Gentleman ♀

I Hate Middle School
Ad 2:
2022-03-01 17:48:53 (UTC)

Accidental Poetry...?

So, at first I was trying to write a short story for my little collection I have on AO3 but it ended up looking and sounding more like some sort of free verse poetry so I guess I just accidentally wrote poetry... wow...


I am a sculptor with one chance at a masterpiece
I start from scratch, a small chunky blob, identical to everyone else’
I go with the flow, doing my own thing
My art is smooth and effortless, I’ve just begun, nobody cares in the beginning
I’ve been working for some time now
Nobody told us this was a competition, but I think we’re all starting to catch on
Every competition needs a judge
They pass me by mumbling as they go, spot here, bump there, imperfection
They show me how to fix it
How kind of them to help me out, handed me a chisel and showed me how to use it
But I’m on my own now
It doesn’t feel like it though, I can still hear their critiques repeating in my head
I remember how to fix it
I pick up my chisel and knock a piece off, its bigger than I expected but its no big deal
I see another imperfection
One more fix couldn’t hurt could it, this is perfection, there’s no other way
Another bump
Another fix
Another piece
Another chisel
Another fix
Gone too far
Breaking it down down down down until there are no imperfections left, It’s done
I step back to look at my art
There’s nothing left, every smooth curve, every effortless angle
I’ve chiseled it all away
It was supposed to be a masterpiece… but instead, it turned to dust

So yeah, that's my poetry(?). I guess it can be interpreted however you want to since its literally a 13-year-olds word vomit but I did write it with a certain story in mind. So the whole thing was about my *ahem* struggle with dermatillomania or skin picking disorder. It's a thing where when I get nervous or bored or anything really, I pick at bumps on my skin till they bleed leaving scars all over my damn face back and chest. The first 4 lines are about me as a little person, a small child. Probably up tooooo 4th grade maybe? That's when I didn't care about my skin, I didn't really have to. I went with the flow, doing whatever cause I had no worries. The next two are about growing up and becoming aware that life isn't all sunshine and rainbows. The next seven are about how I started picking. The judge is my mom. She picks at her face too and against my will, she used to pick at my face along with her own. Eventually, I just started doing it on my own both to stop her from doing it and because I never realized how bumpy my face was. The rest of it is me taking it to the extreme and instead of popping a pimple, literally carving a bloody hole in my flesh with my bare hands... Yay...

Okay seriously though, this sucks... Like a lot... And for someone on the outside, I can totally see how stupid I sound. 'Why don't you just stop?' you might be asking, or 'why would anyone painfully scar up their face', or something else like that. Honestly, it comes like second nature. I either don't notice I'm doing it till my skin is so raw it burns or I don't care enough to stop. Think of it as junk food, you know you shouldn't eat it because it's bad for you, but you do it anyway because it makes you feel good. Or maybe you tell yourself 'a little bit won't hurt' or 'I'll burn it off later'. Still the same. Sorry you had to read all that, I'll write again soon! Buh bye!