"pimple" poems
Thank you ~
for a life not to trade
blessings, in spades
tight spaces
behind laundry doors
packed closets
and open drawers
gator tails, tarnished brass
cracks in kitchen sliding glass
wet towels, withering plants
foundation filled
with carpenter ants
buckets piled with
shoes and tags
village clothes
and saddlebags
peeling paint
and broken walls
****** seats
in bathroom stalls
clogged pantry
frigid rooms
table scribe
and carbon fumes
comfort capsules
empty tanks
broken limbs
from children’s pranks
**** finger
double tongue
long goodbyes
and sidewalk dung
cluster flies
chavie’ clique
accompanying
the hypocrite
cracked back
and hidden smiles
chalk on board
with mr miles
atomic wedgies
closing doors
wrotten eggs
and open sores
jaw jack
nasty folk
dinner calls
for pig in poke
penny pinchers
double dip
yellow mouth
and silver tip
brown nosers
thick red tape
paper cuts
and pimple nape
gallivants
so out of norm
the joy of life…
in basic form
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 2:03 PM UTC
Pimple popping
Lathered deodorant
Awkward tampons
Hair in unwanted places
Drunken nights
Failed hangover cures
Flunked classes
Broken hearts
First kisses and first times
Rebounds
Hookups
Hickeys
Rushes of frustration
These are all
unglamorous occasions
Of a not so florescent
Adolescence
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 3:06 PM UTC
A beauty that comes from within
is a beauty that age cannot wrinkle
Not distracted by a simple pimple
But a radiant face of joy and pleasure
A woman of inner beauty
Is a life full of love and bounty
Her sweet smile will never fade away
For the Lord is her security
She longs for a pure heart
And wears a cheerful countenance
She does not need a color to overhaul
For her beauty is within after all
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 12:55 AM UTC
Tanong nila bakit daw ako nagpupuyat. Sabi nila masama daw ang magpuyat.
Nakakadami daw ng pimple. Magkakasakit ka, at kung ano-ano pa. Pero may tanong din ako sa kanila.
Masama pa din ba magpuyat, magkaroon ng madaming pimple at magkasakit kung
Ang dahilan naman ng pagpupuyat mo ay para makausap ang taong mahal mo?
May mga bagay pala talaga na kahit masama ay nakakabuti din pala sayo minsan.
Lumalalim na ang gabi, lumalalim na din ang koneksyon nating dalawa.
Mga bagay na napagkekwentuhan ay dumarami.
Mga ngiti na sa aking labi ay dumadampi.
Mga lungkot na sa pagpapatawa mo ay napapawi.
Mga ilusyon ng nakalipas ay sa akin dumadalaw.
Mga ka-abnormalan mo na nakakahawa.
Pinatibok mo pati ang puso kong kawawa.
Mga pusa sa labas na ngawa ng ngawa.
Mga daga sa aking dibdib na kinikilig at nagwawala.
Kasabay ang ating walang humpay na pagtawa.
Mga araw na hindi nakakakain para lang ikaw ay
makausap ng matagal.
Ngunit pinupuno mo naman ang aking tiyan ng mga paru-paro ng walang angal.
Mga senyales na sana ito na ang sagot sa aking mga dasal.
Ipupusta na lahat kasama ang aking dangal.
Na ikaw at ako ay hanggang kasal.
Hindi ko namalayan na ako'y nahuhulog na pala sayo sa sobrang daldal.
Na tanging bukhambibig ko na lamang ay ang mga salitang balbal.
Sa sobrang kakaisip sayo habang naglalakad ay muntik pang mahulog sa kanal.
Nakakatawa pero wag sana ako masiraan ng bait at dalhin sa mental ospital.
Nagmamakaawa at nananampalataya sa nag-iisang banal.
Madaming bagay na magkapareho tayo. Sa pagkain, sa kalokohan, sa musika, sa mga bagay na kinaiinisan.
Kahit mismo sa pananalita ay gayang gaya. Tadhana na nga ba ito? Maniniwala na ba ako sa mga kathang-isip na iyong dulot?
Hindi ko alam, hahayaan ko na lamang na ako ang dalhin ng nararamdaman ko kung saan nito ako gustong dalhin.
At mas sigurado pa ako sa sigurado na walang ibang pupuntahan kundi palapit Sayo.
Sayo na siyang dahilan kung bakit ako nagpupuyat.
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC
Everyone is imperfect. Imperfection is just a state of mind.
The idols that you adore have imperfections. Maybe it's a little pimple on the nose or a simple scar from their childhood on their knee.
Everyone has flaws not just you.
Go and ask random people outside one imperfection they have. Everyone will tell you a flaw they have and if they hesitate then that means that person isn't proud of himself/herself. Everyone should have pride no matter if it's a bad or good thing.
Don't think something as imperfect. Think of the flaw(s) as a unique characteristic for every individual person or thing.
These flaws make you unique or makes you YOU! So be proud of that no matter what anyone says!
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 8:05 PM UTC
Brush the dog tenderly
Create the time
Slowly, gently caress the cat
Doesn't it feel fine?
Stroke her jaw, her chin
Scratch around her ears
Feel her lean into your hands
For she has not words nor tears
Give your weary sweetheart
An attentive foot massage
Invest some time in affection
Praise her new hat or corsage
For a moment, be their reflection
Water your plants
Spritz the leaves, and a little new soil
Take just a minute
It's such an easy yet rewarding toil
Go for a slow walk with your beloved
Taste the evening air
Give her your ear
Visit a reflective place there
Create for her room to ruminate
About her aches and pains
About her ailing Uncle Bob
About her new job
Touch her cheek gently
On your pillow at night
Before your eyes they close
Before dreams so fleeting and light
Say something small, sweet and simple
About you and her and your heart
Not about that invoice or pimple
Or what you both need to dissect apart
For magical, hidden roots are growing!
Or languishing as they will
Simple, daily things nurture them
Not a one-time magic bullet or pill
Marlowe once said,
"Talk not of wasted affection!
Affection never was wasted!"
Water the hungry hearts around you
And the juiciness of life
Will be the sweetest you've ever tasted
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC
The pimple faced gernment representative told me
I had to hold my pollinated dreams until
next season.
And in my school house dream
matthew told me his dream
nothing less than Sustainable Planet
And as I started to argue, I realized,
my mouth was full of seasoned nuts
full of warehoused food,
because I could not attend
lunch, at this newly packed cafeteria;
I was on a mission to... I forget now
but in my dream it was **** important!
Now that I'm awake, trying to write a poem
that captures the meaning
all I can tell you, as you read my heart
is that no one can tell you when to start
caring about your dreams.
Get on your moral high ground and shout out to the world
"I'm MAD as HELL and I'm NOT gonna TAKE it ANYMORE!"
And unless you get knocked off your high horse
and unless you find your voice dry, horse,
don't stop yelling until others join you--
because they will join you. We all want freedom
We all want the dream, but will we fight for it
to make it happen? Would you fight for love,
For life?? Would you fight for survival?
This is it, its this or oblivion, its sustain our childish
fever of consumption,
level out our infantile pride or
rest quietly into forever.
They say sustainability is what were after
but what we really mean is sanity;
they say rational policy is what were after
but really what we mean is enlightenment.
I'm asking you to change the wheel of your mind
and your asking me to hold my order until the window!
Can I have fries with that?
Make it a KING sized!
**** your frizzy fries, and your listless orders,
I want none of them, give me liberty or give me DEATH!
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 10:14 AM UTC
For answering my call, despite not being free
For staying up late, giving up on your sleep,
For listening to my stories, not batting an eyelid
For singing to me, as I'd welcome my dreams!
For how you'd hold me close amidst friends, and beam
For how you've thanked every waiter who has served us a meal
For that first kiss you planted on my forehead in glee
For wiping my tear which trickled down, after some movie!
For noticing the pimple that caused a blemish on my cheeks -
And yet making me believe that I was still queen!
For how when you hug me and make me daydream
For how your eyes still look at me and brightly gleam!
For the silly misunderstandings on that Valentine's eve,
For the times you forgave and the mistakes you let be -
For respecting my choices and being with me
For the happiness you brought in, as agonies were forced to leave!
For thinking beyond the barriers of caste and creed -
For the patience shown as I kept testing if you would ever flee,
For bringing back faith and offering a love - in which I could believe
For teaching me that as we give back, more in abundance we receive!
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 10:39 AM UTC
I dated a girl, a pretty gal
I dated her and her pooch pal
You had to like her dog Pogo
You had to, or it was a no go.
She took the thing everywhere
And never in a pet carrier.
It was sort of a turnoff to me;
A kind of no-intrusion barrier.
Scoochie up to poochie
Or you I wouldn’t get no *******
Otherwise I was a pimple.
It was really just that simple.
She had the ugliest mutt
That I ever saw before
Like a brown **** rug
That was left outdoors.
It snuffled through teeth
That were hideously parted.
I thought it was stuffed
Until the creature farted.
Scoochie up to poochie
Or you I wouldn’t get no *******
Otherwise I was a pimple.
It was really just that simple.
I got nothing against animals
And I really do like dogs
But they should look like pups
Not chimera or warthogs.
I’d overcome the boundaries
Whenever I got the chance
But that ugly canine lump of fur
Put the kibosh on romance.
Scoochie up to poochie
Or you I wouldn’t get no *******
Otherwise I was a pimple.
It was really just that simple.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 5:16 PM UTC
Don't believe your ears
Are burning;
The hand-hidden mouths
Aren't whispering
About you;
Rolling eyes are untrustworthy,
And the finger flips
That dismiss are referring to the weather.
The fear of rumors
About your clothes,
Your neighborhood
Or the pimple on your neck
Occupy too much space.
Angst is over-rated.
Take the high road
On feelings of belittlement.
Believe me -
Fewer people speak less of you
Than you imagine.
You're not the centre
Of our universe,
And if you were,
Everyone would whisper
Kneeling at your feet.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
I’ve forgotten
to be anything but
space—so enraptured
with the black that
the forest was
less than a goose pimple
on earth’s flesh.
I have ignored the
eighth notes
hanging from the pines.
I have forgotten
the snowbirds and whipped
winds.
I have numbed the needles
pocking skin through
my jeans.
I have forgotten green.
I have forgotten green.
I have forgotten green.
now
the light of frozen
flies dims
in your mouth.
now
love washes out
in seasons.
now I eat
sugar-frosted buckthorn.
And I see you
ready to touch
through one
hundred leaves
and foliage.
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 12:53 PM UTC
I know you think
I wear lipstick everyday
And my hands always
Smell like
Chai tea and raspberries
I know you think
My tongue always
Tastes like
Melted sugar
And peppermint
I know you think
I sleep in the same lace
Underwear
You find me in
On certain Sundays
In the spring
When the air is light
And my jeans
Don't stick
To my thighs
I know you think
I'm larger than life
Above chipped teeth
And bruises
And cigarette ash
And acne
I know you think
My eyes don't turn
Blood red
And poison
When I cry
I know you think
My finger nails
Are always
Freshly painted
And I always wear
A bra
That fits
I know you think
Yoga pants are
My comfy clothes,
Never gray sweat pants
With a faded red stain
Between my legs
I know you think
My calves are always
Soft, hairless, and toned
You think
I wait by the phone
With vanilla incense
Burning in a red robe
But you're wrong
And that's impossible
I won't let you in
Cause I won't be
The one
To shatter
Your whole
Pretty, little world
I'm disgusting
Sometimes
I sleep with
Way too many
Girls and guys
And sometimes I cry so much
My eyelids peel
Til I look like
Leather face
And I don't leave my house
For 8 days
And in those 8 days
I shower
Maybe twice
My skin gets rough
In the winter
Right now
I have a
Pimple on
My left shoulder
And every morning
It looks a little
Meaner
My ***** spill
Out over the top
And the sides
Of my favorite
Sport's bra
And I don't care
I smell like burnt oil
And cheap hair dye
Half of the time
I haven't washed
My sheets in a while
And they smell like
Salt water
And chlorine
You put me up on a pedestal
From which I refuse to fall
So I'll stay here,
Far,
Untouchable
You'll never love me
With sticky tampons
In my garbage can
And half drank beer bottles
On my bedroom floor
I'll stay here,
Far,
Untouchable,
Safe
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 7:45 PM UTC
We bathed on the carpet’s edge, in October light
made warm again by pimple-glass and wishful thinking.
We played games and we whispered- as if quiet
could conjure Safe from thin air, and noise conjure Evil.
We occupied the in-betweens; the hall, the stairs, the path.
Drew and drew and drew, with red-brick and chalk and dust.
We chewed the skin around our nails, until our fingers cried-
And when Dark came early, he found us fighting Monsters
in the Artex with our jagged little minds.
Oct 18, 2020
Oct 18, 2020 at 1:40 PM UTC
My ears were ringing, the pimple on my upper lip stinging.
The words they were saying, drowned in the harsh love they were playing.
I know how lovely you are, how kind you can be.
Oh! How I want to believe.
The large weight on my shoulders made my eyes and nose run.
Tick tock went the clock, reminding me of how wrong I was.
Internally my heart stopped for a second, a second too slow.
Her wisdom baffles me all the time, his warnings ******* me time and time again.
While the rope around my neck gets tighter and tighter, the days go faster and faster.
Their advice I would take, hoping and hoping its not too late.
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 12:57 PM UTC
Society has made a pact
On how we must act
People tell me to be a real man
But that seems like a stupid plan
Because every time a guy describes a real man
I hear the way they perceive themselves
A father
Says a real man takes care of his children
A fighter
Says a real man is a protector
We need to break this masculine projector
I used to think being a real man
Meant having a *****
But I'm not even sure about that anymore
How do we unlock
This malebox?
We'd have to leave our houses of hiding
And walk to the road that connects us to each other
But when the fashion is to fake
Our compassion starts to break
In a world
Where things are simple
We can't have a pimple
In a world
Fundamentally filled with maleboxes
We search for a loving locksmith
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 5:03 AM UTC
Listen, I understand that being happy isn't all that artistic.
That loneliness, anger and self hatred are trendier
than being content.
Unrequited love, jealousy and deep-seeded unquenched desire
mathematically recorded in clever metaphor and
unexpected similes simply sell better than stanzas
sifting and shifting to shape a smile.
But writing is a form of expression, I can only mirror myself.
If only I could express to you fully how amazing it feels
to finally look into that mirror to see me completely
with every flaw, every blemish,
every pimple, every crazy strand of curly frizzy hair,
every tan line, every inch of stretch-marked blotchy skin,
every pet peeve, every tear, every inch of stubbornness,
every reckless thought, every word I've desperately written,
every choice I ever made and truly love every bit of it.
I imagine it feels like moving the ocean; I'm a shining beautiful moon.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 11:41 PM UTC
writing is simple.
it's like popping a pimple.
one of those nasty ones that
makes a certain clicking noise when it fractures
and another certain splatter when the indulgent ooze lands on the mirror.
writing is as easy as this.
just like taking a ****
i could try to hold it in as long as possible
but eventually
something will leak out, the dam will burst.
writing is like getting a *******
i'll do it where other people can see me
if i have to but
if some guy walks up and tries to strike up a conversation
i will not shake his hand.
writing is a *****
just like that ever-present itch
in the back of your throat
when you have to cough.
writing is like getting off.
you start out slow, exploring her trenches
then quicken the pace, begin hurdling benches.
then, an hour and a half later
you're smoking a cigarette and
trying to remember what just happened.
Oct 19, 2011
Oct 19, 2011 at 10:33 AM UTC
In my mind, as infinite as the heavens,
I am but a starry eyed stranger
Wandering through her shimmering realms
Beneath an ebony sky, laced with crimson,
Beclouded with spiraling sprays of stardust
A child, a warrior, a saint full of sin,
I pass through the vapour of my shadowselves
Layers falling away like rotten tree bark
Exposing the rings within, like fingerprints,
Looping coils of time, bending but unbroken
Somewhere in the distance a dragonfly dances on the surface of the water,
Unknowingly admired by a sharp toothed Chinook
As another lost soul pulls back on a well worn syringe,
Seated on a broken toilet, slowly leaking across the scarred, yellow linoleum.
While a mother in Africa nurses a starving baby from her malnourished breast,
A stomach ravaged by dysentery,
Lips cracked and bleeding beneath the relentless heat of the sun,
And a pimple faced pop star sips champagne from a crystal goblet,
Wearing eight hundred dollar sunglasses and basking on a beach in Barbados,
Where they will spend more on hotels and liquor for a week than most families will earn in wages all year.
I close my eyes to imagine a world where only dragonflies sip champagne,
and people ACTUALLY care about one another.
But the former seems more likely than the latter...
So I return to my inner sanctuary of dreams...
And once again, I am infinite.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 10:00 AM UTC
The Idea of you was lust
Now like a unwanted pimple its time for this season of my life to bust.
No trust,
Between us
Because your obsession isn't killing us, it's me.
While you ****** me your looking for your next victim.
Rusting of the metal that melted us as one
I scream to escape while my body remains in its vegetated state
While loved ones hold heated debates on what treatment I should take.
Inpatient or out seems like either route It's no end to the insanity of a strong hold
No goal
Seems attainable
No moments of being free from the chains you keep around me.
The gag between my teeth keeps your control over me.
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 8:54 AM UTC
As I sat down by the lake,
And watched the waves come and go by,
I saw a group of mermaids, who came by for a chat,
I was surprised, as they called each other fat.
Worried about the pettiest pimple,
I realized, they were no different,
They talked about how handsome their Duke is,
As, each of them yearned to be a Duchess.
When it was getting dull,
I saw a seagull,
I cheered for him, as he picked up a fish,
I was free like him, I wish.
I decided to sit there, and blend into the essence of the lake,
Till the water turns into snowflakes.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
Having never sought fulfilment
in the pursuit of being mother
my body is my temple
for use of no-one other
than my own indulged desires
of aesthetics, pleasure, fun,
so, yes, I fret the stretch marks,
the odd pimple on my ***
I obsess, in terms of thread veins,
for they make me feel unpretty,
so vain, if that doth make me,
I accept in all its gritty,
ugly notions – for us gals are meant to be
vessels of life-giving, all procreation’ry.
“Oh! I know my body’s purpose”!
the new mother’s apt to cry.
I shall not regret my choices
biologics tick… ticking by.
Does that mean our sad mechanics
are bereft of serving purpose?
It is no hard done-by chore,
our childlessness not cursed us.
When I stand, unclothed and natural
my body has a story
I don’t need the marks of childbirth
to feel a sense of glory.
All this talk of ‘battle scars’
babies sure sound painful,
but, forgive me, all you mothers
should I dare to sound disdainful.
It’s just I feel no less a woman
for not having given birth,
and there is no singular purpose
for this body on this earth.
Like living in a desert
enduring shifting sands,
the bits I’ve never really liked
I cover up with clothes and hands.
I’ve no need to ‘love my body’, thanks
I’m just fine with friendly banter.
Angles, poise and lighting
three small words – a mighty mantra.
Self-love is overrated
when costume is the thing,
and my body wears it well, you see,
and the pleasure that it brings
is proof enough that any scars
may be healed to nothing
without the need for motherhood
and its pushy, panting, puffing.
So curse my sour dismissives!
I’m all said and done,
the female form has every purpose
babies ain’t the only one.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 6:57 PM UTC
Eyes watered up as my voice cracked
Seeing you here, hearing your voice, and our supposed to be ‘happy date’ turned into closing curtains
For you stabbed me with three words that completely broke me
apart;
You started this relationship in three words, yet you also ended it in three;
How funny, how did “Be my girlfriend” get turned into “Let's break up” that easily?
I shook my head and begged you to stay;
I persisted and kept asking you for a reason;
For how will I be able to move on if I get left behind without something as little as that?
A few minutes of silence enveloped us before you opened your mouth to speak;
My fingers curled up and formed a fist after hearing your explanation;
Just because of the rumors and judgments people say, you'll split up with me?
Why?
Do you see our relationship as an acne? That makes you look bad in society?
I stepped towards you and held your shoulder,
“Their opinions don't matter!” I yelled as tears continue to fall;
It's true, isn't it?
Like how a little pesky pimple doesn't make people ugly, our relationship's flaw doesn't matter too;
So why can't you
understand?
“No, Beatrice, we need to stop this. I'm sorry. Good bye.”
I felt my whole world crashing down as you slowly stepped back, and permanently left my life;
You really are my greatest downfall, my love;
Goodbye.
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 11:19 AM UTC
From your straight hair to
the outfits you wear,
that black leather shoe pair,
even the "no makeup" makeup flair.
Everything about you seems perfect, I swear!
Your sweet fine face and my feelings resurrect,
supercilious smile with power that anyone may deflect
even the cute pimple on your face that eject,
moreover the positive vibes you reflect.
**** everything about you seems perfect.
The way you smile,
eyes almost closed, hiding teeth quarter mile,
my heart skips beats for a while,
the way you tie up your hair in that quirky style,
your eccentric figure and that side profile,
orotund low voice gonna put me on trial.
Upbeat personality and attitude you project,
Girl everything about you seems just Perfect!
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 7:20 AM UTC
In my mirror I see a clown,
Juggling his fate upon the hope of entertaining his captivated audience.
Performing circus tricks with a painted smile across his animated visage.
In my mirror I see a soldier,
Dauntless and Dedicated
To dutifully serving his school.
The soldier never tires,
Never slacks,
Never rests,
Never stops - until his duties are done.
In my mirror I see an explorer,
seeking adventure and freedom from the concrete jungle, whose cement vines bind round the sinews of his heart until he trapped
Trying to break away from:
Oppression, and the Syntheticity of suburbia.
In my mirror I see a ghost.
Dead to the world, yet still cursed to wander its lonely alleys,
In search of liberation from social purgatory.
In my mirror I see a learner,
Clean-shaven and well brushed.
His face well scrubbed though the tell-tale pimple betrays him to adolescence.
The student has no substance...
What you see is what you get,
And what you get is well -
Whatever you want.
In my mirror, late at night,
When all have drifted off to sleep,
I see a boy, who finally takes off his many masks,
And reveals his true identity to the trustworthy mirror (whom he has known long enough to keep his secrets)
He is no longer:
The clown,
Or soldier,
Or explorer,
Or ghost or learner,
He is me.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 9:39 AM UTC