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Accidental Confidence

In the morning,
I start with my eyes,
Creating them like artwork,

I have accidental confidence,
I have gotten real good,
At creating a mirage,

I apply the primer,
You need a clean slate,
To begin any change,

You know the advice,
Show the world what you want them to see,
They will see it,

I move from the outside in,
Making it bold but natural,
Don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard,

Well, I got real good,
At making myself,
Appear to be someone else.

Picking a color is important,
You want your eye color to pop,
So they can see the twinkle in your eye,

The first time I was told I was confident
I wanted them to elaborate on their view,
Give me a glimpse of my persona,

When you get to the inside,
Apply a nice shimmery color,
That’s where the shadows naturally fall,

I have a pretty face,
A name that is easily remembered,
I have a naturally kind soul,

Blend into your brow bone,
Make sure it doesn’t look like clip art,
They should look like they want to belong,

I turned into an iceberg,
My eyes above water,
Below the water line, deceiving.

Mascara finishes the look,
Those lashes are the curtains,
To the show behind it all,

I have learned to hypnotize,
The colors, the shimmers,
All do their jobs,

I should be pleased,
That you don’t see
My ununiformed to society body,

You insisted that I ride the rollercoaster,
I faked motion sickness,
You accepted that.

Accidental confidence is a product
Of learning how to decipher the code
To be accepted among the masses.

When you pull me into a trendy store,
I don’t have money; I have too much in my closet,
I’m too lazy to try on clothes today,

So when I bat my eye lashes,
I wait for the day when you
Don’t just stop at the gate.

I need you to stroll the grounds,
The curves and hidden pathways,
From the rose garden to the dark forest,

I love that you don’t need to see more to love me,
But I need you to see more of me to love me.

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Filed under Poetry


Remember the sunset.

This line walks through my head.

A prayer?

A plea?


Damn, you make things so hard.

Hard to move,

Hard to see,

Everything just hard.


I’ve lost feeling,

intermittent joy,

my poetry is lifeless,

no great written epiphanies.


I sit

in a great dark room,

indian style,

hands in my lap.


Visitors don’t come and go,

food does not slide under the door,

just me and the silence,

the sunset painted on the walls.


Filed under Poetry