"uglier" poems
She’s more fun when she is drunk
At least…until she’s not
Because she’s puking in the toilet
And regretting her last shot
She’s more confident when she’s drunk
Gorgeous and ready to score
Until she looks in a mirror
And feels even uglier than before
She likes herself more when she is drunk
Until that feeling goes away
When she is so far beyond gone
That her self-hatred comes out to play
She’s happier when she’s drunk
All her issues leave her brain
But they all come crashing back at once
And cause her so much pain
She likes the world more when drunk
It’s filled with so much good
Until one little thing sets her off
And she hates it all more than she should
She likes life more when she’s drunk
Her mind for once feels still
Terrified of losing that feeling
She soon wants to end things with a pill
But she can stop any time she wants
Or so she’d have you believe
Because alcohol makes her seem so happy
That is, until all her friends leave
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 3:21 AM UTC
Just because I’m vulnerable
doesn’t mean I’m weak.
Just because I don’t cry in front of you
doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings.
Just because I don’t speak up
doesn’t mean I don’t have anything to say.
Just because I don’t react
doesn’t mean I don’t know how to tear you apart.
Just because I smile
doesn’t mean you can walk on me.
Just because I don’t hurt you back
doesn’t mean I lack masculinity.
Just because you say I am fat
doesn’t make me ugly. Not uglier than your soul.
Just because you say I’m feminine
doesn’t make my gender redundant.
I’m more a man than you’ll ever be, choking on your insecurities.
Getting kicks out of putting other people down,
everytime you feel threatened by the vastness of the world.
Just because I don’t stop you
doesn’t mean you can go back to doing what you did.
Just because I am me.
And not the version of me,
You want me to be.
Just because I am me.
And just because
I don’t roar doesn’t mean I’m not strong.
I’m more than capable of ripping you to shreds,
with my weaponry of words.
Just because.
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 1:43 AM UTC
As the skyline alters its guise
From the lively azure
To an idle whitish hue
Which ended into
A mournful shade of gray
Like the shade in films of retros.
A frightening sound,
A roar from an angry beast echoed
After every glowing zigzagged lines
Which I thought he drew.
Louder it went
Like drum rolls
Of an ill-staged concerto,
But uglier it turned into.
Haunted, I cupped my hands on both ears
Crept under the covers
And wished it all away.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 9:06 AM UTC
This way to the show, folks
The most amazing show you have ever seen
Bigger, wider, deeper
Wondrous and terrifying
More beautiful than your dreams
Uglier than you can imagine
And all for free
If you speak very loosely, that is
Watch your step son
Don’t trip on the unintended consequences
Step right this way
There’s no time like the present
In fact there’s no time left at all
Take a peek behind the curtain if you dare
What’s the worst that could happen
Probably best not to think too much about it
See the man without a plan
Watch him stumble through life
Be amazed as he defies death on the streets
His struggles with addiction will amuse you
Enjoy the bitterness of his regrets
Be stupefied by the clueless wonder
Taken advantage of at every turn
Thrill as he turns into the human doormat
Feel free to wipe your shoes on him
He likes it, really
Prepare your senses for the shock of
The compassionate woman
Stand bewildered as she is betrayed by lovers
Gasp as she weeps for people she does not know
Make her a promise as you leave fellas
You will make her day
You will be stunned by the man who is not like you
Be horrified at his minor differences
Criticize all his perceived flaws
Feel free to mock him, he is used to it
What’s that ma’am
No don’t feel sorry for them
They like it here
Three hots and a cot you know
Only some humiliation each night
And twice on Saturdays
Come one, come all
Leave the show smug and satisfied
About how much better you are
Than these miserable examples of failure
All this and more and not one penny to enter
The only fee is part of your humanity
Just drop it in the box right here
On your way in
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
My Prince Charming has turned into an ugly, old toad,
but that’s what happens when you choose this road.
The road so traveled by all the toads before;
makes me wonder what you see at the ****** door.
I would think by now it would be rotten and smell,
but that’s not where my thoughts will dwell.
Why are they always uglier than me?
It can’t be because you like what you see.
Is it because the ****** like to drink beer?
Or is it because they’ll **** on your spear?
You’d think by now all of you would have warts.
You know the kind that stays in your shorts.
You think you’re so handsome, have you looked in the mirror?
One day soon they won’t let you get nearer.
But by then you will not make me cry
and they’ll look like they were put up wet to dry.
They may be younger but you keep getting older.
What will you do when you get the cold shoulder?
What will they do when you run out of money?
I bet they won’t think that it’s very funny.
Or how about when the pills are all done?
I bet a fight will be caused over that one.
Nothing like pill-head ****** to ***** around with.
To get them drunk, does it take a fifth?
An eight ball of coke, that ought to do it.
When it’s all gone I bet you don’t get in it.
I may have been with you through thick and thin,
but I ain’t touching that warty skin.
We did have magic for so many years,
but that was before the coke and beer.
One day I’ll see you all and grin.
For you’ll have caught the clap: what a payback for sins.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 10:22 PM UTC
-Light up a cliche under a streetlight
while singing "the Star Spangled Banner"
and receiving oral from a trans-woman.
**** in the drive-thru of an Arby's.
-Fist fight a bear that people
find much uglier than myself.
Made a bucket list of ****
I think might be legitimately worth doing;
haven't run it by my girlfriend yet.
Speaking of which,
she deserves a round of applause
for dealing with my melodramatic ********
-Strike a police officer,
after robbing a bank with a water pistol.
I wanted to call her to let her know
I'd chased a bird till it crossed the street
and tweeted at me in anger or excitement.
Flipping the bird "the bird", I shouted,
**** YOU BIRD!"
and continued home.
-Throw a rock at a train.
-Toss a Molotov Cocktail at a moving car,
and cook a hot dog in the flames.
She deserves a million dollars
and a ******* Nobel peace prize.
-Call one of those panhandling
money worshiping televangelists
a **** bird, and offer them to ****
themselves [the ugliest people I can think of].
-Wear a habit over a burka.
I don't believe in souls, soul mates,
anything supernatural or special,
but I love that woman,
and that's why I believe in love.
-Not die alone.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
The Camel’s **** is an ugly lump
Which well you may see at the Zoo;
But uglier yet is the **** we get
From having too little to do.
Kiddies and grown-ups too-oo-oo,
If we haven’t enough to do-oo-oo,
We get the ****
Cameelious ****
The **** that is black and blue!
We climb out of bed with a frouzly head
And a snarly-yarly voice.
We shiver and scowl and we grunt and we growl
At our bath and our boots and our toys!
And there ought to be a corner for me
(And I know there is one for you)
When we get the ****
Cameelious ****
The **** that is black and blue!
The cure for this ill is not to sit still,
Or frowst with a book by the fire;
But to take a large *** and a shovel also,
And dig till you gently perspire.
And then you will find that the sun and the wind
And the Djinn of the Garden too,
Have lifted the ****
The horrible ****
The **** that is black and blue!
I get it as well as you-oo-oo,
If I haven’t enough to do-oo-oo,
We all get ****
Cameelious ****
Kiddies and grown-ups too!
3.4k
Once it was the colour of saying
Soaked my table the uglier side of a hill
With a capsized field where a school sat still
And a black and white patch of girls grew playing;
The gentle seaslides of saying I must undo
That all the charmingly drowned arise to cockcrow and ****
When I whistled with mitching boys through a reservoir park
Where at night we ****** the cold and cuckoo
Lovers in the dirt of their leafy beds,
The shade of their trees was a word of many shades
And a lamp of lightning for the poor in the dark;
Now my saying shall be my undoing,
And every stone I wind off like a reel.
3.3k
you're beautiful but slowly rotting
as the years go by your face becomes prettier
but your hearts grows uglier.
it's those friends of yours,
it's that attitude of yours
its that doubt in your eyes
and the boredom in your voice
your words are shallow
and it breaks my heart.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 4:35 PM UTC
I know that some of us, well many of else have noticed the tiny hemorrhoid who has been festering around HP for a while now. He pops in, leaves his unkind marks on our skin, causing us to scratch and irritate the area. What I am wondering is how many have noticed his poems (for lack of a better term and in an attempt to be somewhat nice) trending with only 1 like? My friends, they trend because so many people view them…not like them. That is how it works here at times. Views vs. people following you. He has only a few following him (proof drugs are still running rampant) and it only takes a few views to cause his used toilet paper offerings to trend. This, in my opinion is his goal. He spends his time trying to discourage anyone he comes in contact with so that it will cause us to view his vomited works. (Ok, getting a little uglier). He slaps and then runs, waiting to see what we will do to feed his regurgitated ego, and we follow, accepting his bait.
My suggestion is to completely ignore this hemorrhoid, block him, no reading, no leaving ugly remarks on his work…just make him invisible to you and every one else. Let him write his little crayon projects and post them on his own fridge (because I’m sure his mom won’t even put them on hers). Will he eventually go away? Probably not, he is so full of himself; he could not live without himself. But, we can go away…not from the site, but from him.
There are people like this everywhere…people who get joy from hurting others, people who sit there with a pen in one hand and something else in the other. (use you imagination) Ignore this pain; don’t let it get you down. If we all do this then maybe, just maybe he will get the hint…probably not. But maybe the swelling will go down a little.
This is just my opinion and my suggestions.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 11:59 AM UTC
What an ugly word
From the mouth of an uglier girl
Do you know what he does?
I do
I'd rather be explicit
Than be like you
**** ****
Cherry pop? How bout cherry bomb
Red hot cherry love
Speak those ugly girl words,
No matter
The only thing we have in common can't get enough
yep, I see you. **
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
Sometimes I wonder,
How can someone at fifteen years old
Go through depression?
How someone so young
Can already be exhausted
Of the world they still haven't known
And sometimes I think,
Maybe it's not real
But I am living example
I wonder, maybe, it's just a phase
But phases last years not a lifetime
Maybe it's genetics,
From each branch and every leaf
In the family tree with a chemical imbalance
But how come they don't understand?
Sometimes I think,
Maybe it's the people around me
And so I isolate myself away from everybody
Feeling relaxed but not quite happy
So maybe it's the surrounding,
So every few months I always end up moving
And I don't trace my steps I don't look back
I just keep running and running
From everyone and everything
The friends who were always there listening,
Relatives who were sometimes annoying,
And a lover who'd kept trying,
And everytime I leave they ask why
And tell me you are so confusing
But I don't answer back
I just keep running and running
Until I realize,
I'm running away from my problems
And the problem is myself.
So maybe young people with depression
Do exist, and I am one
And maybe there's no way out of it
Because my depression and I live in unison.
Merged together, stuck with one another
Struggling to live in a body
That keeps getting uglier,
Trapped inside a skin full of scars and blisters
That I have not once considered
How to make them all better.
Because it's who I am, it's my home
With my melancholic half
And half a soul of my own
Pain and depression
Are really the only things I've felt and known.
So maybe it's possible and it does exist
The only place it doesn't
Is in my sleep and in my dreams
And when I wake up
My sadness alarm tells me,
Welcome home!
Sorry it's not a sweet one though.
-djs
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 1:06 AM UTC
One of these days,
I will ask him
What are you so scared of?
It's dawning on me
he's the more
idealistic one
I don't think we'll be
great
because we're
perfect
but because we're
flawed
and still understand
each other
easily
One day.
I will ask him
What else is love?
and the words will
escape my mouth
Why are you so scared of loving me?
One day,
tenacity & timing
will meet
and I'll ask him
Do you want to hear what I think?
You're scared
you'll **** it up
You hide
behind
this teenage
facade
of heartbreak
as the
reason
that romance
and hope
were driven
out of you
replaced by
a darkness
that is engulfed
in fear
But you and I
both know
you're not naive
enough to
believe
it
One day-
I will tell him
I think you saw
your parents
in an unhappy marriage
& an uglier divorce
and that does
something
to a person
to learn so young
that your parents
aren't perfect,
at all
that they are flawed
and so are
you
And that realization
weighs so heavily
on your
shoulders
that you bear the
burden
of being afraid,
of doing the same thing
marred
by the
knowledge that
life & love
can be
both
cruel & kind
One day I'll ask him,
do you see that irony
lies there
waiting with you
instead of me?
The fear-
making your unhappiness
certain
One of these days,
I'll plead to him
Don't you see?
I still love you.
That I'm sitting here
patiently waiting
until you see
yourself
the way
I do
flawed
but perfect
for each other
One day,
I will ask him
Are you ready to hear the truth?
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 5:10 PM UTC
The darker I am
Then the harder to see
Me in anything besides a penitentiary
Because that’s the view people get
Even from the six
Mixes me into a criminal description
Where Dark skin
means a quick conviction
Also I’m none to bright
Since my skin ain’t light
But instead that got replaced with might
Which makes me aggressive
If you ask anyone
who more likely to fight
Of course the dark one
so run
Dare we shed a tear
police come near
As being dark skin
and crying brings fear
Because we can’t
check our emotions
My dear
Ladies of shade I feel your pain
Your viewed uglier than most
Because your skin
Doesn’t roast
But I bet they still joke
and call you toast
Despite having the
most unblemished skin around
They treat you like coffee grounds
They don’t even like your sound
Saying you yell all day
Even when your voice is sultry
Enough to slay
Yellow for the fellows ain’t so mellow
Immediately he soft
cause of complexion
But look at his reflection and the cops
Will make a exception
Your a pretty boy
That can annoy joy out of a toy
My fair ladies
this might be shady
But your as needy as a Brady
Latest shoes all the fenty
Ask anyone and
god blessed you plenty
They say you not humble
But I see your bumble
Your gracious until a rumble
Where does all this lip
come from
Look in the mirror
We bad mouth our bother
Even if we have same the mother
All because life makes us a runner
Stop increasing hate
And dictate our fate
By improving for all our sake
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 7:40 PM UTC
This is the story about a young knight, riding his horse through a village one day. A woman stops him.
Oh brave sir knight
young blue eyes so bright
this maiden throws herself at your feet
I have a farm, chickens, cows, plenty to eat
when you take me in marriage, it is all yours, my dear
let us roll in the hay, I'll let you drink my root beer
summer, fall, winter, spring
I'll be your queen, you'll be my king
sir knight, darling, dear, listen to this plea
marry me, marry me, marry me!
Maiden? You're older and uglier than my mother
who, when I was 12, I had the decency to smother
stay away, you filthy *****
oh god, the stench, the stench!
you look and smell worse than moldy old cheese
verily, you must have at least fifteen types of disease
No, I will not put my sword in your sheath
I'd sooner punch out my own pretty yellow teeth
you stupid old cow, you mangy goat
out of my sight, lest I cut your throat!
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 5:50 AM UTC
When I first moved to Seattle at age 21,
I had a vision.
My reasoning to recreate myself.
A longing to be an independent woman,
far away from my Father.
Thought I would change into this "glorious" being.
Ironically enough, I didn't change,
in fact, I became even worse off.
Didn't love anyone but me,
barely had much leftover for my family.
10 years later,
I am sitting here writing a story of 10 years wasted & drugged.
No solace just plenty of malice.
Found tons of photos in Dropbox tonight.
Stayed up all night so I could delete over 1,000.
By the time morning came,
the pictures left me depleted.
Along with people I've slept with & people I've met along the way.
Does this sound familiar to you?
Can you relate?
How many hearts I've broken,
now I include mine.
Even displayed the third eye in most of the photos.
Can't say I've reached the state of enlightenment.
There wasn't a time when I didn't have a drink or smoke on hand.
A plethora of vanity,
with no sanity sight.
I've pressed delete many times,
and still,
they'll always be stamped pressed in my mind.
Long lost memories.
Now please,
ask yourself how deep have you or will you continue to bury it?
This proved to myself how much I loathe who I used to be.
Externally I may have look happy & healthy.
Internally I was dying from all the mischief.
I believe it started at the age of 12 when I lost my Mother.
With no compassion for others.
WAKE UP!
Ladies & gentlemen,
time flies,
don't let Snapchat lie to you.
You aren't getting any younger,
you could just be getting uglier.
Take it from me,
there is no freedom in social media.
Just more demons,
when we really need more of Jesus.
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 5:41 PM UTC
Nothing is more boring
than the sunset's beauty
abused in every painting
Nothing is more dying
than a river drying
under a sun of spring
Nothing is more deceiving
than a leap over the waterfall
if not on the water you fall
But land on your head instead
or on your *** on dessicated GRASS
Yet ...
You still swoon in the sunset
Float on drying rivers
Blindly trust a waterfall's onset
Addict yourself to HERBS
Then you see the sun at noon
Burning and colorless
Uglier than the moon
Blinding and emotionless
The river, straightforward
Promising and regretless
Washes your anxiety
until you swell with hypocrisy
and deceptive ambitions
You start craving to fly
You start aiming high
Surrender to sense-less decisions
Above bottomless cascades
Until you meet your doom
Far below in the shades
On grass that doesn't bloom
And so you swoon again in the sunset
Re-float on drying rivers
Blindly trust another waterfall's onset
Re-write your fate on dying herbs
You forgot to find bliss!
in warm days and cool waters
in waterfalls' grace and the flowers'
You only aim for more than this
To lift yourself from the abyss
That keeps digging deeper
with every drying river
and herbs that you will again miss
Until your wings can't fly enough
or someone embraces you with love
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 4:19 PM UTC
I imagine a therapist office
as they are lavished in on tv shows
and they're not really like that;
instead of a cozy dimly lit office
it's a white wall maze.
As my doctors
are not private ones
and they surely disclose
all about me
to the insurance company.
I can't help, but twiddle my thumbs
and wonder about the
cries for help
that linger on these paisley painted
dry walls--
snickered with inpersonal
portraits of strangers;
that probably wish
they hung in one of those
elegant, brash, and luxurious offices on tv.
Or maybe instead
the paintings longingly wish
to be dead as well--
instead of being
in this subservient storehouse
that is standing in for an therapist office.
Getting up from another stand-in
this rash beast of dull coloured dust;
calling it a chair would insinuate people
are supposed to sit there,
but I assume
it's true purpose is for the ill-ful
to find something uglier than life itself.
Leaving through another betrayal
that existence couldn't be more lame
is a doorway with the most faux of all possible doors;
it's screaming "nobody ever cut down a tree to make this".
Slipping past another door (eye role)
I come to be in the same room,
but this space is two faultering steps to the left.
And instead of dust everywhere
it's a mobbish moss melancholy
that distastefully lingers
in my personal office's air.
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 10:45 AM UTC
‘I belong to this
And you belong to that
Here is a line in the grass
That you may not pass
You stay on that side
I stay on this
Here is a laminated card
Without it life is hard
You talk in that way
I talk in this
Those similar I hold dear
But you cannot come here
I have this symbol
You have your own
Three colours on a rag
You have an uglier flag
I am one type of person
You are a different kind
Our kind cannot be mixed
For our categories are fixed.’
Nations – what a load of old ********
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 3:15 AM UTC
there is black at the end of every miracle
and the base of every rainbow where the colors drip
and mix in the sickest sort of chorus.
color and rain and atmospheric moisture,
you kneeled under a rainbow and prayed;
water in your alveoli paint in your bronchi,
you inhaled all your art
to make yourself prettier on the inside -
{but that doesn't work when everything you paint
is uglier than anything else:
broken ***** girls
and rusted knives and rotten fruit -
how can you expect to be beautiful with a rotting apple
for a heart?
you're an abandoned orchard,
falling to seed when you once fed a nation,
dry earth dead trees rotten rotten fruit
remember your glory days and cry}
you were a blackbird but time plucked all your feathers
you were a blackbird but now, oh,
with all your yellow blood,
canary in a coal mine you knew it was too late.
you were the first to be tragic.
the first to choke on coaldust -
the road to el dorado is paved in coal
and all the gold is smudged in black from the men who sought riches
but brought with them misery.
canary in a coal mine you died in el dorado,
canary in a coal mine you died in a city
of your blood.
there is black at the end of every miracle and the beginning of every tragedy
but if all goes well it'll be all
blues and reds
by the end of the story.
drowned and bled,
primary colors for your finale.
you knew these colors would be your end, blue and red blue and red
and you sought out yellow,
canary in a coal mine, ***** el dorado,
yellow hope yellow fear
primary colors like building blocks,
carbon the base of the universe
blueredyellow the base of the paintings you inhaled,
blueredyellow and carbon coal.
you were a blackbird and blueredyellow in the reflections of your wings,
oily rainbows on your back
primary colors in your lungs,
and all your gaunt thoughts envelop you you never should have tried
to be beautiful -
a tragic hero can only do so much before falling apart
a tragedy can only go so far before it becomes comedy.
you inhaled all your paintings and they live in your lungs
live and rot and cry because you never painted happiness
{it's hard to paint something that doesn't exist,
it's hard to paint something you've never known -
abandoned orchard you rot beside the highway and cry.
tell yourself happiness doesn't exist,
cause that's better than knowing
it's there
but you're just
not
worthy}
blackbird canary-blood apple-heart
do you even know who you are anymore?
all the broken ***** girls in your lungs
and the crying boys in your mind -
you never knew who you were,
fragmented as you are -
all your masks are just
sick echoes of the parts of you that wouldn't burn,
all your paintings are just sick echoes of the parts of you
scattered over el dorado.
gather yourself up,
knit yourself back together -
make your nest in a flak suit and sleep dreaming of you.
the coal burns around you and you don't stop singing
you will not be the only tragedy in this mine.
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 3:20 PM UTC
Just another typical Friday.
No money for medicine.
No money for food.
Destroyed by my own self worth.
Feeling ugly.
Disgusting.
For people I pass anywhere I feel bad they have to see me.
My boyfriend tries to make me feel better.
He's a sweetheart but I know how the world looks at me.
I'm not desired or wanted.
I'm so ugly that if I was the last woman on earth the population would die.
Those girls in magazines, on social media, and in the limelight are now the norm.
Girls who are real are being criticized for weight, style, and looks.
If a woman's self worth is now determined by looks,
I feel bad for societies future.
Just remember, the uglier you feel, someone else feels the same way.
Well....I hope so.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 2:32 AM UTC
I thank you for showing your true colors.
Dott sure I'm now that you're not true,
Am I in need for more cheating,
My happiness is in love - true love,
Not in your way of life - fake love.
Your hits I've taken to the heart,
Of hell you have shown me a glimpse,
Under your unfaithful behavior corrupted.
The person who you cheated me with,
Of course he is at bigger blame than you.
He sure is the bigger player,
Even you are such a poser,
Lame he is - you look uglier,
Living life freely you have ruined it.
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 12:55 PM UTC
I will end this.
I will end this...Now!
I will escape your
Covert manipulations.
Under the guise of
“This is for your
Own good” or
“I have the solution.
My way is best”,
You plant rancid
Seeds of cunning
Deceit, and reap
My resentment.
You think your
‘Punishments’
Will make me
Feel powerless,
Submissive,
Intimidated
And lead to my
Destruction?
How wrong
You are;
How you
Underestimated
Me.
Surprised you
Didn’t I?
I am fully grown
And i’ve survived
Other devils
Uglier and sicker
Than you.
Marriage is but
Another cage...
A gilded cage,
Covered in false
Promises
And grandiose lies,
And empty words...
Of l-o-v-e.
The fragile,
Broken shell
Of a girl I used
To be is no longer
Here.
This day,
This time,
This moment
I would take
3 steps back,
And quietly
Slither away,
Like the snake
You are.
No longer tethered
To you.
No more platinum
Chains to
Choke me
‘Cause
I no longer
Give...a...shit!
I have nothing
To lose.
I’m a danger...
To you.
So today,
My ‘friendly’ advice
To you is...
Heed my warning,
‘Cause I’ll only
Say this once...
Step the f**k
Back.
The claws are out,
The fangs are bared,
And I dare you...
Come closer...
I won’t bite
(Only rip out
Your jugular).
I promise!
(She said with
A wicked grin)
~by Mercurychyld
Copyright 24 july 14
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 11:52 AM UTC
I feel like the only person who feels so plain about my stretch marks. I dont hate them or love them they're just there. Doesnt stop me from wearing a bikini. I'm fully aware that my body is just a vessel I'm using to experience life better and it doesnt matter how I look. I love myself inside and out and stretch marks are just there. Doesnt make me any uglier. I had stretch marks on my thighs before I got pregnant, and idk why because i was always super skinny. Got stretch marks from my pregnancy. Because I carried a ******* child, ya know? What does society expect from me? I literally made life, I'm BOUND to be left with some battle scars.
If you think you are going to die of old age with a perfect body with no scars, no stretch marks, absolutely nothing gone weird or wrong along the way, you're wrong. Every mark on your body shows you've actually LIVED LIFE and didnt hide from it. Be proud of every dent, every stitch, every scar, and ****** every stretch mark. Shows you had some fun and experiences in this short time you have here on earth. Don't you dare hate yourself for THAT.
Jul 4, 2019
Jul 4, 2019 at 1:03 AM UTC
A live oak, grey suit not moving,
“He’s dead,”
The strings inside him broke.
She loved mysteries so
That she became one.
-
Tonight, darling, to right
Wrongs and wrong rights
with zero dollars and zero cents
and bat mitzvah money.
-
Orlando was pretty well lit,
A LEGO set sunk, a paper town
That’s uglier close up – dementia,
Paper-thin, paper-frail fox-trot
All the way around to slow dance
And finally, “I. Will. Miss. Hanging. Out. With. You.”
-
Highlighting “Song of Myself” opens the door of your mind,
Not poetry, not metaphor, clues the size of my thumbnail
Couldn’t help but smile half straight edges and half ripped
Paper towns, you will come back.
-
If only I walked like I knew how to kiss
Guthrie sang to Whitman as Walt read of doors
And maps of mini-malls leading
To graffiti messages and skipping graduation to drive,
“Though life can **** it always beats the alternative.”
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 6:32 PM UTC