Self Portrait Poems - Poems about Self Portrait

Self-Portrait with My Shoebill Friend as We Rebrand Spirituality

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

Self-Portrait with My Shoebill Friend at the End of the World

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

Self-Portrait with Flightless Bird

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.

Self Portrait

You’re only as good as your last.
—my spine, mid-fold

I enter a contest
like I enter most rooms:
looking for sound no one’s made yet.
I don’t chase strange—
not all weird is created equal.

Once I find it though—
the mirror says submit
the mask says edit
the stage says nothing,
but still demands presence.

I wrap my fear of not-enough
in a metaphor so elaborate
it

Self Portrait

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

SELF-PORTRAIT ART ekphrasis

SELFIE PORTRAITURE

ego
on show

SELF PORTRAIT: APROPOS OF A FLASHBACK

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

Self Portrait

"Self Portrait"


My Picasso pro
Boscis only
Knows

Pinocchio 
Lighthearted
Lies laying in cubis

Tic
Isms
Of truth

ART of SELF PORTRAIT id ego REVEALED

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
 
                 

Self Portrait

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

I WRITE

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

Sartorial Self Portrait

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

Sartorial Self Portrait Poetry Contest

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

Sartorial Self Portrait

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.

Sartorial Self Portrait

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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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