Tag Archive: skin


I live in a country were pale skin is considered pretty

Which is an irony

Because most people are brown, bronze, dark, or colored

.

They look at me with envy

And say I’m lucky…

Only because I’m pale, that they think me a beauty.

.

Almost everyone here wants snow white skin

While I think “morenos” or “morenas” are beautiful

But I don’t try to change my skin color

Unlike most I see around me

.

If beauty is just skin deep

Then I don’t want to be considered beautiful

I’d rather be seen as pretty because of my dry wit and sarcasm

Because of my intelligence and quirkiness

.

I’ll shed this pale white skin

And be a different kind of beauty

She was a ghost!

White, no, pale

She was different from most.

Others loved her fair skin

Many coveted hear paleness

But she never liked her color, the same way she hated her chin.

She hated being thought of as pretty just because of her skin color

She wanted to be seen as more

Because she is more than just her skin color.

How much more do you want from me?

I have nothing left!

To be skin and bones

And skin and bones!

To you I am just the sheel that you see
I have nothing more

Nothing But Skin

Oh what do you see?

Beauty that’s skin deep

You think it’s love 

You think it’s real

But it’s all facade

All just what you see on the outside 
Do you really see me?

Skinny Jeans

She looks at the mirror
Not liking what she sees
If only she were thinner
She’d have men on their knees

She holds her breath
Sucks her stomach in
Doesn’t hold too long for fear of death
She looks at her own skin

She stops, breathes deep
Takes the one size bigger
It fits her fine, it’s the one she’ll keep
Because she’s happier even when she’s not one size thinner

Maria Michaela

Skin And Bones

Tall, dark and nothing but bones

A skeleton walking

Beats a dead man who tells tales

 

Beautiful! They say

But all I see is a hungry zombie

Famine seems to have struck it

Drought has absorbed all the water it had within

 

Worse, most people want to be like them

Most people want me to be like them

Others have been played and their mind wasted

They fall into the pit of doom

where nothing but skin and bones reign

 

Skin and bones,

Skin and bones,

Do you really want to be like one?

The answer should be easy

Onion Skin

Onion skin, onion ring, what good could you possibly bring?

I peel off each set of skin and I watch them all fall

They fall to the ground but they do not decay

I hear them cry and scream in fear

But I continue on

I remove the skins as if removing a suit of armor

Difficult, tight, not easy

 

Happy I am to get rid of them

Yet my eyes sweat the salty waters

I continue to remove them but oh it hurts me so

Still I know what I must do

 

The onion skin reveals a face

A face that’s strange to me

Hidden for so long that familiarity has flown out the window

Remove them slowly and let them all fall

The time to show the real me

Has come at long last

 

Goodbye onion skin

Farewell to thee

I shed and peel them off despite the sting

left on my new set of skin

The Streets

The streets are full of people

walking, running, laughing, others just mum

while everyone is busy with their own life

an old man lies on the street

curled up on the side, in this cold dark night

his white hair showing under the street lamp

his skin against his aged bones

he’s nothing but skin and bones

 

They walk past him, not caring, not daring to care

either afraid to or plainly just nothing

I observe from afar, divided by the glass of the window

as the rain slowly trickles down

the old man tugs on his ragged clothes

and torn up sack of a blanket

he shivers, he’s cold

yet he lay there still, not moving much

perhaps too cold to

perhaps too sleepy to

perhaps too weary to

or too hungry to move

 

A saint I am not but a bowl of soup in hand

would surely fill his stomach and soul

but before I could get up from where I was seated

a good Samaritan came

covered the old man with warm blanket

and gave him food to eat

she took him to a shelter afterward,

not far from where he lay

 

The streets are harsh

difficult to survive

but that night it was different

that night it became warm

warmer than a summer’s evening

unbolt me

the literary asylum

Rishita Sanya

What has to happen will happen...

Dr. Eric Perry, PhD

Psychology to Motivate | Inspire | Uplift

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