"narcissa" poems
She sees ravaged faces everyday.
Here a gray, there a gray,
Everywhere a gray, gray.
Even the fleeting beauty of butterflies
Disintegrates into dust.
She forever tries to justify
why she should live and take up space,
why she should look into someone’s eyes
without them looking away.
Dreams and ideas sit cold and hard,
and wither wasted, never being tasted.
Dead dreams like petals falling,
Sounding like her heartbeats pounding-
Measuring the lies of time.
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 7:00 PM UTC
I am beautiful,
don't you know that?
My pimples make other pimples
bow in awe,
gaze with uncontrollable lost,
my flabby arms make the women
sneer with envy.
The stripes I acquired on my thighs
and luscious backside have men telling me
I'm the next best thing.
My unibrow and hairs on my chiny-chin
on my unpainted face have makeup companies
selling my skin across mediterranean seas.
My diet has been written about in many
magazines,
even Homer follows my diet,
it's a very important part of life.
I never smoke,
I hear the world is going to outlaw it.
I have married every mirror I've come across
even my reflection in the ocean
has proposed.
How could I turn myself down
I am beautiful you know.
I am beautiful,
I can't believe you don't know that.
Every piece of me is beautiful
even the fungus on my toes,
but I hear it isn't good to brag.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 6:18 PM UTC
i wonder if the need to talk about myself comes from the stars;
narcissism is a common trait in all three of my signs,
taurus, leo, and scorpio;
or it could be the fact that i'm an artist;
a person who tells their own story over and over through means of different media.
i've always said that artists are narcissists,
we come built with an inherent fixation on ourselves,
an insatiable desire to fill the world with us;
we need to be seen, need to be heard, need to be felt.
but i'm not so sure if that's it.
artists, we want to be known for our work;
i want that, and i want to be known for me.
i want to be thought of when i'm not around,
i want someone to hear something and think of my face.
i want to talk someone's ear off.
i live my whole life in a jar;
i don't speak much,
and i'm often too quiet to be heard from behind the glass.
can the world be about me, for a minute?
i can't control how people see me inside this jar,
i can't control the weather,
or the future.
i have no control over anything at all;
can i explain myself?
can i explain?
can you hear me?
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 10:49 PM UTC
I can be enchanted by how sunlight
through your windows filter brighter
around dirt. Everything out of
your open doors screams self-less "I!"
How the architecture astounds
and enlightens ignoramuses, balconies
bear shortcomings of the uninitiated.
I bought your portraits of
rising from the garbage
left you from those
who ******* you over.
How many people could praise you enough?
Ungrateful, to believe
your enemies and other frauds.
I dare doubt your methods?
The castle surrounded
by gas lamps and
gas lighters can not
burn down
so long as mirrors show
only the beauty of your
astounding heart
-shaped head.
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 5:33 AM UTC
Oh how beautiful your petals,
how lush your blossom.
Such a tall strong stalk
and wandering tendrils of roots.
No lack of sustenance,
could wilt or wither thy pressence.
The face of your flower demanding the attention of the suns.
Yet beneath your supple color lies
such toxicity known to the few.
You sow the seeds among
neighboring gentle flowers.
Planting their self doubt while
poisoning their colors.
They wilt and die at your feet.
Oh Narcissa, how divine.
Sep 9, 2021
Sep 9, 2021 at 7:18 PM UTC