A festering tapeworm under the skin. A trillion bullet holes shooting through a greasy mirror.
Trapped by porcelain faces , rouge lipped smiles. Pitiful eyes staring their scorching glare.
Razor sharp words crack my face.
Escaping from harsh tongues to a desolated toilet.
Thoughts dancing like a plague;
Causing a flood.
Concocting potions trying to rid the strawberry blotches.
Smothering imperfections with layers of makeup;
Only to make them greater.
Left with an empty feeling of helplessness.
So having a nearly nine year battle I thought I’d write this poem to express the feelings I’ve been bottling up . My acne is going now but my skin still is red ,blotchy and stained with acne scars which look like craters. I’ve tried everything I can think of to rid myself of them but nothing has worked.I know people think acne is just acne but it’s more psychological than that.I always feel dirty no matter what amount of chemicals I paste on. I never feel good enough. I suppose this is down to me starting puberty extremely early , at the age of nine.
When I started secondary school no one in my year seemed to have developed spots; making me look like a freak that had been created in a laboratory. Giving people the licence to call me names. If anyone remembers the popular Rhianna song “shine bright like a diamond.” The lyrics were changed to “shine bright like your forehead.’ and chanted to me due to the oiliness of my skin.
I remember people avoiding me due to the way I looked, thinking I’d spread some sort of bacteria onto them. Those remarks made still have a lasting impact , the acne scars aren’t just the scars caused by the spots but the scars caused by the past. Each name called is like a lasting bruise.
I know people are told to look on the inside, see inner beauty within themselves; it’s easier said than done.People seem to value appearance more than personality. I suppose the rise of social media hasn’t helped with that .
That’s why I choose to wear the mask ,to cake myself in makeup ; that’s why I hide imperfections . I know I sound vain , insecure.That’s why I hide in a blanket of confidence, shielding myself from venomous remarks.