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Acne dapples your face just as stars blemish the sky. I’ve seen you look in the mirror to ask yourself why. You seize the concealer, yet your smile, still wry, because no one picks up a brush
Sixth grade, middle school,/
Your Face is not a canvas You don't need to put makeup all over it I had a girl ask me if her makeup was ok, I said yes but then she says I wear make up because it makes me look Prettier
She painted her face the way she painted her body, To cover the pain and tears he left behind. ~awatr
Heels on Makeup done Dress on Picture posted I'm here Move out of the way I'm gonna blow your mind I'm gonna crush this tonight Look out world Here I come
Mirror, mirror, upon my wall. Tell me is this even me at all. You have no choice but to show my reflection. Show me this and I'll pick out a new imperfection. So, what will I do today?
Dear makeup wipes, You cracked the warm beige – no medium – foundation And chipped at it With your chipping fingernails, Whispered in my ear that you loved the toxic red armies
imperfection is a pimple. an irregularity, red and raised in the middle of your face when you are 11 to you it is unfamiliar so you buy concealer
It takes me maybe 5 minutes to do my makeup in the morning.I'd start with some primer, after all- I don't want to damage the skin you once placed little pecks on.
she dips her makeup brush in gunpowder instead of eyeshadow because her mother was a soldier and her father was a poet,
Remember on Halloween when boys would dress up as superheros? And if you did as a girl you were considered a weirdo? I find it funny because when I wear makeup, I feel like one,
You know what Darling? Throw away that makeup. Feel beautiful as you. Now this is not another one of those ones that is going to say acne is beautiful. That your flaws are perfection. No.
She used to trace her eyes with a path of blackI assumed it was to grab attentionShe would perfectly fill in her acne scars’ gapsMaybe it was to be the best additionBarbie dolls, and Maybelline models
Crack of dawn I smear my war paint, Slathering it on, free of restraint. My life would become an empty abyss If I were to go Make-up-less. Ready for battle earless to complaint.
It doesn't peel away, but I can take it off It makes me feel beautiful But I can wipe it with a cloth. Compliments from boys all day Somehow boosts my confidence, but It's not me, It's my mask they see
Morning I wake up covered in dust Lying in bed all night makes my bones feel like rust What I can do to make myself look "right" I look for the nearest mirror; and turn out the lights
girl in the bathroom paints on her facecovering the spots on her skin hoping to be like the otherscover it for the mornings but reminded by the night timeknowingly she changes her looks
I have these insecurities. They’re not on the inside Or maybe they are. To cover these insecurities I use a age old tool
I. When she was ten The first zits Appeared on her face While her friends continued to bask In their childhood glow. Small and pink, Barely noticeable,
I was born in January, many don't remember because often my birthday falls on the same day as civil rights day, and the oppression of rights is much more important
Makeup can be just an Inexpensive surgical treatment Seeking to pleasure your need To please a society full of greed Concealing every piece of their identity
Take the picture. Too high. Too low. Just right. But what's wrong? Your nose is too big, Your smile looks weird, And your hair looks bad. Take it again. And again.
It starts in 1999, when at five years old, still chubby-cheeked and new, I learned that make-up was for girls as night over night I watched my mother paint
Smears, smudges hide my face In the dusty reflections of the mirror With shaking hands I can place The nose, the hair, the eyes But in a glimpse they're chased From my tentative tries
Who am I? Am I perfect No Am I confident No Am I a lier No But I am smart I am unique And maybe a little shy at times I do not fake my personality I show my true colors
What is it like to be me? She asks Envy lining her words. She's talking about the test That I aced The quiz I defeated The teacher Who loves me. I laugh and smile and joke at her
Natrual beauty is what I favor Foundation hides my outside beauty spotlight Mascara covers my lashes in a sticky maneuver Blush conceals my dimples from sight I will still be Beautiful inside and out
My voice has been undermined for so long, it's time to remi
Eyeliner, masacara, eyeshadow, Concealer, foundation; All to take me away from me. Which filter to choose? How to cover up myself? Maybe people will like me now.
My hair is too curly So I straighten it The light washes me out So I dim it I put on my makeup And strike my pose Bet you'll never see the real me Under these fake clothes
If you say makeup is false advertising, you have never spent twenty minutes drawing a perfectly smooth line along your eye
i woke up like this, sun in my eyes sqinting towards the day ahead. beary eyed and a dry mouth with a side of drool a disheveled mess with a good morning sounding like a grunt.
Eyes hold lies Ears hold lies It is not only the mouth that holds lies Whatever you're seeing is wrong, YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL Whatever you're hearing is wrong, YOU'RE WORTHY
I stay the same underneath, What my selfie seems to be. Whether on or offline My smile stays the same. I am the player, And Instagram's the game. Underneath the clothes and shining light.
The world describes using filters and wearing makeup as a way to hide our true selves from the world
Being told I am not enough I get hurt because I care too much I turn to things that help me up. The art of makeup makes me forget who I was I got myself a new identity since I cannot go back to what I was.
She may not be the very definition of beauty but her self-restrained chaos unravels all connotations of the word. She’s more than a number, more than a status. In a world of never ending can’ts, won’ts, shouldn’ts,
What is a filter? A thing to hide behind? A painted on disguise? To attract the guys The world we live in we have to try so hard to fit in I can not pretend So maybe that's why I don't fit in
Who am I, a broken clock, Who rings a bell and says tick-tock Amidst the glorious choir sing And silent, stay what they would bring. No repair for many years, 'Twas I who broke the seamless gears.
With #nofilter I am a human A contender of life A mess of flesh and chemicals Flowing constantly. Only Certain To follow instinct Or change the instinct
When you take away all the fake smiles and forced laughs Take away all things that I've conviced myself that I am Your left with a girl
Eye shadow hides the bruises from the mean girls blush hides the punches from my boyfriends hands lipstick hides the pimple that sprung up over night why do yo wear makeup? you will never understand.
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.
There's been something weighing on my mind; you see, girls are supposed to be these pretty little things, with ditsy little brains, but what has society's image done to our self-image?
You say that you need all that makeup to look "pretty". Well, I know how you feel because I fall into that trap, too, but don't let that CoverGirl cover up the real you. Because you are unique. Whether you're LOUD or quiet,
I hide behind a mask of insecurity, a mask made of makeup. When I put on my foundation, I conceal the batte scars. The ones that come in the form of dark circles underneath my eyes.
I don't wear makeup
Sabrina Petroski 110-86-7165 Eyes open feet slide off the bed and touch the cold floor step after to she carries herself
Every morning she stood in front of the mirror and was ashamed of what she saw She hated the kinks in her hair the sea faring bridges of her nose the fullness of her crimson lips So she sought refuge in makeup
When I used to look in the mirror, I would see A girl who struggled, but yet was sometimes pretty. I struggled with my relationship with my family. Although they clothed, fed, housed, and spoiled me,
Now, don't cry, you've got makeup on, and do you really want streams of black running down your face, do you want people to say that it looks like your soul is leaking out of your eyes?
This is my facade My mask, my security My assuracnce of no judgement I walk around, unhappy Not okay with who I really am I pretend to like guys, and only guys
I don't think that I can see it as well as other people You can do it again and again for centuries Checking my work My new job Making costumes Doing makeup The only thing that can make me happy
Fingers brush over my skin That is soft but resistant with moisture. Brushes tease my grasp. This is art with brushes that doesn’t need a canvas. I’m not organized, It's chaos.
The truth is I don't know who she isDisguised so goodI blew thisWith the lipstick on high heels strongBut my ankles not so muchI'm just trying to show that ICan play the roleJust like all my friends
Magnificant form of Art, not to be Knocked on. Exciting beauty in Unthinkable hues. Paramount in my interestes.
Everyone wears a mask. It's as if we're all at a ball. Who are you really? I may never know.
Please. Please. Listen to me. I'm sorry, for lying--
I conceal who I am to be seen The foundation I walk on is not pristine I powder on false details to change myself Base my life to look better to someone else Depression is seen through smoky eyes
She awakes from a night of taunting dreams Let’s her mind wander upon the happenings of the day Soaks it in and just breathes With a tear of hopelessness She applies her make-up to only hide her true beauty
Hollow black circles line her eyes; Her lips so red - unnaturally so. Freckles hidden by a powdery vail; She doesn't want anyone to see. Why, I ask, does she cover up, Such natural beauty and grace?
makeup is a breakup and makeup is a lie
A young girl, dawned in a butter yellow With glitter on her eyelashes and paint on her lips Pushed up onto stage hardly before she even knows how to say no The bright lights beat down upon her startled face
I doubt it’s ever crossed your mind that I am not putting on a mask in the morning, but I am not hiding behind my mascara tube. I am putting on my armor. Feminine is not soft.
Pounds of product upon fresh faces unnatural colors smudged on skin the distorted views-- we howl in strange beauty
We paint ourselves Every morning just past dusk Brushes aroused from their shelves Spritzing florals and musk Cheeks dusted to look like roses Noses powdered to a matte
What is your Ethnic makeup? Is it the redness of your lips that speak the words of roots and origin? Or is it the way your eyelashes curl, accenting your eyes to understand the accents of your homeland?
No Makeup do you need You’re Beautiful without That make up. That dot upon your face is what makes You. No makeup you need Your beautiful without The powder. To me you’re a desire.
She says she strong Since there’s nothing wrong. But, I know better than she. She thinks she higher But she’s a liar The stronger one is me. The one with bruises, Who always loses
I look in the mirror, but I don’t see my face, I see a lot of things that are pretty out of place. I gather my tools and I primp and I fashion, A mask to hide The flaws I imagined.
(poems go here) Looking at her with her Chinchilla fur. Lady of Guidance and Grace only to shut you down in your face. With her arrogant brow she demands all to take a bow .
It would say: For eyeliner, mascara, blush, and concealer, All there for girls appeasement And there magical purpose Remains to bring about disguise
Large boulders of smoke roll down your throat and coat your breath with the smell of false happiness. Yellow stained fingers cover a frequent cough. You sound more and more like your dog as the days pass.
I look in the mirror I hate what I see The person I’m looking at Can surely not be me? When did I become this? I’ve lost track of time My lips are painted red Those eyes can’t be mine