face
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I remember swiping on your profile
Your eyes like stormy skies
I remember your smile
The way it tilted slightly to the right
And the way I couldn’t stop staring at you
But it almost feels illegal
i'm afraid.
it's a feeling i can't escape from — nothing i can turn a blind eye to, skip over, forget.
The face of racism
Uses words to kill all that is good on earth, without glancing back at the damage
It has the ability to claim countless lives in mere seconds, then continue on
I claim witness growing up,
down a path left behind a mirage
of some passing distance.
I see now the blurr faces.
A mask in craves something once wanted, more in need.
rough patches on skin, bumps around eyes, discoloration
they look like little countries
little cities live in my little countries,
with little buildings and little homes
To smile well depressed is such a strange feelinglook to for help yet your external emotions are concealingalone once again
The face I see in the glass won't smile back at me, and I can't help but wonder why.
I guess she isn't who she wants to be, and it always makes her cry.
The water rushes down her cheek like a flood, salty and as thick as blood.
I look out of plane view
At a mountain range anew
They are so beautiful
That words are to dull
To describe the pull
That they have on my soul
Exposing my face on Facebook,
or tweeting my teeth on twitter.
That is not who I am really.
Did you know an Elephant never forgets a face
Once the creature catches a glimpse it can never forget
and your face is one that I can never forget.
Oil perculates from the deep yellow skin,
a false smile perfereates deep from within,
the heart feels like this could be a sin,
waiting for the alarm to go off so I could begin.
Hey I do not do this often but your beautiful and was hard to pass up, The dimples in her cheeks filled like waves of emotion
I think I am beautiful,
In a different sort of way.
I always keep them laughing,
And they just want me to stay.
My face is something of my own,
One alike you'll never see.
A white porcelain doll,
Is never hidden in fear,
She is never covered in regret,
But she has something I love,
The power: To forget...
No mind to consume her time,
No passion to lust for,
I dicern the uncomforting sensation to excavate the catacombs of my physiognomy.
I exhibit my excavational tool, and begin to bore within the caves of my profile.
The sensation is overwhelming, almost as if
What would you consider calm?
Maybe a tropical palm
Or a vibrant butterfly on an infant’s
Sprouting hair
Yet even a single tulip
Amidst the life that’s bare
Or a teeming cub
I woke up today with tears in my eyes.
Walked down the hall, Mom asked what was wrong; I couldn't lie..
Mom held me close and whispered in my ear
Words that still ring, loud and clear:
I was 13.
Looking in the mirror,
It never dawned to me why,
Why the window between my teeth,
The disproportionate nose,
The “five-head”,
Too sufficient for just a bang,
Not brown
Your skin is smooth with the exception of the sutble that seems to be constantly growing on your face.
I find a nook in your neck where I rest my hand to cradle your face.
Your smile, my God, your smile.
Persona,
the mind of the self, is perhaps
what is least seen
when we go to our daily bouts:
I looked at her
I took a good long, long look at her
At moments she was as pretty as the multi-colored sunset, waving goodbye as it faded it into the ocean
Flat on the floor
Where the body is in constant dispute
With its downward boundaries
At the pinnacle of collapse
The result
By itself
No questions in this mutual embrace
A solid companion
When you see me you would think,
There goes a strong young man.
Never close to breaking him,
He feels as much as a tin can.
And if you asked me now,
this is what I'd tell.
I've never shed a tear
Everything has a face
Just like my Brother’s old backpack
Hanging in the closet with its snares and tares
And every time I look
At it seeing its entirety, places it’s gone, baggage it has carried
I'd rather see beauty in the flaws on the faces
than have it all washed away
washed away in the rain
People are colors, not shades of grey,
but colors combine to make grey anyway.
New faces bring new thunderstorms
The smell of fresh rain on pavement shows change in the air
The lightning flashes a bright sky for a split second
The moment rips away as thunder claps the same old darkness back
