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This poem really speaks to me. It shows great depth and I can relate a lot. I feel as though this magnificent, poetic person really bared my soul. Thank God you found this. I don't know what I would have done without it. It has truly opened my mind and now I realize that my make-up IS my hiding mask. That I AM pretty and I don't need make-up to show it.

"Open those pretty majestic eyes
Hidden by that possesive black make up
Shed one last tear
And wake up.
Quit covering your eyes
Like a $5 whore
Express yourself
Stop unclogging your pores
I know how you feel
Like pain is all you have left."

This part of the poem really spoke to me. It's like they know my every thought. I shouldn't cover my eyes like a $5 dollar whore. I was wrong all along. The scars, the cuts, the pain! I don't need to feel this way. I don't need thick eyeliner make-up. I am a pretty girl in a pretty world. I just can't help felling hopeless and insignificant. I only do it for the attention. I need people to look at me, pity me, really look into me. When they look into my eyes I feel as they are trying to understand me. They never will understand me. If they look into my eyes they might find out the truth! I don't know if I could bare others knowing the truth.

Here's my poem inspired from the one above.

I hide my eyes behind all the lies.
If they only knew the truth behind my wicked black eyes.
They would understand the pain and the suffering that I go through.
Day after day as I walk away.
I look in the mirror and see my death.
A 600 pound hooker high on meth.
I never meant to shut the world out, but I can not bare the reality.
My life is spiraling downward and I have my mother to blame.
As I cut and hurt; all I can do is maim.
The blood trickles down my wrist and I hit myself with my fist.
I cry bloody tears and bleed black.
My boyfriend has no balls. He's lame in the sack.
So when I get picked on I always attack.
With my big black massacre and my McDonald's Big Mac.
Who are you to say that I am fat?
My eyes are transmissive just like a cat.
I draw attention with my massive eyes.
I beat people off 'cause it draws them in like flies.
But one day I'll change.
And one day I'll have hope.
That someone will write a poem.
And possibly give me some soap.
For I am just a misunderstood girl.
Lost in the world.
Surrounded by plastic.
With flippy hair and curls.
I don't understand why the world is so cruel.
But I do know one thing, the world is a fool.
So as I wipe the eyeliner from my drained face.
And see myself in the mirror and take on the case.
The destruction is gone and I'm left with an infection.
My boyfriend borrowed my eyeliner and didn't use protection.
The doctor said he had conjunctivitis, an infection that's prone to spread.
100% of the time.
For my eyeliner was pure lead.
Now my eyes are disfigured and I'm a** ugly.
Someone give me a brown bag.
I look like a f**.



rofl

We are kindred, dearest, for I too have seen death in the form of a 600 pound hooker high on meth.
Oh wait, nevermind, that's my future. Nonetheless, your beautiful prose spoke to my soul. Particularly, "My boyfriend borrowed my eyeliner and didn't use protection.
The doctor said he had conjunctivitis, an infection that's prone to spread.
100% of the time.
For my eyeliner was pure lead.
Now my eyes are disfigured and I'm a** ugly.
Someone give me a brown bag.
I look like a f**"
I hate it when that happens. It makes me so ANGRY I just want to punch a mutha trucka, but at the same time, it makes me feel ALIVE!
For where is the happiness without the sadness, the bliss without pain, the rainbows without the rain that messes up my rad hair, the roses without fertilizer, the sharing of eye makeup without crusty infections, the broken condom without the broken dreams, the beautiful obese prostitute without the crippling methamphetamine addiction? WHERE, DAMNIT?!? CAN'T YOU SEE, WE'RE ALL ALIVE! DANCE WITH ME QUILTY! DANCE THE DANCE OF LIFE!
Sorry, I got black eyeliner all over you when we were dancing cheek to cheek.
I put the "dirty" in "dirty dancing."

Can I get a OSCAR for that million dollar movie I put out revolving around that [[[[[[time continuum]]]]]] brilliant masterpiece of a pee-o-um I wrote?


Dun u durr take credit fer mai work.

I had the poem you wrote tattooed onto my face.
It's ********' sweeeeeeet.

D'awww, you do love me <33333333333333333


Now gimmie ur peaches let me shake dat tree, Baby!


I'm gonna start calling you Bambii.


Why?


It's sounds GOD AWFUL.


And it reminds me how horribly Gypsy was in Gypsy 83. :[

That was terrible, what Gypsy did to that poor b*****d, filling her up with false promises then completely bailing out because of her silly mommy issues.
Or were you referring to her freakishly huge knockers helicoptering around everywhere?