels.
Kim twisted my hair up into a loose “Gibson Girl.”
“Hold still,” Bili said, as she grasped my chin and expertly blended red, gold and black glittery eyeshadows followed by lip liner and gloss. “This is just a quickie job,” she reminded me.
I stared at this strange version of myself in the vanity.
Kim frowned and looking around, she spread a pink scarf over the desk light to give the room a rosy glow. They went into studio mode - posing me in various ways from coquettish to bored lounging - suggesting expressions and taking endless pictures with my phone.
Finally, they were satisfied and handed me my phone.
“Shall we go through them?” Bili asked
“Naah,” I said, “I’ll go through ‘em and pick one - or two.”
Later, at home, I looked through them - I looked SO different - and I had to admit - **** even. But was that ME? I cringed, what if my mom saw these ****** Kardashian-like photos somewhere?
I never sent them. I thought I’d have to explain it to my girls.
“HA!” They laughed, “We KNEW you’d never use ‘em” Bili said, as Kim shook her head “Nope.”
“It was fun though!” We all agreed.
.
.
.
*NOTE: This is a pre-pandemic story from August 2019. I was 15 - the idea wasn’t to ****** this guy, it was to get his interest so he would ask me out 🙃*
Oct 5, 2021
Oct 5, 2021 at 8:56 PM UTC