philosophy.

What is Beauty?  — 02/01/24

Beauty is a face made of plastic

A button nose, doe eyes; 

a face suffocated with makeup deemed “natural” by the internet of lies

Beauty is a body with certain curves

and certain lines

Beauty is a standard that likes to discriminate and criticize 

Beauty does not like when it sees people who do not check all its boxes,

so it calls upon loneliness, bullying, and disgust to stalk them,

to prey upon them like sly foxes, 

never letting them know it was beauty which was the cause

of all their misfortune

And, if the fox prey fight back, 

then beauty checkmates

It sends ugly to decimate

It blows away self-esteem 

It shoots confidence and pride, 

and it kills dreams

Why should beauty have the power to make some people loved more than others

and dispose of the rest in the gutters? 

I call on intelligence, courage, honesty, and kindness to overtake this corrupt dictator, 

for society to brand beauty a liar and a traitor

Every day, I inhale that horrible smoky gray in several breaths,

and every day I get closer and closer to death

The innocent and unassuming should not be punished for the actions of those who love their cigarette,

forced to inhale a gaseous threat

I call for action against this device, this addiction, this weapon of destruction

I call for designated rooms and places for construction,

for where these people can take their abhorred smoke,

so breathing is once again safe for us other folk

I do not want to bike to school every day in fear

of some smoker releasing death so near

Every day, I cough; I hold my breath; I glare

However, I can not do anything but stare

at that person walking by who has no respect for other peoples lives

and just keeps blowing out that wicked gray that causes innocents to die

As a singer, I want to preserve my voice—

not be forced to inhale poison without a choice

So, once again I ask of you, no, I demand of you:

stop smoking, or at least go do it alone in your room

A large eye awaits

Veins bulging, the pupil inflates

It burns a scalding, hot iron of shame down my body and face

Boils and blisters of anxiety fester and plague my skin

Is this the price of wanting to win?

For any mistake or mis-step I make, 

with fury and pain, I start to shake  

like a tree in a hurricane that is beaten 'till it breaks

Must i dig into my skin with sharpened nails and peel off my flesh 

to plaster on hard concrete that will make me the best?

Must I meticulously plan every aspect of my life,

so I can succeed in everything without experiencing much strife? 

Must I spend countless hours thinking hard till my brain starts to pound 

like a hammer constantly hitting against the ground? 

How do I use a shovel, instead, 

to pick up nutritious healthy soil? 

I do not want to spend my life in constant dread 

I do not want to always toil, 

but it seems to be the price of being better

I am scared that if I do not always try to improve and if I am not a go getter, 

I will have no value for this society, and people will silently mutter: 

that girl doesn’t belong at the top, she belongs in the gutter

Not just that, I have also known

right now I am no match for the ones that have grown

The ones who are the best at what they do,

despite being in their youth

The ones who constantly hit themselves against a wall, 

even when they just wanted to cry and curl up into a ball

So, I know once again I will have to face the eye

And, once again, I will probably cry

Yet, one day I know I will be better,

and all my past pain will feel as light as a feather

You gave me the strength to move forward when I had none 

You pushed me gently, so I could run

You told me to stand back up when all I wanted to do was fall

Why did you give me so much only to leave me with no one to call? 

Eventually, I had to find someone new, 

but even they haven’t looked out for me the same way as you used to

Maybe, I was like a little sister to you,

or, maybe, another type of feeling inside you bloomed

I wonder why you took such good care of me

but then left me behind

My new friend makes me happy, and we’re almost always by each others' side

They are there for me once in awhile

and often make me smile

Walks after school together are lots of fun

and so are our frequent moments in the grass, under the sun

A friend I cherish and will definitely keep,

but sometimes they aren’t there for me when inside I feel like all I want to do is weep 

I realize that, really, I must learn to thrive on my own,

and gain strength from myself alone

But, sometimes, in the back of my head, I still hear you say

words that helped me get through my day

Why did you stop being my friend? Sometimes I still wonder why 

It makes me sad sometimes but not enough to cry

When memories pop into my head of you, sometimes my heart drops

But, I know soon the sometimes and the subtle ache will stop

because I no longer need you to lift me up,

because I know that me, myself, and I is enough

I'm scared. 

I whimper as I reach out a shaky hand. 

My paining heart squeezes and aches and burns—impaired

from moving forward, 

unprepared to be left alone. 

Is it too much to demand—to command—

the clock’s steady hand 

backwards and not forwards?

Forwards

melts into

four words. 

I have many regrets. 

I was. 

I was

a quiet child,  

a gentle child, 

a shy child;

became

a critical child, 

a cold child, 

a distant towards her parents child, 

a child who almost never smiled. 

But now, that child has grown

and only wishes she had known

how precious, how fleeting, her childhood would be—

that it wouldn’t be too long before she left her family. 

And now, she yearns to stay 

for much longer. 

But, she knows that she wont grow that way. 

Her heart screams and sighs,   

and she tries, 

and she cries

to disguise

her earnest command, 

and the child’s shaky hand. 

Today's the day I let poetry slip/fade away. 

Seriousness has melded into my identity—  

like a starving leech, it's latched onto me, 

sucking away at my vitality. 

A cold icy hug enveloping the warmth emitted

from my once bubbly personality. 

But, is it really a leech?

Or, a longing to rise to new heights that are just out of reach?  

To first build a ladder that I can climb

and then, build wings, so I can fly? 

Both will let me look down from the sky. 

Light surrounding me

with a smile as big and bright as the sun

at the person who felt like she lost her fun,

who braved a loneliness that she had run away for eternity, 

so that she could be happy. 

But then, she realized what she had sacrificed

and shifted everything to become a new woman—

that's the story of how her seriousness began.