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Don't fight me cause I'm noone.I'm the face u see when u look n the mirror.I'm the light that shines to the darkness but yet im noone.I'm something to someone but noone to myself.I'm
I am a raging fire, Flames spit and hiss They are destructive, They are passionate, They are Me. I am a tranquil ocean,
Timid is new to me, You bring your presence near and I tremble from nervousness. I am strong and outspoken yet I blush when you come close. Who are you? Tell me where you are. You are everywhere and I am not
I know this self(i.e me)
I am like a volcano, so quiet and reserved.
what do you see when you look at me our perspectives are completely divergent because you see a girl
With no filter, I am me. Me is I, and I is she. She is me, and I love me. Me is amazing at listening to others. She loves to borrow clothes that are my mother’s.
I've always hated the saying it will be okay because it almost never is.... i tell people that im okay im fine its all in my mind but the truth is thats all just an act....
I am Victoria Brooke Pickel
We are who we are. We are not the likes we get on insstagram. We cannot measure our beauty by the retweets our pictures get on twitter. We are stong and beautiful.
My hair is matted, as if swept by a tornado in the night, My sleepy eyes squint through the bright morning sun,
I'm measured by how much I check a screen
A veil has been cast over my face,
This is a picture taken by me, It is a picture of me, But I do not like what I see. My face is too round My complexion is too shiny My acne is showing My nose bridge is flat
I want to be seen.
Brain-submerged, I travel on my toes until I'm drowned in wanderlust, until the river tied a noose around my life, putting it on pause, shorting out the wires that prevent me
We walk around pretending we're fine. No one ever seems to want to find the time To walk the fine line Between knowing someone through a hashtag or a username And showing them actual compassion.
What will it take for you to see The side of me I want to be? Must I walk and talk and dress Just like all the rest? Can I show you who I am? Who I'm meant to be? Is this all a scam
In the lonely hour I cry, I laugh, and I fake a smile. In the lonely hour I run from my fears like a fool making people laugh in which I'm the fool myself.
Strip me of my mocha colored skin and my velvet coursed curly hair, and tell me darling...what do you see?
Strip me of my signatures and you will be left with the essence of my existence.Disregard the opinionated buttons on my backpack,
Esto es mi rostro, body creaking, my wrist twisting, twisting, twisting, twisting... corporeal Sera este mi rostro? is it the face in reflection shown, reversed, turned over,
No filter needed, no filter wanted. My body, my face, and my beauty shine effortlessly without effort, to cover up what I should be shining out. Outside I don´t conform, I accept and neglect
Looking in the mirror Finding ways to change My hair? My make-up?
I have no use for filters I could not care less about them If you need one to see yourself Then who are you without them? Cary Grant did not need one He looked sharp in any tone
Webster’s’ Illustrated Dictionary. Published 1954. 470,000 words. Page 98. In between the word caitiff, a coward, and cajole, to persuade with flattery,
Behind the soft focus and midnight lamps, I stand an individual ripe of expression and newborn neon. A flourescent buzzkill in my own devices. Passion is never an option, only a cursed persistence of never gone yet sometimes frozen feeling.
She is me I am her How much more simple could it be? Dyed brown hair
My captions do not tell my story
You will never see me perform my poetry On America’s Got Talent. Ellen DeGeneres won’t Read this poem and invite me to Los Angeles, California to be
You can only frame me in a moment,A picutre that leads lies to the future.The time for false perfection came and went,A smiling skull without stable sutures.
I am one whom is full of quirks, Within myself, weirdness lurks. To others, I may seem strange, But to myself, I seem perfectly arranged.
how do you desceice to someone something they have never felt? the tortures existens that god hath delt me each day i promise myself that i will make it threw the day one step at a time.
Look. Look closer. Do you see what is here? It is a man. An imperfect man.
I am a woman! #nofilterslam I am a strong independent woman who can handle her own. Who is driven to achieve her career goals when grown. Who is dedicated to a basketball team to stay in tone.
There’s a smile on my face and an air of confidence about me But that’s not me. The real me, well I keep her hidden You must dig deep Beneath the smile that’s painted on my face
"iIlluminating light and positivity; reflecting what is wished to be seen,
I am a girl. But not a girl, I am a canvas. I am a blank piece of paper, ready to be made into a masterpiece. Make me into something pure, something raw,
It is not
A poem written for people who are tired of being labeled.
The picture must be perfect; my facial expression, my hair, everything. Either full smile or silly face, there can be no in between.
She trains herself to smile that perfect little smile, Who is she without 1977? She's a sad, sad girl with a growing pain inside, The filters hide her imperfections,
I could never grasp the concept of sugar-coating,
A simple t-shirt, jeans, and a pair of shoes Staring out the windows, eyes ignited with fuse Another day where the Earth is spinning She wonders if there’s a day she’ll stop yearning
Once upon a time there was a princess who was locked in a tower longing to be rescued Except I’m too fucked up to be a princess And when princesses cry it looks pretty and delicate and When I do my eyes swell
I seek to control my outward depiction. I construct a mask, but it’s only fiction. My life’s a cocoon that I have designed, but the truth is, I am undefined.
A boy lost in fantasy, That is I. What is reality,but an inverted thought to a melancholy view. The universe is calling, for adventure and mayhem-so no more stalling. But that is not all,
I am not #NoFilter I'm #NoFilter #Vignette #Black&White I'm #Warm #Cool #Vintage I'm #Cinematic #Happy #Gritty
Stop! Think for a moment.
Words lose their meaning throughlies and deception.They begin as mere plain text with a definition to follow,but soon are tossed around in a batter ofgenerously margined synonyms and false connotations.
Things that those will never know By: Skylar Kodish Happiness is just one thing to think, Some believe in him, and others don't. He can be friendly, He can be mannered,
“Hey Guys! Take my picture!
Take away the make-up,
Size 0, 5’11”, big-eyed, long-necked, high-cheek-boned models parading around. Advertisements making beauty seem within reach as long as I
"Come along!" Said the Man.Though to where,
The sunlight beams down on my bruised arm Bruises heal in the sunlight
God if I, given fifty-two dollars to spend and the promise of a future, God if I, given everything and yet nothing, God if I, if I had walked across the border of blood and into nothing—
Hello? My heart screams. I'm here, behind this mask.
My voice Is something which my ears fail to define When it kisses the air, it splinters Into exactly 2 billion and 3 question marks Hooking round my pores and Peppering my flesh with pock-marks of stray
Dream Big and Dream Small Dont let the Failures Fall Step High and Step Low Choose the Right Path to go Succeed Now and Succeed Later Succeed when you Make Friends with Haters Live Now and Live Then
I am the most spontaneous and systematic person ever to exist. No part of me resembles the other. I am truly seven different people living within the same being.
Without a filter You would see haunted eyes from Memories of her childhood Without a filter You would see the fake smile Starting to crack around the edges Without a filter
One look at me and what do you see? A high school senior just skating by? The captain of the cheer squad with her pony tail up high? Do you see the supportive sister of two young soccer players?
2 gallons of parkour 1 liter of break dacning 3 pints of school work 1 cup of not giving a shit 2 cups of actually giving a shit 2 bowls of gender issues 3 spoonfuls of self harm
It's truly a strange thing, when we're told not to listen to beauty standards, to live comfortably as we are, to "be yourself", and then are thrown a fistful of
Incredible. An unsung paradox Wiggling its way into life as we know it
Facebook, Instagram, Twitter. That's society That's life Where are we now? Make up Filters Editing Is this beauty? Chocolates Roses Are they cliche?
There are an endless number of boxes that I do not fit in, No matter how much force I apply or how boundlessly I try. And now my search for one single box must end. My dreams are the only thing I cannot deny,
Beaming Yellow Layers of makeup coat my anxious cheeks, Tutus glimmer under the incandescence. An eerie silence follows applause, Then darkness pours into the wings. I am forced to face my fate.
When I dream of purity, my mind resonates on the sweet scent of honey. Honey, in her most natural state, her golden richness, pure, viscous element carefully and thoughtfully made
I believe in myself Now more than ever Even before, when I thought I was better I believe in myself Because now I can see All of the things That we all can be
It took eighteen years to realize I didn't need anyone's approval That my appearance had nothing to do with my personality That I didn't need to edit my photos because I am perfectly fine with the way I've grown
Home I lived in the middle of a dead end block with two enormous random pine trees planted in my lawn Gi... Gillani. Homes? For sale. My house!
I'm just a girl,
It creeps up on her like a sly fox Slowly, it caresses her skin She ponders; wonders in incredulous delight Hopelessly, she lies awake, basking in the gloriousness of her newfound happiness Will it last?
*snap* An image is taken
Broken and beaten, no one can see Battered and abused, no one can tell. I smile, but I wage war, My mask is flawless And the war is going. My mind is free while my body may be shackled.
18 Feb 2014 I sit here in class, thinking about your past, my past. Relationships are difficult and so are my thoughts. Too much for you? I questions your questions
Every day I accent the same flawless imperfections of my own personal style A ten-dollar ring from a gift shop in Gulf Shores A black leather, metal studded bracelet from the same shop
Interesting how there's no f*cking filters this time.
I am who I am no excuses. My outer cannot my inner make. Take away my sprinkles Colorful and cute in design I am still a cupcake Sweet and rich and divine and wholesome to my core
You see The Empress Queen Regal Ruler Perfectly poised Demure damsel Don't move a muscle Don't even blink Kashak!
I am not a book meant to be read or researched Searching is meant for those who are looking To be liked for something I'm not is not being liked at all
I feel unnoticed The girl who stares at her feet while she walks the halls The one trying to get through another day just like you I know all of your names but do you know mine? why would you need to anyway?
What's a filter? a filter is something that enhances your beauty on the outside A filter is nothing but different effects to make one feel even better about how they look
Can I even recognize myself in full color? The black and white and different hues are gone, and its like no other. There is a girl sitting in this picture. No make-up, no fashion tops, and not a speck of glitter.
I see a strong person. I see a self confident person. I see a smart person . But what you see Isnt always what really is I am not strong . People look at me with envy becuse of my grades ,
#labelme #figureme #guess Who am I? Title me Give me your dish Tell me who I am Tell me who you see Covered book Hidden book Story full of pix #white #female
Hidden behind a mask that doesn't hide only alters. But if it's not true,
Old Soul Who I am exactly is perplexing to say,
Filters gone, now you see my true beauty, its not on the outside, but within. Within I am clean, I am whole, I am not artificial. Without filters, I am me.
Contained in body, Thoughts journey unchecked, untold, Where stories unfold.
I am a prodigal son Though my chromosomes read double X's Despite what my sex is, I am still prodigal Not in the sense of wasting dollar bills on gambling teams Or quarters on slot machines
When time dawned first for me A cry tore from blameless lips Unbeknownst to I, naïve That nothing pure remains Indeed, the world blew through my lungs Such earthly wisdom I inhaled
Raped by the words of my brothers and sisters. Their eyes watch as I fall. But I will be the one laughing, As I rise higher than they ever could. Constantly worrying about others’ needs. What about me?
I am creative and laidback I wonder about the bundle of variations called the multiverse I hear the cackles of the last Shifkin before it engulfs its prey in one glup
What does it mean to be myself? Who am I?
I am so terribly, deathly, afraid, of what when unfiltered my mouth should say. Do I speak such terrible truths… of honest opinions of wistful youths? Or do I lay upon such speech
Without filter, I am free without camera, I am me I am everything that is exactly who I'd like to be Without selfie, I am self A wonder in and of itself
The parched paper promotesthe pen's tip to seek
I am flawless. I am not the flawless found in Vogue magazine.
Without black eyeliner and pink lipstick,
Which filter? That is the question I ask myself for every photo Knowing that everytime I alter my appearance for others My self-esteem gets lower
#NoFilterNo makeup, no hairsprayNo nice clothes #NoFilterNo photoshop, no lightingNo perfect angles #NoFilterNo smiling with just my lipsTo hide my yellow teeth
I am not the popular girl. I am not the cheerleader with pom poms. I am not the burnout.
I always said… The only way people could really see through me is if I was shot 50 times in the chest Through those bullet holes you could see police lights and my mom screaming she’s dead
We're held back and stopped by the reds but go forth when we're beckoned by the green.What have we become? Where caution tape decides where we can and cannot
Underneath the filters Underneath the makeup I am not who I appear to be The girl people see I am not always smiling My hair not always perfect
We have all been told do things before you are old. We sit here and laugh in their faces and continue to walk at leisurly paces. We go through elementary, middle, and high school.
There are things that people judge you on. My conclusion is that their opinions are wrong. All the bully's out there, no longer bring me despair. In fact, I found they judge because they've never been shown whats fair.
Whether I am alone Or I am a mere face in the crowd I show the spirit with which I was endowed For a lack thereof I would condone. When I speak, I seek to be more than skin and bone
So you wear the newest fashion, the camera flashes, but there is no passion. The color of your lips and eyes are rouse; does anyone even know the real you?
When I am my own self Not trapped within the drenched streets Or tangled in the ruins of the bed, just slept or not slept in, When my thoughts don't pound against the inside of my chest
You see this walk? It is the walk of defeated man Of a man who is living Only for the hope, that one day It will be worth it And that one day It will get better And for a girl
I don’t wear makeup, it’s true. I won’t cover my face with goo. It feels weird, and is such a task, but all the same, I wear a mask. What I hide behind it is not my face.
I'm like the girl from Frozen only I don't like the cold My whole body feels like it is going to explode I hide my shame with gloves and shaky reassurance Because all I seem to have left is endurance
Who am I you ask who am I I am just like every teenager around us A teen with high and low goals A teen struggling with the harsh reality of growing up A teen trying to succed
Behind these fake lights, true brightness shines. No faded colors. Or accented lines. I am not really that tan. And my hair? Not that fine. So what would make me choose this fake light?
In the wind there’s a whisper, It speaks the truth but I choose not listen For it is not what I want to hear It bares the words that I have been running from my whole life The fear clutches in my throat
look at me, look at me and tell me, what do you see? Short hair and a wide smile. Glowing skin and big brown eyes. I am me. I am my father’s short temper and my mother’s contention
What does it mean to be me? In this world where it seems so hard to be free? Free of the media, and expectations held,
Eloquent prose is a filter of mine, Making me look like the sun always shines Behind me, slightly to the right, with my hair always flowing perfectly just right. I am not who I seem.
Some people are works of art. Lines that crawl out from fingertips,
I’m the terrified freshman girl in a dreamlike state
Watching the world break Wondering when it will end Things keep getting worse
Filters are just lies we tell ourselves to fit in with the rest of the world. Filters don’t make us happy they hide our true selves. Filters hide who we really are
here i am writing
I see music notes in my hair when I take off my filter
I don't hide with makeup Social media? Nope Don't say YOLO or 'sup Give it up, there's no hope Silence is my filter No expression, no voice
One thousand questions. And maybe one answer. Each day is a new adventure. Curiosity killed the cat, but fuels me. Each task I do is designed to see If I can answer one of my questions.
#nofilterslam Youngest of seven, thought I was painted. I am the only one of my siblings with brown colored skin, making me quite literally the black sheep-- am I tainted?
I come from the southern heat filled with country accents From a mom who worked hard now her back's bent I've had an uncensored mind since adolescence Seen the truth as a child I was learning lessons
Round cheeks Red from continuously smiling The first thing you notice Seen without even trying Green eyes Glasses that show my world reflected Supposed to be this window
I have been born.
The real me is not as perfect As I make it out to be. The real me wears glasses Because my sight is far from good. The real me has wavy hair That is no where straight. The real me has freckles
They said that recovery was an uphill battle - I have never before trecked up a twisted slope for so long. I figured my frustration and fear - of weight, of fat, of feeling bad -
We all pretend to be perfect What's so great about perfect? If perfect is one image Then it's like normal; plain. I am not 2-dimensional There are sides to me you'll never know But they are part of me
I am enslaved, enslaved to this feeling. how could I see the light, of something great. Always I think about it, that horrible year. Those kids made it bad,
You are like a typhoon
I seem to kind of struggle with a thing called anxiety.
When you look into a mirror who do you see? Whe you snap a picture do you use filters? When I look in a mirror I see me I see a girl who is afraid of being alone A girl who wants everyone to get along
I've tried so hard to be someone I'm not. Someone so different that I nearly forgot. The real me.
Corrosive stares deteriorate the fragile filter my fears create. This pseudo sense of normality, is a dam for my creative profligacy. Beneath this exoskeleton of perfection
It took me 17 years to wear clothes that I liked. It took me 17 years to say yes when someone offered to do something. It took me 17 years to participate in class. It took me 17 years and I still fight everyday.
Wanting. Wanting what I can't see, what I can't hear, what I can't touch,
Eyeliner, lipstick, foundation everywhere, Nowadays it’s a necessity because I want to compare. My bare skin, my naked face, Just doesn’t seem perfect unless a filter is in place.
Social Media has become our bridge to all else surrounding us,
The world plays tricks on ours eyes, Flaws are hidden with great disguise Through filters, through lies Oh but I, Hide behind this common wall at times. The make-up that hides every pimple,
Yes I have imperfections And not the sweetest complexion Yet I try to look at those and say “I have been given blessings”
Break away from everything. Are you aware of whom you are? Remember when you were little and you knew Exactly what you wanted in life?
I prefer natural beauty over the help of filters any day but:This is how my life looks without a filter to make it brighter.
When I smile, my sunlight-struck, amber sap eyes crinkle into crescent moons, adding to my nickname of "goody two shoes." When I raised my hand in class to admit I had done standards in elementary, they gasped.
Fashion is only skin deep. It only keeps you warm and comfortable and confident When it’s in season, Only moisturizes your insecurities like Vaseline If you fit-in