Self Portrait Poems - Poems about Self Portrait

This time, Janice is wearing a priest collar and I’m the altar. She hisses when I open my Notes app during communion, calls me a heretic for spellchecking my trauma. I tell her my whole personality is based on being misquoted. She says no, babe. It’s based on needing a witness and a warning sign. Then she bites the rim off my coffee cup and whispers the...

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It’s Sunday, and I’m drawing myself again, third time this week. This version features a haunted air fryer, a coupon for free emotional labor, and Janice— the shoebill, wearing my ex’s hoodie and threatening the moon. She’s perched on a folding chair I stole from a church basement, clutching a Slim Jim like a relic. Her breath smells like copper wiring and vengeance. She doesn’t blink. She’s...

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I gave myself the body of a secretary bird— long legs like accusations, a face too sharp for comfort. But wings? I borrowed from a taxidermied dodo: soft, irrelevant, stitched to the wrong century. In the background, a sky I did not earn. In the foreground, a foot poised to crush a snake that looks suspiciously like me....

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Unpredictable and volatile-- morose and quiet one moment, he is laughing heartily just after a while at whatever excited his mirth, his high thin loud laugh strange from a person with a grave mien. He would often be in deep thought, as if engaged in contemplation of a philosophical question. You’d think he is not given to humor, but know him well and...

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SELFIE PORTRAITURE ego on show...

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I'm a dark-hued poetic mind Writing mine: Inking navel keloid words Water-broken From pregnant ...

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"Self Portrait" My Picasso pro Boscis only Knows Pinocchio Lighthearted Lies laying in cubis Tic Isms Of truth...

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not a reflection or a picture of perfection So,what is my goal? merely a sur-real glance into the looking-glass of my soul with id & ego ...

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In the drawing. Flat paper on the coffee table. I’m in it. Crayons? Markers? Shaking in my hands. Sadness confined to a rectangle. My mom looks over and wonders. I’m not crying, it’s just marker on paper, see? I like to draw tears. And myself, no one else is allowed. I don’t cry in real life. I’m not annoying like that. When she calls me down for...

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if I am unwell bring me parchment where I lie if I do not answer put a quill in my hand my lines will speak for me the ink will form the thoughts from emotions that fill my head I beg you decipher the strokes that I attempt to write simply but if the markings seem like riddles make sense of the whole by embracing the...

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bomber jacket, dark glasses blown out hair, faded jeans that fit me slim, brown leather belt and shoes, a dangling cigarette between lips, is how I would fancy look! Reality is something else, and what I look is more like this… A T shirt straight out of wash, never seen the underside of iron, crumpled to show how the machine spins! trousers broad fit that...

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What's this we have here? Second hand? No, worn out? Eco friendly. Sure, the color's fading some But for the grade It's not too spendy And it's versatile Though it doesn't change Not affected much by where it hangs Around Been through the wash a couple times So I bet if you take it down You'll find the fiber's tough Despite the gentle feel Threaded thick enough to warm...

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Solid denim torn at the knee dark hues of cotton comfortable as can be tears from the loving of horses' gentle pull stains where children's hearts were full A hint of reds purples and greys eclectic and simple depends on the day Easy the flow strong are the seams a small touch of color smell of lavender when cleaned Fancy it's not though dribbles of strife wares of this wardrobe express a simple life....

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[()][()][()][()][()][()][()][()][()][()][()][()][()][()][()][()][()][()][()][()][()] Ex Hotelier hangs I, We've Vacancies, closet not quite empty, merely absentees, the clothes that sort out--hang like memories, ...

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SARTORIAL SELF-PORTRAIT Even as a young man, I dressed just like my dad. ‘Clothes are what defines you,’ Was a saying my mother had. But now I’ve retired from the city, Perhaps it’s time to break free. So I’m looking through my wardrobe To find out what defines me. Here’s a row of pin-striped suits, Three-piece, in the main. With waistcoats with a pocket, For a watch...

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