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This diary entry is written by ‹✖[[AntisocialButterfly]]✖›. ( View all entries )
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Seeing My Own Face Is Hell.Category: poemsss
Friday, 25 November 2011
06:28:52 AM (GMT)
(It would be an insult to poets everywhere to call this poetry, so I'm saying it's
simply a stream of words that hold dangerous, toxic amounts of emotion and have
little value to myself and likewise anyone else.)

Split-ends, and salty 
tear-stained cheeks 
drooping eyelashes
dripping tears
that burn right through her,
acid rain. 
She scrubs her face,
trying to clean the big brown pores,
that are like craters on some shadowed planet,
far from where humans' ideas and laws of hope apply. 
She scrubs until her face is bleeding and still
it isn't clean enough. 
It's never clean enough. 
There are zits in random places,
tiny pink volcanoes spewing something white
among the craters. 
Her stomach clenches, 
she is going to throw up. 
Has a more disgusting face 
ever existed? 
Every mirror 
is a prison, 
every reflection 
a hell. 
She is unclean,
she is ugly, 
she is nothing. 
Every tiny hair,
every acne mark,
every blotch or blemish,
every imperfection
is a reason 
she should not 
be alive. 
In the dim lighting
she has to get close to
the glass
to see her face in detail,
to pick it apart and tear
herself to shreds, as it remains
her duty to do every night, 
in this lightless existence. 
Lightless is the word she uses
to describe her eyes. 
They do not sparkle and 
they look sick, dead. 
The shape and size
of her eyes and
the angle of her
nose, nothing is right. 
Nothing is right. 
It's all wrong. 
Why can't I be pretty?

Everyone says it doesn't matter,
Why are you so concerned with how you look?
She must be full of herself to spend all that time looking in the mirror.
But have you seen her as she looks at herself?
It isn't hate that fills her eyes, not exactly hate.
But something of the same origin, something else
from hell. 
She's heard people say she's not ugly.
Every now and then, a word like "beautiful".
But then, the mirror shows something quite different. 
Why can't I be pretty? 

Empty words,
all of it. 
Why can't I be pretty?
Last edited: 25 November 2011

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