Tag Archives: thoughts

The truth about myself: A story on self-hate

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I am learning to accept myself
But I hate my stretch marks
And the irritation they often cause
Although they are reminders of a joy that now completes me
I am learning to accept myself
But I hate my small boobs
And the big thighs that rub too
Although they make me look good in blue jeans
I still can’t wear short shorts
Or skintight dark jeans
I am learning to accept myself
But I hate my big butt
And the way it pops out of every dress and begging always to be seen
Although it frames me in pencil skirts
And long gowns that flow in summer’s sun
I am learning to accept myself
But I can’t stand the thoughts
That my legs are marked with spots and dots
Hanging thick in black boots
And falling short with mini skirts
Although I must confess they carry me far
On long walks and fast runs
And my dainty toes sure look good in flats and such
I am learning to accept myself
But my hair sheds at the sight of comb
And itches from the root up
Although they are as dark as late nights and
Fall fine to cover my freckled face
I am learning to accept myself
But…

© Boomiebol 2014
5/17/2014 9:38am

 

I am thinking of a poem

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I am thinking of a poem

Title: I am thinking of a poem

It’s the image or glossy picture of a butterfly in my book of poetry
With a caption saying something simple like;
“There is beauty in the world”

I am thinking of this poem

*image courtesy of google

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Who Speaks For These?

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* I saw the picture of a kid in the Ukraine… In the midst of many wars, unrest and slaughters, these thoughts were born*

Who speaks for these ones
Who have no faces
Shadows in the space of war

Who speaks for them at night
When fright abound and hopes subside
Tears the company to their fate

Who speaks for them when fear is still
Suffocated by bombs and guns
Will silenced by a piece of steel
Hope abandoned to a time called tomorrow
A future that (might) never comes

3/6/14 10:16pm edited 3/10/14 12:49pm

Untitled: thinking out loud

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In this pool again I sink
Faster than the time before this
The problems of the past are nowhere gone
They plague me still every chance they get

The need to figure it out outweighs my heart
My heart breaks slowly night after night

At the crack of dawn I can still hear it break
It breaks with the light of day
I am shattered in pieces for I know not what I seek
Yet passion and the will to succeed cries heavy on my spirit

Which way do I go from here?
I ask time and time again
Which way can I go from here?
I examine my heart for a sign

It tugs at every chance I am given
Wanting only to take a chance once by itself

Memories On When Our Hearts Skipped Twice

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Memories on When Our Hearts Skipped Twice

We danced to the blues once
On nights when our hearts tapped twice
…Broken into many pieces
Our hearts skipped with each beat

The rhythm of each beat was the echo of our times
Like slaves we were shackled
…Shackled to the pulse of the blows
Gyrating our hips with every pull of the string
Puppet minions our bodies were

The blues was made for us
Our minds knew it all too well
So our bodies couldn’t help itself…
It moved…
It moved swiftly every time it heard the harmonic structure

Reminding many of a time once
…in New Orleans

11/7/13 2:00pm
Edited 11/27/2013 10:49 am. I smiled wide after editing this poem…I think I finally saw what I was trying to portray in my mind on screen. It felt good, and so I smiled wide…I smiled loud.

Just As Is…

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I write them as they come to me
Without the sensation of great rhyme and rhythm

They come raw…
Begging to be written
… Just as is

Without form or fillers
They come and
They ask to be written
Most days they command my attention
And I adhere (I am a chump for words, I must confess)
But fancy words is not my strength
I cannot think deep enough
It only hurts my head
And like you, there are already enough bills to pay
Words must not add to the ache of my brain

They come raw…
Words begging to be written
Just as they are
Expressing what my innermost being
Must somehow feeling

12/5/2013
©Boomiebol2013

Once With Sticks And Stones

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Once with sticks and stones we wrote our words
Bruised deep within from the burden of the thoughts we bore
Words churning on our insides like smooth cream
When like kids we dared to dream

Lullabies formed between soft ABCs’
Our dreams realized in the eyes of sleepy tots
Drifting off to slumber at the sound of our words
Dreaming just like us of (their) tales soon to be told

10/15/13 2:51pm
© Boomiebol2013