When “pretty” really is never pretty enough
The pressure to look like everyone else is such a hassle. The pressure to have prettier eyes, skin, hair, body shape, and everything else. So why is everyone always so pressured to look different than they are. “The pretty girls have is better.” “The handsome boys have it better.” Why do we think like that. Well honestly, I don’t know because I do the same. “I wish I was prettier.” “I wish I had pretty blue eyes.” “I wish I had bigger hips.” Why can’t we be happy with what we have? “Butterflies can’t see their wings. They can’t see how truly beautiful they are, but everyone else can. People are like that as well.” -Naya Riveria. Where like butterflies. We can’t see our own wings but other can. Other people can see that your pretty or handsome but you can’t. Im sitting here writing this while im not even taking advice. I do wish i was prettier, i do wish i looked different. So why is pretty never pretty enough for anyone.
The love song with no lyrics
that is the reality of my life.
The empty tin with no noise
that is my cry.
The holes I patch
Open up new wounds.
The pressure of pain bursts out loud
like a broken water pipe.
All my memories are stored away
in a dark cloud
that rains
every time I recall
the fantasy of our love.
You wanted laughter,
so I rehearsed a smile.
I tied my soul to my words for you.
I learned to hold the storm,
swallowing the thunder
so your sky stayed clear.
The beautiful storm,
the sweet salt,
the calm sea,
the perfect love
oh, what a fantasy.
I patched the flame
with borrowed words and lullabies,
played our record
until it ran out of words.
I became fluent in silence
just to keep your peace,
but it screamed inside me
louder than love ever did.
I held the door open for you for so long,
I forgot how to close it on myself.
Oh, the irony of love.
Every smile I wore for you
left bruises on my soul.
Now I drown in the floods
I never let out.
And I wonder…
was my love letter
mailed to the wrong address?
Romance roaming in
singling sensation
tingling passion rolled
with dream soaring high.
Storm of betrayal suddenly rose.
Pretty poetry drooped to dreary despondency.
They, the flock of cockatoo
Living together, form a society
And crackling all time
Discussing things might
I cognize anything of that
What I do understand for sure
They, the highness, are proud
Of living in the trees, a tribe life
Or flying in the sky, cloud alike
They care me not for sure
Especially as to my thoughts
They,snobby,come to me
Not for what I said
But for whatever they can get
Big ol’ Big Mac
I’m tired of being tired.
I’m exhausted with exhaustion.
I wish I had the money to retire,
But that is not up for discussion.
I can’t sink my teeth into a big ol’ big mac.
The motivation I lack to go and fetch that.
I’m not too skint and I’m not a skin flint,
I just don’t have the energy of an energy drink.
I’m thinking of food when I know I can’t eat.
I’d love to meet the best version of me,
But he does not exist,
He is lost to the past.
Damn that life was hard,
But we sure did have some laughs.
(C)2025 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Line of inquiry:
“death approaches but we have no regret ~
when God questions us, we will stand erect."
Though ailing on my deathbed, someday I will be
no claim to fame and glory will I seek for me.
No title of greatness nor prize of stardom won
for nothing truly remarkable in life have I done.
I shall not whimper if death hovers, nor shed a tear.
It is not my lack humility or a merciless God I fear.
Aware of my faults; He knows I've things to regret
No angelic halo circles my head, nor divine coronet.
If near death, I should feel His presence in command,
I'd prostrate myself before Him, for I dare not stand.
Down on my knees in praise, is where I'd belong
I'm but a grain of sand, a human who's done wrong.
No questions does God need ask. He knows my heart.
Faith in Him is my bulwark, my haven, my rampart.
I am not a worthy soul to look upon my Creator's face,
On the verge of death, I'll rely on His mercy and grace.
Our deathbed waits for no one
It has legs with wheels following close
Fore the fastest mako breaching/brought
Can slam into your reality, splatterpunk
Does the higher-ups work w/bridge$
Against the chernukha backdrops
Titan Arumatic therapeutic extras
Granite broke down into atoms you couldn't comprehend
Without a micro/scope, dreamstate dialog
Promisee talking about power, Faustian tête-à-tête
Hungry colorful golf ball(sp)oons, aim for pupils
Falcon will drop the rabbit, serpentine dance
Snake may hold insidious ideas, draw a line
That word it rights is the mise-en-abyme
In cursive with dark reverie
I'll die for literary nuance
My pages are empty-handed
Lines intersect in geometrical artistic expression
We marched through flames, but felt no guilt,
For bravery itself gave us our name.
The world can stumble, the body can fall,
But truth endures beyond the graveyard wall.
We bore the loads others refused to carry,
Unspoken tears the night couldn't conceal.
Nevertheless, we sang in the tempest's midst,
Our voices soared on shattered wing.
Our title to glory is not gold or marble,
Not crowns, nor thrones we never held.
It is the love we gave away
The light we ignited in darkest day.
Death knocks, but hearts don't bow,
We welcome the shadow as a friend.
For when God calls and wants to know our name,
We'll stand upright, unbroken by shame.
Not for power, not for pride,
But for the truth we held within.
Our legacy is plain, simple—
We lived with love, not governed by fear.
So carve no statues, chisel no creed,
Our legend is in every act.
When last silence closes the flame,
Our souls will whisper: *we lived humane.*
What not is to oneself? A question ever been told to myself
Whether you love, you taught, you thought, and you lost
The camaraderie to you and yourself is the greatest bond
To know the boundaries - where you can fly and fall
Where you can commit to all and to stand tall
Even one voice, small. Hectic, make it a mall
In the end of the day, what not to oneself?
Where you stood to all, but mistakes come forth
When you feel life's winding up north
It is the blade, into something that halts
It is not for you, but a lesson and is daft
Take care, world is cruel even in mononym
I can feel my pulse in my fingertips,
like my hands are trying to escape.
Do I lean in? Do I lean back?
Please don’t let me stumble over my own feet.
My heart is doing that ridiculous thumping thing.
Why does it feel like the world is waiting?
Should I say something? Something clever?
No, just stay quiet, it’s fine.
Just breathe…oops, too noticeable.
Why is everything suddenly so tricky?
Your eyes are so close, almost too near.
Okay, maybe not, maybe it’s the perfect distance.
What if my lips are awkward? What if I taste strange?
I’m panicking, yes, in every corner of me.
I tell myself stop, act normal… but my pulse gives me away.
“Hey… is everything okay? You seem nervous.”
I nod too fast, my thoughts scattering everywhere.
I want to laugh, I want to crawl under a rock.
I feel like I might float or fall all at once.
My eyes dart everywhere, but you’re right here, holding my hand.
And then it happens, gentle, hesitant, soft.
Our lips meet, and my stomach flutters.
It’s awkward, it’s funny, it’s perfect in its messiness.
I think, maybe this is how first kisses are meant to feel.
And I secretly hope it never ends.
Girls Night Out
Just to get away from the pressures of the day
Being able to cry, and vent
our problems away
Talking about things that's only understood by each other
Every talk we have takes the friendship a little further
We can always be ourselves because we know each other well
We relate our deepest secrets because neither of us will tell
Music moments are the best because we share the same song
Finding solutions to each problem as we help each other along
When it comes to eating out or going shopping we never go dutch
If one is broke the other pays to show we love each other that much
Through thick and thin, broke and paid or when we have enough
We always cherish these moments especially when the times get tough
There’s something at the bottom of This bottle.
I know it.
Not quite sure what it is yet,
But there’s something down there;
There has to be.
Is it a solution?
God no.
Is it a sense of satisfaction?
Most definitely not.
But the process of finding
Whatever it is
Sometimes gives me
A temporary sense of peace.
Sometimes.
Most times though…
Let’s not focus on that.
Focus on the warm and fuzzy feeling
I get from my search.
If it feels this good now,
It has to feel that much better
When I find whatever’s down there.
I don’t know what’s down there,
But I’ll drown trying to find it.
Someone serving life in prison
Some way, somehow gets the nod
To release him, like an order
From a despot or a god.
The same applies to lowlife thugs
Whose insurrection acts,
When they stormed the U.S. Capitol,
Were changed to lies from facts.
When power goes to someone’s head,
It’s like a weird disease
Where he violates the law
And justice drops down to its knees.
Half the country hates it,
While the other seems to hail
The release of felons who should be,
Most rightfully, in jail.
I guess it’s pretty obvious
In which half I belong.
These pardons reek of villainy
And are simply, flat-out wrong!
Racism, ageism, sexism, name it!
If there was tech-ism, we’d have to game it
Why should the pattern of reckless decision
Further a hate based on sex or religion
Why not let love and let live be your “ism”
Spreading its beauty like light through a prism
Loveism, likeism, careism, make it!
After a while, you would not have to fake it
What if our would had no isms at all
Changing the course of our strange little ball
Love and let live and leave others alone
Foster the greatest true love ever known
Let my prayer be prepared,
Like angel dust,
And blaze up into heaven,
As a chariot;
So, laud an audience with God,
Who is above;
For she’s the one I want,
In my heart O’ love;
Specific Types of How I Feel Poems
Definition | What is How I Feel in Poetry?