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Molly Hughes Jan 2014
There was once a girl with a fear of mirrors.
A fear so frightening,
it followed her round wherever she went.
Zombie films were fine
and spiders didn't bother her,
she would have happily seen a ghost
and the dark was her best friend.
But the mirror haunted her.
"Look at yourself..."
it would whisper,
"Fat,
ugly,
baby face,
crooked teeth...
"
Even in bed,
when night veiled it's reflection,
it spoke.
The duvet over her head wasn't much of a shield,
the voice taunting her,
ringing in her ears,
until she woke up,
a sticky, writhing mass in the middle of the matress.
"Good Morning."
The day time was no better.
Shop windows acted as put-me-up mirrors,
cutlery in cafes the same.
There was a solution to walking in the day time,
head down,
head down,
head down,
don't make eye contact,
head down
,
but a rogue puddle could stop her in her tracks.
Her watercolour reflection swam menacingly on it's surface,
the voice rising dreamily from it like a mermaid speaking under water.
But she'd take a whole city of puddles
if she could avoid the carnival of horrors that was shopping for clothes.
There,
no matter where she stepped,
mirrors of all shapes and sizes would spring from corners,
the reflections getting redder
and uglier
and sweatier
and more pathetic
each time she span into a new one,
pretty,
thin,
popular girls preened themselves in the corner of her eyes,
friends with the mirrors.
She could hear the voice speaking to them,
but it's words were kind and friendly.
Looking down made no difference as mirrors adorned the floors,
up the same,
the ceiling a funfair nightmare of crazy mirrors,
the whole shop a kaleidoscope of her disgusting,
repulsive,
loathsome face.
She couldn't even cry.
The fear was so great,
that she couldn't risk seeing a reflection in one of the tears.
Even her sorrows mocked her.
The only way was to bottle it up,
to smile,
act like nothing was wrong,
look in her bag when her friends were looking in the mirror,
close her eyes at the hairdressers,
throw a sheet over her own, hateful mirror.
Throw a sheet over herself.
Nobody could hurt her if she didn't let them in.
One day,
the girl smashed the mirror in her room.
She grabbed a shoe and struck it with such force,
that the awful face before her splintered
and crashed to the floor in a thousand pieces.
When she looked down,
hundreds of dark eyes blinked back at her.
It's shell still remained hanging on the wall,
a black rectangle that looked like it could be a portal to another world.
She could still see herself in it.
She shut her eyes and squeezed them hard,
but the mirrors were behind her eyelids,
printed onto her brain,
painted onto her pupils.
The mirror was inside her.
The girl was now a looking glass of self-loathing.
The voice whispered inside her head.
"Just look at yourself.
Look at yourself,
look at yourself,
look at yourself,
LOOK.
"
She realised she would never be able to escape the mirrors.
She realised that she would smash herself into nothing but broken glass if she didn't just
look.
So she did.
As each day went by,
with every new mirror that crept up on her,
she looked inside it,
looked at herself.
The first time sweat beaded and dripped down her neck
and her hands shook.
She thought she would faint,
thought she was going to run,
thought she wouldn't do it,
but she did.
She looked.
She kept looking for a long time,
scrutinsing her every feature until she realised,
it wasn't that bad.
She looked,
until eventually,
as time passed by,
she managed to smile.
Until eventually,
whenever she closed her eyes,
the mirrors on her lids nodded "You'll be okay.".
Until eventually,
the fear wasn't so scary anymore.
Until,
eventually,
she let herself cry.
And she wanted to see herself in the tears.
There was a once a girl who liked mirrors.
Lucy Tonic Nov 2011
Phone rings, only breathing
Landlord yelling, dog barking,
Mexican music, nosey neighbors
Long cigarette and goodbye girl
She’s absent and she’s catatonic
She’s boiling in unwanted fever
She hums as she irons unplugged
She hums as she cleans up the blood
She’s levitating against her will
She’s nailing the door shut with a candle
She’s rolling him up in a carpet
Yeah, your high horse and your sports
Are just heavy metaphors
For something a lot sweatier
****** Made Her Menstrual
You supplied the weapons
danny Aug 2018
Woke up late
The issues of yesterday still intact,
Turned the pillow to the cool side,
And opened the window.

Tried to race my shadow down the stairs.
Bade family "Good day" and nestled on the couch.
Nothing narrates your day better than a
"Previously on..."

Took too long deciding what to do with my morning
that it became afternoon, time is sneaky like that.
Walked to the store with no intent,
I have a gift, I always end up in the feminine hygiene aisle or the ***.

Played some music louder than I should have,
my reasoning was if my bones don't vibrate then
the heavens won't be able to hear it either.
Was scared by a big dog even though it was muzzled.

Came back home, one armpit was sweatier than the other.
Lungs collapsing but I felt the doubts and ire abating.
Checked in with my people and cared about what they had to say.
It's dark now, the pillow is heating up for another long night.
Jenny Oct 2013
"I'll let you in on a Secret - I don't know when I'm joking."

We go to a fancy-type restaurant. A nice sit-down place. My baby blues are bottled on dark wood shelves and this isn't a detail that you plan to miscount for. Waiters in black ties and the plates are already on the tables and I know that you are relentless in their shining reflections.

"Wine and Dine my Sensibility."

My seventeen-year-old skin does not belong here. Follicles producing my scent are premature, to say the least. Cultivated romance looms beyond a horizon of pale-brown clouds littered with mid-highway makeouts - I expect you to paint me a brand-spanking-new Southwestern sky.

"Let's talk about You" -
A past-prime Adam's Apple says to me. Gnarled birds' nests perch atop my faintly skin-encased splinters - I flex in hopes of a migration, but not too
Far
Down
S
   o
       u
          t
                h

"They're coming."

Barely flinching teeth rattle around my peripheral and then You Are Gone! - or perhaps I am. We drown quickly in dim red-lighting, brick-laid air swallows and belches out a humidified and much sweatier you and I - and I'm getting turned on.

"You look nice today,"
they chant. Spay-legged spiders tumble out of dank eyesockets and nest somewhere deeeeeeeep in my brain tissue.
"Yellow looks good on a jealous, jealous girl-"
You laugh and call them back home.
Lock eyes with me as I impale upon a salad fork.

"Talk ***** to me."

Third-World Countries have been delicately dropped into what I thought were love poems to you. Vines grow around your mouth, soggy with the meal that I think is over. They chase each other through your teeth and I want to strangle myself with their slim and tender necks - like you wish I had. Dark green darlings giggle in my direction - such a Naive Little Girl!

"Ha."

Six lines later and I'm reeling you in.
Kam Yuks Nov 2014
Good morning again. Wake the **** up! Back to sleep once again in my head. Sway back and forth in front of the mirror until I **** near collapse into the wall with a stream of drool perfectly poised at my mouth before I wipe it off and sit on the toilet.

Perhaps my phone will keep me awake.

Nope.

I'm rocking again and only give up on trying to stay awake bare assed when my phone hitting the floor prompts me up and at em once more to lay in the tub that, once filled, barely covers my **** and ***** that are forcefully tucked underneath my gut flop.

Awake again now
sweatier than before
less refreshed than left over fries after a microwaved cycle.

Them: "look how different your life is."

Me: "new responsibilities - same limitations."

I haven't grown. Life changes. Look back at the pictures and you'll see - less hair on the head that surrounds the same fat face.

At least I wear deodorant, although it is my wife's until I pick up some more of my own.
Joe Hill May 2014
obsidian black-rock soul
lackluster and cold
loosing shards over backyards
failing to heed mother's plea
"keep to yourself, the children are here"
maybe tomorrow i'll borrow compassion
and fashion a rope out of all i can ration
to hold together 'til calmer weather comes
sneaking from behind the peaks and treetops
and leaves me the **** alone
as if
forget the children
they'll know soon enough the taste of hate
and the twinge of pain that precedes disdain
if only i could care
if only i could share a prayer
if only i could waive despair
anymore
anymore
anymore
obsidian black-rock soul
i’ll keep it to myself cause i can’t lose pieces
anymore
there’s not enough to reshape
anymore
just shards all over backyards
each one a bard that only knows how to sing
the ode to rejection
preach only self hate and the neighbors won’t love you
anymore
you’ll find yourself desperately clinging to
anymore
palms sweatier than when mom
found out i bombed writing class
i thought i couldn't be expressive
anymore
like Bob Ross coping with the loss of his brushes
hushed whispers don’t hit canvas like paint does
anymore
happy trees happy trees just have to get angry
when the sun can’t be created
anymore
maybe life is a portrait that we constantly create
experiences chances taken stain the canvas
in specific ways we’ll see at the end of our days
but we can guess what kind of colors we’re creating
we can’t claim sadness and ignorance
anymore
so the soul must be a palette not a ******* stone
those aren't shards they’re splotches
making everyone’s portraits
a few notches darker
we all splash them back and forth
not even thinking about the mixture
we can’t keep using only black paint
anymore
An updated and elongated version of my older piece "Betrayal"
She passes her hands through her hair, she’s shedding.

Massaging her scalp, hair strands fall onto her lap.

Its dark, her night light gets dimmer and dimmer the longer she spends

staring at it.

Finger nails scratch her skin to relieve the itch of everyday struggles.

It’s getting darker, and she panics in silence.

Her heart beat races. Her palms get sweatier and every minute, every second, she finds herself more frighten.

The moon is full and stuffed with light that dares not to shine through her window.

She howls and hears the echo of her own voice through the empty halls of memories.

A screech on the glass makes her head turn. She hides under the bed,

And the night light bleeds into the dark,

Until it no longer has a pulse.

Tears from the lonesome stream down her rosy cheeks,

It’s dark. And the moon is hiding behind the traveling clouds

of  the night.
SilentJove.tumblr.com
Annie Young Apr 2013
Do you remember when we used to sit with each other?
I do.
We'd sit in silence and look at the meadow before us,
Only allowing the rustles of trees and whispers of wind speak for us.
Do you remember when we used to hold hands?
I do.
The safety of the world was lock between those sweet little fingers,
Each one sweatier than the next,
But never letting me let go in case a bear came to eat me.
Do you remember when we used to watch tele together?
I do.
We'd sit in the living room for hours,
Giggling at Courage the Cowardly Dog, or Ah! Real Monsters,
Or playing reruns of Top Gear until they began to repeat in the marathon.
Do you remember when we used to speak to one another?
I do.
I used to look up to you as my hero,
The one I always aspired to be like
Until I found out you were human like the rest of us.
Do you remember the last time we said goodbye?
I do.
We argued about the luggage in the trunk
Until you stormed off and I drove myself away,
Never to see your hazel eyes again.

I wish I could've said goodbye one last time.
Once more before you let the rustles of trees and whispers of the wind
Take you off forever.
Turtle Eyes Aug 2014
As the day that I see you approaches
My smile gets bigger
My hands get sweatier
My heart beats faster
I want to be with you
I need to be with you
I can't wait to see you again my love! 13
Amanda Niemann Dec 2016
just when i feel
as though i can't breathe
as though i'm about to fall
as though i've hit rock bottom
the impossible happens
things get worse
the weight on my shoulders
it gets heavier
my palms
they get sweatier
my grip loosens
i can't hold on much longer
yet some how
i'm still holding on
still fighting
trying to be strong
Caterina Correia Aug 2018
My heart is beating normally.
My breathing is so steady.
Until I wait;
Wait for you to ruin me.
You've already ***** me with your eyes.
I felt the blades piercing through my body.
Now I want to feel that pain with your hands.
I want to feel that the closer you walk,
The more excited I get.
The closer you walk,
The speed of my heart;
The speed of my breathing,
Gets faster.
Mentally,
Im ******* you.
Physically,
I want to copy the movie thats playing in my head.
The more I stare,
The more I want.
The more I want,
The more dehydrated I get.
& my body needs yours to quench mine.
My body needs yours to enter mine.
& my body needs yours to calm mine.
Excitement is striking even more;
My breathing is starting to get heavy.
& I need your lips as a puffer;
I have an invisible asthma, and its getting worse.
I need you to breathe into me;
Fill my lungs with your air & strength.
All these naughty thoughts going through my head is just strangling me.
& Im strangled by your ****** presence.
Its causing me to find my breath and catch it.
Causing me to find my pulse and relax it.
& then there you were;
Right in front of me.
No more invisible wall.
No more waiting.
I was getting so impatient.
& then we **** the lights.
& then we **** the clothes.
Entering me finally,
The look in your eyes were asking me to breathe harshly.
& then your energy took over my body.
Your ears just wanted to hear,
Your eyes just wanted to see,
How crazy you can get me.
Then finally,
All your power,
All your strength.
All my power,
All my strength.
I wanted more & more each time.
Gasping for air,
There were no words.
Gasping for air,
I couldnt even speak.
The air through my lungs,
Turned my body into a tornado that you've created.
& so Im spinning with unstoppable pleasure.
You've released your energy onto me.
I've released my excitement onto you.
Im beginning to choke.
The air through my chest,
The pounding of my heart;
I blame you.
I have forgotten how to breathe.
I have forgotten how to scream.
The pleasure that Im feeling cannot be described.
Faster,
Harder,
Deeper;
My breathing is speeding up.
Stronger,
Crazier,
Driven,
I cannot catch my breath.
Hotter,
Sweatier,
Harsher,
Im finally hyperventilating.

— The End —