Best Self Image Poems
Picture you inside your mind
who you are and what you find.
Your image did not develop overnight
long and slow did your self image sight.
The picture is not in another mind,
what they perceive or what they find.
That image of who they think they see,
is not what your inner self might be.
Imposed by others, data may flawed be,
Your inner self they can not see.
Parents and peers, trauma and tears,
All shape self image through the years.
Picture you inside your mind
who you are and what you find.
Ask yourself if this picture is right and true,
is it exactly what God above says of you?
The opposition calls like intuition,
from down the halls to the master's kitchen.
Her knees are rocking cheddar cheese blocks,
and when she walks you hear Pop Rocks.
Her eyes are made of ribeye steaks.
Her lips are whipped cream topped chocolate cakes.
Her cheeks are stuffing with a gravy blush.
Her neck is a lamb chop, long and lush.
Her chest is dressed with fried chicken strips.
Her hips swivel with potato chips.
Her legs, saturated in maple bacon.
Her stomach, a malt drink, freshly shaken.
Her arms are sausage kabobs, super-sized.
Her ears are cream cookies, finely disguised.
Her hair boasts alfredo soaked spaghetti strands.
She holds a loaded potato with open hands.
She knows your struggles and echoes your taste,
never minding the size of your waist.
You want to break free and finally be thin,
but she follows you sweetly with that whipped topping grin.
A hen behaved very hip
nobody liked her ego trip
Free cruise to Honolulu
Her name is now Lulu
She enjoys life and skinny dip
19.03.2019
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
SELF-IMAGE
Oh Lord, why do I feel this way?
My body is fatigued and just wants to lay
On soft pillows under a ceiling fan
Where peace is tranquil and divine.
No pain or stressors are involved.
Just me free of troubles and another’s problems.
Where the world is outside and I am indoors,
To achieve the level of contentment I search for,
This is what I call pure existence.
A bliss of equanimity that refines person.
Is there such quintessence?
Therefore, I must set the perfect example.
___________________________________________|
Penned March 28, 2015!
The mirror is her worst enemy
Yet she looks at it everyday
The magazines girl so skinny
She wishes,starves and runs her weight down
Should she be this way?
Should she hate the mirror?
Why can't the mirror be her best friend?
She was told she's too fat
Loose weight,get taller wear make up
She was once a happy little girl
Until her smile was taken away
She now feels unwanted
And she doesn't know love
Her self esteem has reached her breaking point
And suicide was a choice she made
Self-Image
by Odin Roark
Once of water
Man first eyed himself
Perhaps leaning to drink
Club in one hand
Food clenched firmly in the other
Even today
How arresting first glance must be
While a mother hovers
Cooing with pride
The infant stares up
A crib’s mobile of heart-mirrors
Reflecting images just beginning
Sooner than later
Such imitative echoes become real
Revealing deception’s potency
Urging actuality into the shadows
Giving inner truth little chance
Such becomes one’s three-way mirror
What others see
What might be
What is inexorable
Façade’s reflection
Vague
Invented
Contorted
Mired
Forged
Such folly
Mere antecedent
Ultimately without a trace
A little lipstick could not hurt.
But she was eight, and refused lunch after it was on.
She thought she was "fat" now, and she wanted to be thin.
I caught her wearing scarlet nails the Tuesday after the lipstick.
Her Daddy thought it was cute.
Her grandmother bought an eyelash curler
And false eyelashes for her at the mall.
She wanted a waist now, and boobs. She was still eight.
I threw it all away, but people sabotaged me, it all came back.
She stopped eating food at nine, pushing it around her plate.
Pretending she had eaten something.
I knew she had not.
Still wearing lipstick, and lots of eye make-up.
It did not make her look happy; it made her look sad.
It made me feel sad; I tried to talk to her enablers.
They told me I was wrong.
She stopped eating at nine. Saw herself as fat.
Wanted to be a fashion model; she weighed seventy-six pounds.
By ten she was diagnosed with anorexia.
An emotional disease that killed Karen Carpenter and others.
She weighs one hundred and ten pounds now.
She is five foot ten, and twenty-two years old.
She is in the hospital again, and they are trying to coax her to eat.
A little lipstick could not hurt? She was eight, and needed to be a little girl. I am beyond words now.
not grounding mentality
in bounds of reality
vows turn unverifiable
truth becoming pliable
judgments unreliable
when the working of our brain
leads toward being less sane
few usually agree
about structure of life's key
existence is that which is
beyond schemes in sales pitches
theories in various niches
worth being more selective
in forming of perspective
the self-image we maintain
was created by our brain
designed and fabricated
by what recall dictated
and ego then inflated
not altering that which be
only what mind thinks it sees
there once was a woman named Mimi
she never would wear a bikini
when she was asked why
she didn’t blink an eye
said, “I’ve eaten too much linguine!”
Help me to
find identity in you
understand my worth
value your standards
recognize my unique qualities
designed by you
Lord, to you I pray
Help me to
appreciate me
see myself the way you see me
understand that you Lord
fashioned me too a little lower than the angels
view you as my author and designer
Lord, before you these things I lay
Help me to
see you crowned me with glory and honor too
know you made me to have dominion over the creation as well
understand you put all things under my feet to boot
ask you to quiet the voice that whispers otherwise
seek your satisfaction and yours alone
Lord, I utter your praise today
Help me to
hear your voice
taste your perfection
realize you will make my life successful
comprehend I have no power
perceive all power is yours, Father Yah
Lord, give me ears to say
You are so very weird
Your weirdness shines true
There are so very few,
Who are weirder than you.
You see, weirdness is relative
Weirdness is wacky
But the right kind of weirdness
Makes true weirdos happy
If you were not weird
Well that would be weird
Weirder than the fact
That weirdness is feared
Love hearts and scabby knees.
Dead flies and stinging bees.
Dirty nails and sweaty lips.
Fishnets with ragged slips.
Eyeholes in a hessian sack.
Pimples on a tattooed back.
Toys that she just can’t unpack.
Helen.
Secret Helen.
Lies from a mother’s heart.
Secrets that fell apart.
Beauty too divine to see.
As purple as a Judas Tree.
Singing from her cradle jail.
A baby crying weak and frail.
Giggle, breathe, inhale, exhale.
Helen
Splintered Helen.
An infantile brutalist.
A wide-awake somnambulist.
Mamma’s bile and Daddy’s fist.
A kiss, a slap a broken wrist.
She hides within a dark recess.
She dances with her own distress.
A monster wearing fancy dress.
Helen
Sacred Helen.
Fantasies of guilt and sin.
Concealed beneath a slab of skin.
Loathe the self and stunt the flesh.
Her impotence and spite enmesh.
To love the girl, she veils the face.
To save the world from its disgrace.
Before she leaves without a trace.
Helen
Shiny Helen.
When left all alone
In charge and
In one place,
Their are only
Three places' that
One can find one's
Self....
That is in the Church
In the Chapel
And in the
Tabernacle of God
GF
they tell you
you hog the sun
so you shed your leaves
and thin your branches
for others to take
what was already theirs
if only they grew
as beautiful and strong
as you
Staring in the cracked reflector
She feels a powerful sense
To make amends, to apologize
And to commit recompense
Struggling to find the words
And spew her apologies far
Her troubles are hardly over
There’s nothing to apologize for
They tell her and tell her and tell her again
But believing is half of the cure
She’s not a bad person, she hasn’t sinned
Of that everyone is sure
But to take it to heart
And believe it for real
They know that it’s hard
And they simply feel
That the effort and work
And empathy
Impossible to do
Through the apathy
But maybe in days
Or weeks or years
She’ll see through the fog
And finally hear
The truth that’s been
In front of her nose
She might be unsure
But the people know
People are people
Rarely good or bad
And she’s a good friend
People wish they had
***
7/27/2020
Muse Poetry Contest
Regina McIntosh