PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Standing.
I'm in front of the mirror.
Wondering.
Why you still draw me near.
I've been called so many things.
They've called me freak.
They've called me goth.
They've called me nerd.
I find all of these labels,
so fucking absurb.
I stare into the mirror.
My eyes look so tierd.
Many a sleepless night.
I've spent just thinking about you.
Nice coat of ivory masks all the flaws.
Today I don't want to be me.
I don't feel like facing reality.
I want to portray something else.
I line my eyes.
Looking so smoky black.
I wear makeup sometimes.
I know! Hey, It's just a fetish of mines.
One of many that you'll have to adjust to.
They've called me drugie.
They've called me faggot.
They've called me fat-ass.
There was once a time,
when I thought each day I lived,
would surely be my last.
Sometimes I rebel.
I'm looking to intimidate.
Black shirt with silver chains.
Sometimes I accomodate.
White shirt but feeling so plain.
Sometimes I want to attract.
Sometimes I want to self-compact.
Sometimes I hate to love.
Sometimes I love to hate.
I see my clone in the mirror.
I don't know whether I want to shine today.
I don't know what character to portray.
Which split-personality wants to come out and play?
I spike up my hair.
I could comb it forward with bangs.
Isn't that the way you like it dear?
But I don't feel like pleasing you.
"You can't control everything that I do!"
They've called me anorexic.
They've called me beat-nik.
They've called me reject.
I used to wish I could press eject.
Like my life was a movie.
I could watch(live) a new one each week.
I stare into the mirror.
I'm growing more uncomfortable with the reflection.
Yet I still question.
Why you've chosen me,
as the recipient of your "affection".
Sometimes I feel shy.
Sometimes I feel bold.
Sometimes I feel vanilla.
Sometimes I feel rocky road.
Sometimes I feel young.
Other times I feel so old.
They've called me so many names.
People just don't like what they can't understand.
If you're different they make accusations.
To mask the fear of the unknown.
I've had so many personas.
Dwelt so much time into my paranoia.
For some reason your once again back with me.
Still seeing something I don't see in me.
I put on my tight black jeans.
Lace up my "kick ass" leather boots.
I adorn a tank top.
Apply my face and spike my hair.
I'm still thinking of you.
What's the attraction.
What do you see in me?
You've said that you miss me.
From time to time.
You've said all the things,
this hopeless romantic wants to hear.
Yet I still have to question.
Why you want this boy in the mirror.