"makup" poems
Today,
I was shot down,
told I was too ugly to date the star of the football team.
But that’s okay,
I’ve had my eye on the geek.
But back to me.
Honesty, confidence and intelligence,
are these the qualities you all find so ugly?
Of is this concept of beauty within beyond your brain capacity?
I am proud of who I am and what I am
I will not change for you or you or you or ANYONE that calls me ugly,
My beauty is unique because unlike the prom queen, the homecoming qeen, Barbie and any other beautiful female figure….
no matter how old, how fat, how tall, how short I am
no matter how messy my hair, how runny my makeup
my beauty will not fade,
my beauty is of a different shade.
I am a rare find, one of plain honest normalcy
I am no super model, no cheerleader, no athlete in general,
I am not physically attractive,
and neither is that geek
that one you all make fun of,
the one who sits alone at lunch
the one with the disheveled look
the one I can not live without
The one lacking muscle, lacking an ego
just simply himself as I am simply myself
and as you should all
simply be yourselves
when you are you for you and only you
then you and everyone else can achieve a certain inner beauty
one that shines past the makup, that will run, the muscle that will turn to fat, and the ego that is so frail, and can rip open like a wound gushing false confidence at the sight of a challenger.
you with the attitude, you’re too ugly, you with the complex, you’re too ugly,
you consumed by your money you are all too ugly FOR ME and every one like me
for those above your twisted image of beauty.
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 6:22 AM UTC
Picture postcard lips and perfect hair, dressed to thrill but only her.
Older than she looks to them, but a heart inside younger still.
It takes longer now to look as good as this and makup steals many years.
No strings no ties she's free tonight to drink and dance till mornings light..
A spirit free to dance all night, till sunrise when her feet catch fire.
Many flit like moths to flame, she has no time for their games.
She dances as though her life depended upon it, with every note limbs extended.
Her eyes closed tight, oh she's not here, you weren't born where she now is.
Morning came and she fled the scene, just a face within their dreams.
She went native and off the path and disappeared, until next time...
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 9:18 PM UTC