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I look in the mirror and see nothing What I mean by nothing I mean everything, but happiness I see scars on my wrists, hips, and thighs I see my full rib cage and the numbers dropping down on the scale
Why are you looking at me like that? What? I’m not effortlessly, flawlessly, eloquent enough? Or maybe relevant enough? Like Kendrick, Post, Gucci, Cardi B? Yeah, you’re right ‘cause honestly
Who would know the short girl with the wavy blonde hair that reaches her waist, the grey eyes that sometimes turn blue or green, and the naturally straight teeth would hate herself?
He drives his Lincoln fast down those dirt roads. Too fast sometimes. He isn’t suicidal, or maybe he is. He wouldn’t mind if the car flipped, it was exhilarating, to say the least.
(How Rumpelstiltskin came to be, and then, how he came not to be) Not too long ago, and not so far away a boy sat alone watching other kids play. He went to great ends
When I look in the mirror, what do I see? Is that my own face staring back at me? Those are my eyes, I assume. But from where do they come within my heirloom?
The mirror never lies,That’s down to my mind and the ear of my eyes,The scales tell me one thing, the measure another,Am I bigger than dad, or my friends, and my brother? You’re no true friend,More acquaintance of ego,When I’m up Yelling “Yes!”The
You see a forest they look at you the same Everyone... All they see is trees I do not see trees For I am blinded by the leaves of them I appreciate being blinded
“I am beautiful, I am unique, I am free and down to earth, I am unambiguously me. My filters are gone and I stand bare. My guard is down and I am vulnerable.
Sometimes it feels like it’s not enough to be just me
Every pore I find god in I learn to see myself clearer
I am the one who named all the flowers
She is a natural beauty But she only sees the beauty in her smile Her dark eyes shine in the sun Her skin is rough her hair long A voice with a high pitch tone
You think you know me You believe I’m like you Well you couldn’t be more wrong About the subtext of my psychology
I walk the halls, invisible. I call my friends; no one is home. I ask my mom, "I'm busy, dear." Is there ever anybody really there? I look at my reflection, not liking what I see...
My bones are fine china, delicate and breakable. But my will is a diamond, passionate and brilliant. My skin is worn, scarred and used. But my body is a flower, bright and alive.
If you asked me to name your beauty, I would say you are a sky.
Here. Impress me. Take your appearance and character And put it under a stress sheet It's light enough to ignore But it keeps away the best heat It puts up an impenetrable wall
I am made of sticks and stones. I rebuilt myself from those I found Strewn about the kitchen floor, Remnants of your drunken tirades. My bones felt hollow When I learned that yours
Beauty has made her choice. She chose the Beast. Beauty is intelligent. She chose her books. Beauty is kind. She chose happiness. Beauty is fearless.
I wonder what I can give, as far as wisdom goes, for I am somewhat young and have many years to live. The cool Autumn wind blows
I wish to swim far out and never see land again Penetrate the greatest depths of the world Find the mermaids who hide in my dreams And become the girl I always wanted to be
Post-camera angling, perfecting our facial expressions, we hold our breath as we click the button that supposedly captures the real you-- However in today’s society, seizes the artificial.
My hair is thinning My skin is almost pale My life is nothing like a fairytale I am of the average height Contacts help me see what's in sight I look for depth in everyone
I used to look in a mirror and see nothing more than a pale, meaningless skeleton Encompassed by pasty, white flesh with scars that seemed to never fade away no matter how much they healed,
I can see you But all you see is yourself This one sided mirror has a power Power is something that can be given Something that you have given Something that I have given To you
Take a look around, tell me what you see -
whether Your vei
Eyes despised glass for one and four hours Silent and soured by it's manipulative power By it's truth It weaves delicate knots through the mind threads thicken And lock
I am not flawless. I have flaws. But I try to live my life lawless, break down my walls.
My dear I ask what is wrong with me? Why is that they laugh? I've stripped myself, I've made it clear, I've taken on their path Still they mock, still they cluck Like I am such a fool
I am a flower. I am beautiful an strong but when I was a seed, I never thought I would've grown to be as tall or smell as sweet as the other flowers.
don't tell Me how to act or who to be, how to act or what to see. I don't need anybody to control Me. instead I'll just be Me. shy and fierce, wild and refined. quiet, crazy, loving.
3 years ago I came back home, unable to function on my own.
I will like meEven though for yearsBut for what felt more likeA millenniumI thought I was a mistake
Fancy clothes, all the boys, all the shoes. Yes Girl. That sounds like the dream, everything you need materialistic things. You're so heartless it stings. Yes Girl
Her eyes Grass and leaves and earth Lily pads and ice and sea Her hair Light and sand and gold Sun and glimmer and fire Her smile Small and fragile and soft
Once upon a time, Alice looked through the looking glass. A casual glance,
Right here, right now, she sees what she wants Eyes, a nose, and a mouth The paint along her cheeks The black surrounding her eyes. It's a mask. Disguising the doubt and hate.
Happiness As easy for me to spread as cooties Smiling is my super power With a laugh that can save a life Why shouldn't I fly up,up, and away? I will protect the world with the best of me
Self image. I see myself differently. I'm not pretty. Everyone. They constantly disagree. Say I'm wrong
I am not perfect, for I am human,I envy, I hate, I love, and I fear,What worth can be seen in my living years?
I want you to see the part of me that glass so often hides. Scrolling down your Instagram feed, you would barely even recognize me. I want you to see the part of me that is hidden by makeup
My skin is brown and the iris of my eyes are darker. My hair is kinky and nappy but overall I am happy. I could wear a weave, colored contacts, and skin bleach, but that is not the outer me.
I hope... Because I care... Because I love my friends... Family... Neighbors... The powerful message... Jesus taught me To love your neighbor as yourself If it wasn't for that
We all have dreams to strive for a goal to reach to reach for we just have to wait for the right moment to get success like the Romans
Happy as a clam
Hairy Armpits “Just wax, or shave, or pluck that hair.” Don’t you see I really don’t care? “Oh my god that’s so gross, ew!” They don’t bother me, why does it bother you?
Being beautiful is not as i appear to be
What is behind it? The void The abyss The unknown Behind it is whatever it pleased to be
My façade is a lack of brainpower; no matter, just chatter. Spinning hair, nothing upstairs, flighty, sweet, a vapid mystery, a cherub to cherish, a frilly, simple girl,
I wish You all could see The small girl behind the facade. Behind the facade That does nothing but show off And try to prove to everyone that she is a woman. When really
There is beauty in the folds of my skin and the crease in my brow Underneath my matt of hair and freckles There is power behind my quiet voice and my timid thoughts Seeing past my unsureness and doubt
She moves with grace, a willow whisp made with steel of natures breath bird songs whistle past her lips fingers climb like vines- endless The worlds greatest contradiction Beauty live in mind, in voice
The mirror cracks with broken glass unable to hold the lies that are told everything plastic thought as attractive the soulless has worth we're told to convert what is to live
As children we are deceived by society’s definition of beauty. Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder and is in no way perfect.
You told me You told me the blacker the berry the sweeter the juice. But now I realize that not everybody has the same taste. So your eyes partake of my identity and you spit me out of your mouth and exclaim
It was a dark and dour place, A kind of checkerboard laced with millions of gray shades, As if to prove there is no such thing as black and white, At some point all the squares blurred into one,
As lifes cards unfold And the world is yours to hold Remember, above all stay Gold. When all around is black and the weight of the world is on your back when your life begins to form that mold
I know this girl named Ana, And it's scary what she does.
In the world we live in today there is a want to be wanted, a need to be needed. Society and its views conquer. Magazines are its image and tv is its voice.
Herself in disguise why doesn't she like what she sees? Because i think she is beautiful, talented, and amazing yes indeed. I guess it doesn't matter what i think...
Behind the Curtain of Staged-Perfection by Janae
The world is filled with bitches. Women got beauty confused with skin hanging out their britches. Hoes, tricks, and sluts. No longer judged by the expression on one's face but what looks good on their butt.
When will my body ever be good enough?
I used to believe that everything about life was wonderous
Powerful Women Part I People are afraid of powerful women…I think. My mama once told me “beware of sparks.” Because sparks are usually the beginning of something bigger Of a fire
Mirror, Mirror on the wall When will I feel beautiful? I feel as though I have no call, Tell me is it worth it all, Mirror, Mirror on the wall? Mirror, Mirror made of glass
He is very mad.
You look people in their eyes and can easily see into the depths of their soul, but never have you been able to shake hands with Your own
The weight at which I stand cracks my limbs; It crushes; It penetrates; It reverberates through. It cannot be seen, it cannot be heard, it cannot be known,
I injected my soul with meaningless concepts of beauty and love that I borrowed from mainstream media and magazine covers. Am I pretty yet?
I am not a poet, but I write to be heard. I write. I write with knowledge. I write with power. I write with conviction. I write to be free. I write to lose myself and time and the world.
Braids, beads, medallions and box braids, she styling with weed strained leaves and I'm sniffing her powderness. With a whiff in, I'm left powerless to her weed strained weaves but she’s beautiful with and without them.
You ask so much of me. To explain who I am... It's close to impossible. There's not just one thing that says "This is me." Many things define The one being I am.
She talks to me, She tells me things she wouldn't tell others. Like how one day she will break free
I live within broken mirrors— Fragmenting my mind.
Take a good look at me, Go on, tell me what you see. Do you see beauty, rich and deep,
As women we conseal our fears behind faces painted up so pretty. when will the true beauty show ?
To be happy, society screams at us with images of perfection. What you wear, how thin you can be. Who you are never mattered.
I was told that without the mane I carriedI wasn’t a lion anymoreJust a sheep.
They would tell me that I wasn't like them.
In sixth grade, they taught me how to hate my body I stood in a mirror and pinched at my stomach, called myself fat I couldn't have weighed more than 90 pounds to this day, I will not wear a bikini.
Do we forget, simply who we are? When the stage is empty, the spotlight soothes, the audience cheers, and the limits don't exist. We all wonder, what goes on in the head
the thing I would change is my very own image why, you may ask is because others make me feel like garbage but it's not just me if you look around, it's others too you see the thing about today
People day by day tell me how blessed I am and how I don't see it
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it is saying somethingwhen i feel worthlesssimply becausei have never beenkissed and havenever been adoredby a boy because thatis all I was made forright?
Why is it that today we teach our children patience by complaining that our computers don't work as fast as 100 miles a minute? We tell our daughters the only way she's accepted
I've based my whole life off of what other people think I can't wear this because he might think this I can't say this because they're going to judge me I'm sick of conforming
You're not sexy.You
Sometimes i pretend to be someone famousi wake up like them and dress like them,i slip into their skin and it’s okay.
Lines in perfect symmetry,Depicting the image I tell you is me.A sweet, warm smile and hopefilled eyes,You'd never guess that this masterpiece liesThe passionate strokes and the colors I used -
The ironic title of a Trichotillomaniac is one not filled with pride, More like anxiety Which is the quite ironic part considering the fact that That is all that the disorder is
Nowadays I smile at my reflection
My mind summarizes my life. It was created only for me. It recognizes what I'm made of, my potential, and will for eternity.
when i am okay sunny days won't be an excuse but a reason when i am okay my life won't be a constant debate of good or bad when i am okay my decisions
i am loved by little i am wanted by all why do you want to belittle? watch me crumble and fall see these beautiful tears for she is the creator crying over my fears which haunt now or later
Look into my eyes. I want you to see, sweet angel, That it's okay, Not to be okay. I know you are sad, broken. I am too. I want you to smile, Because you are perfect.
They Never See Me for ME. The only thing that they see is a sheltered girl, Living a sheltered life. They judge me on my parent’s parenting styles
Around here, we love ourselves first. We cover our faces. We talk about tomorrow like it belongs to us. Around here, we ask what we should like.
Doctor! Tell me how to make others love me! Said the Doctor, Take this pill twice a day and stop eating fats Others will come to love you when your body has changed,
When I look at you, I wonder how you knew Knew that my soul would need saving That my heart was eternally breaking You found me dying on the floor Because back then I was nothing more than a dirty little whore
But don’t take too many pictures Heard they could steal your soul I was told that they could eat you up whole Or worst puncture a hole in that sweet little heart Remember the times I used to call you sweetheart?
Narcissistic Ned is driving; no surprise there. It's all about him. The others? Who cares? Contemplative Craig lays sprawled out behind.
Dark beauty that hides behind her eyes, no one knows the secrets she holds. The hint of a real smile on her face but everything else is fake. She doesn’t want to feel like she has to try to be confident.
The air is really hard to breathe The oxygen is choking me The people are carrying me They have unknown identities Strange how people never see The big picture of reality? All they see is never seen
Everything and everyone move forward farther away from me who is stationary never changing never moving forward if i could go forward everything would change for better or worse
In my eyes I am a burden I am arrogant I am argumentative I am over-emotional I am not living up to their expectations I am imperfect In my eyes
All the excitement killed when you walk through the door It was built to be such a great time in my life Eating lunch wherever Feels like your whole time in high school was supposed to be spent in the halls
Lost in a world tryin' play pretend Tryin' to prove myself to my best friend. Wantin' to be somebody, but there's this girl inside of me fightin' insecurity Everyone says this girl is beautiful,
Dear girls of the world who don't believe the compliments, are tired of the insults, and never feel good enough, let me tell you something - because I know -
We all see you there, Your pretty face deceiving. It’s only the outside that matters, right? Only the outside that people truly care about.
It begins when The innocence of white Flirts with a tease of pink. A white dove Grows strawberry lips. And soon comes the thirst. The passion. A rosy cheek And burning tongue
When nothing could be seen darkness and pain was all that could be felt I turned my face to the sun and behind me the shadows fell the right path is not always etched in stone
Im not up to your standards so tell me how to be more black My looks are substandard so show me how be more beautiful I didnt get a perfect score on ACT like my best friend so tell me again how I'm stupid I am
Once again I'm stuck in time Frozen in thoughts Crossing every and all spectrums I call it...being in my feelings In efforts to continue my lie And with a sigh the cycle restarts until
This poem is a dedication to my son Deshon Johnson who was mowed down by a Coach USA bus driver operating NJ Transit public transportation bus.
A simple color that is red, Can stand for many things, It can be the color of a dress, It can be your little brother’s hair. It can be your favorite lipstick that you always wear,
The child looked at his mother and asked: Mommy who’s that woman That looks so strong, but Cries every night in her room alone?
Pale, soft, light gentle flowing a stream of plush, an undeniable fuss trickling down drops transparent sweet bliss intertwining down the path roads with spoons rather