Poetry Blogs (Self Image)
A BROKEN MIRROR
Can you Help me please. My mirror appears to be b...
Thursday 9th July 2020 10:33 am
F. reaking out
Those are the words that F.I.N.E make up
Words that lie
I say as my mind reels and races through time.
Not a day goes by that I don’t question myself.
My misconceptions and decisions.
I wish I knew how to express my thoughts
Maybe in a conclusive way,
one that was easily understood
Saturday 3rd February 2018 1:02 am
I'm pretty sure that everyone
Knew the ponytail kid.
Had a ponytail kid.
Is what I mean.
The guy that was just...scratchy, and rough, and he needed to shave more. You know that guy?
You kind of have to wonder when you meet the ponytail kid, why he's like that.
With a grey hoodie that's kind of too big, and it has spraypaint haphazardly covering it.
Friday 4th August 2017 5:49 pm
Defies any logic of control.
Mind-channel's pelt through anxious nonsense.
Peace a distant thought,
Foreign land. And there is no place to hide.
No breakwater, behind which
find lulling calm.
This torrent is totality,
whose subject matter
majors upon all those memories,
Sunday 14th May 2017 6:42 pm
(spoken wordy angsty teenagery type poem; a work in progress)
I just need a friend
someone to turn to,
but what's the point in a friend if that friend isn't you?
Yiu see, i've got my demons
but you've got yours too.
You've got problems with the scale and you hair smells stale from all the cigarettes you smoke to curb the cravings
anf your stomach growls, begs, pleads.
But no amount of ...
Friday 16th December 2016 7:53 pm
Learning to love yourself is gruelling. Every flaw, every mistake, every quirk. Only us ourselves know how characteristically flawed we truly are. So we hide. Hide behind make up, clothes and materials.
Social media enables us to create an ideology of the person we think we are, the person we want to be. But in the midst of the night we lie awake contemplating ourselves. Questioning our choices...
Tuesday 1st November 2016 3:17 pm
Silence is my greatest virtue
It's very rare that these lips ever make a move
My voice is heard through my poetry.
An awkward introvert
Living alone in my fantasy world
Hiding from the real world.
When I look at old photographs
I think of things I tried to become
And how I failed at each one of them.
In this rusty mirror
I see my true self
And I hate...
Sunday 10th July 2016 5:44 pm
I paint myself inspired, intense,
dismayed but remain just a fat old man
who can’t get laid
such a contrary slut
bathing myself in the corporate filth
served in styrofoam cups
the master of diversion
the circus is in town
maybe now is my chance
to pull up and over and run away
with a tired old sawdust queen
sold as seen
amidst this arrid contemplation
Saturday 28th December 2013 8:42 pm
There's more to me
Some see the
some think I'm odd.
I'm a dork.
stuffed in a
sealed with a cork.
There's more to me
Wednesday 22nd February 2012 4:38 pm
‘Beauty’s only skin deep,’ they say
words they somehow think will help
fall like acid drops to litmus mind
absorbed, stored, burnt to memory
Acute acne leaves its red and pitted trail
and mirrors tell no lies
I reflect upon a ruined face
each blemish magnified.
For many years
I shun the light
that sheds its brig...
Tuesday 18th October 2011 2:48 pm