Pretty by http://e1ande2.deviantart.com/
He told her she was pretty, she laughed and shook her head.
"thank you but don't mock me" and turned away from him.
He worried he'd upset her, so called her back once more. Asked
what was the problem and she glanced down to the floor.
"no need to call me pretty, you see I know I'm not. These girls
who are around me, deserve the compliment I got,
they're beautiful and skinny with eyes to beat the stars.
And I've got nothing but whats inside to challenge who they are."
He stared at her in silence, then called her nothing but a fool,
took her hand and whispered "compared to them you're beautiful"
Make me Pretty: By http://dead-doormouse.deviantart.com/
You hide your face and hide it fast,
You’re no stranger to this mask,
The box you keep of magik and tricks,
“Nothing a little lip gloss won’t fix.”
You open the box, contents unfurled,
Your barricade from this world,
Powder and lipstick create a fake smile,
Her pale face must not be seen, it’s not her style.
Eyeliner lies, hides faith from your eyes,
Blusher conceals and burns what is real.
Why can’t you see,
Beauty is for free?
Elegance is from within,
Not man made from a tin.
You hate yourself, you lack esteem,
Boys in your class are all so mean,
Due to remarks; some blunt, some witty,
You open your box and pray,
”Make me pretty.”
Monday, November 28, 2011
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
For Anna
Starting work on the Pretty People Series.
Hopefully, It will be finished by the end of the week so I may share a tid-bit with you.
I have been pulling re-search for plays of it's kind. Here are some good plays/poem books to read:
Hayley Michelle
Hopefully, It will be finished by the end of the week so I may share a tid-bit with you.
I have been pulling re-search for plays of it's kind. Here are some good plays/poem books to read:
1. For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow Is Enuf by Ntozake Shange
3. Little Girls in Pretty Boxes by Joan Ryan
4. Inside the "Thin" Cage by Constance Rhodes
Hayley Michelle
Monday, November 21, 2011
The Pretty Plays
Hello, Pretty People of Blogger!
Recently, as you know, I have been documenting Stories of true life events that make pretty people out of ugly experiences.
With some exuctive bicking with myself, I have decided to commit to writing a Pretty Project Series of Plays.
These plays, hopefully, will be preformed and with the money I make will be given to create a pretty project network. Where i can involve the pretty community with bringing awarness to ullying and how it effects people. I want to bring attention to what is going on, and i want to change it.
Let's change the world: One play at a time.
<3
Thank You For reading,
Hayley Michelle
Recently, as you know, I have been documenting Stories of true life events that make pretty people out of ugly experiences.
With some exuctive bicking with myself, I have decided to commit to writing a Pretty Project Series of Plays.
These plays, hopefully, will be preformed and with the money I make will be given to create a pretty project network. Where i can involve the pretty community with bringing awarness to ullying and how it effects people. I want to bring attention to what is going on, and i want to change it.
Let's change the world: One play at a time.
<3
Thank You For reading,
Hayley Michelle
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Pretty Girls Suicide. Support art and Save a life. Love yourself!
http://demachic.deviantart.com/
http://donotattempt.deviantart.com/
A Pretty Girl’s Suicide
All the voices say
She has such a pretty smile
One that lasts for days
Like it was plastered on her face
All the voices say
She wears such pretty clothes
The colors that just stand out in a crowd
Like she was a butterfly
All the voices say
She has such pretty eyes
A mixture of green and blue
Like where the ocean meats the sky
All the voices say
She has such pretty hair
It would shimmer in the breeze
Like dew on grass
All the voices say
She was such a pretty girl
A girl who would make boys mouths water
Like a freshly baked apple pie
But pretty is as pretty does
Every time she glimpsed a mirror
It would tell her those voices are saying lies
She couldn’t take it, all the lies
So she committed suicide
She had a pretty smile
She had worn a pretty dress
She had left open her pretty eyes
She had been strangled/hung by her pretty hair
The world is full of pretty things
It has its pretty people
Lots of pretty words
Many pretty places
But when will pretty stop
Clenched in her hand
Was the lipstick she smeared
On the mirror in front of her
( It read )
Pretty girls
Live in pretty fantasies
Ugly girls
Live in ugly realities
Pretty words are measly ugly lies
( http://picaninny-ice-freeze.deviantart.com/ )
Pretty People: Meghan (The Price of Beauty)
1% of America has enough money to surpass life and then to live.
the other 99% can get by, but most cannot even do that.
Let me give you a hint: I am not part of the 1%.
No, I am part of the mass blob of poverty.
"Money makes the world go around".
For my world, it slows and stops it.
They say you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, or by its price tag. But we all do; don't deny it. WE pick our friends because of class. We want the top friends; the ones with the nicest clothes and the ones that will get you places. I'm not going to be one of those girls.
People sometimes pity me...most times the look at me like I’m a disgusting Tissue that has been blown in...And to others I am just air to walk through. Nothing.
But they forget that they're only human.
I'm human too.
Before Money was ever invented we were all human. No money; no class; no status.
Status is a fancy word for Rancid Pride and Ego.
I live in a small house. Not even that; it is an insult to say it is less or more than a place to sleep at night...or try. It is a pimple on the face of a tiny town in New Jersey where the kids grow up to work at gas-stations and fast food chains.
My mom works two jobs to just run power through our little place. My mother is so strong. She is the glue that holds my crumbled little worthless world together. Our lives are supported by rotted driftwood, and she somehow manages to keep us afloat. I don't know how she does it...perhaps I never will. But she is amazing and I don't know what I would do without her.
She raised me, my brother and my dog by herself.
My brother is a pig.
Not just for his looks but his mannerisms are piggish. I cannot bare to look upon him, cause it is all I see. We are pigs, stuck in Farmer Life's pen. He is free to slaughter us and spares no mercy, and leaves us out in the sun-dried mud to roll around in and rot.
We are rotting pigs in the mud.
Sometimes I pretend like I’m a farmer, and not a pig. I can afford things. I can afford to put food every night on the table for my family. I can eat. I don't mean survive, i mean eat.I want to loosen my belt buckle instead of hold my stomach in pain. Sometimes we go weeks without food.
All our money goes into keeping a hot tin roof over our head. A tin roof that is rusting.
I want to give money to my family to buy them things and make them feel wanted.
I want my mom to wear pearls. Really pearls. She deserves them. I want her to relax and get the thanks she deserves for being there for me. But i cannot, with all the stars in the sky and wishing, I cannot.
I cannot be anything but a Pig. And I try to get out of the mud, but the mud is quick sand and I'm sinking and sinking deeper and deeper into 99% of America.
Deeper and deeper.
But if I’m going to drown in this quicksand of dollars and pennies, I am not going down as a pig. I am going as a human being.
Pretty People are made out of Ugly experiences.
I am not a pig; I am a pretty person.
Someday.
Everyday.
Just not today.
Meghan Kitzler 16 years old, November 15, 2011.
the other 99% can get by, but most cannot even do that.
Let me give you a hint: I am not part of the 1%.
No, I am part of the mass blob of poverty.
"Money makes the world go around".
For my world, it slows and stops it.
They say you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, or by its price tag. But we all do; don't deny it. WE pick our friends because of class. We want the top friends; the ones with the nicest clothes and the ones that will get you places. I'm not going to be one of those girls.
People sometimes pity me...most times the look at me like I’m a disgusting Tissue that has been blown in...And to others I am just air to walk through. Nothing.
But they forget that they're only human.
I'm human too.
Before Money was ever invented we were all human. No money; no class; no status.
Status is a fancy word for Rancid Pride and Ego.
I live in a small house. Not even that; it is an insult to say it is less or more than a place to sleep at night...or try. It is a pimple on the face of a tiny town in New Jersey where the kids grow up to work at gas-stations and fast food chains.
My mom works two jobs to just run power through our little place. My mother is so strong. She is the glue that holds my crumbled little worthless world together. Our lives are supported by rotted driftwood, and she somehow manages to keep us afloat. I don't know how she does it...perhaps I never will. But she is amazing and I don't know what I would do without her.
She raised me, my brother and my dog by herself.
My brother is a pig.
Not just for his looks but his mannerisms are piggish. I cannot bare to look upon him, cause it is all I see. We are pigs, stuck in Farmer Life's pen. He is free to slaughter us and spares no mercy, and leaves us out in the sun-dried mud to roll around in and rot.
We are rotting pigs in the mud.
Sometimes I pretend like I’m a farmer, and not a pig. I can afford things. I can afford to put food every night on the table for my family. I can eat. I don't mean survive, i mean eat.I want to loosen my belt buckle instead of hold my stomach in pain. Sometimes we go weeks without food.
All our money goes into keeping a hot tin roof over our head. A tin roof that is rusting.
I want to give money to my family to buy them things and make them feel wanted.
I want my mom to wear pearls. Really pearls. She deserves them. I want her to relax and get the thanks she deserves for being there for me. But i cannot, with all the stars in the sky and wishing, I cannot.
I cannot be anything but a Pig. And I try to get out of the mud, but the mud is quick sand and I'm sinking and sinking deeper and deeper into 99% of America.
Deeper and deeper.
But if I’m going to drown in this quicksand of dollars and pennies, I am not going down as a pig. I am going as a human being.
Pretty People are made out of Ugly experiences.
I am not a pig; I am a pretty person.
Someday.
Everyday.
Just not today.
Meghan Kitzler 16 years old, November 15, 2011.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Who told you that you weren't pretty?
Well?
Won't you answer me?
Who told you that you weren't worth it...
Seriously.
I need to know.
Don't feel like talking?
Fine, just listen then.
They were wrong.
Whoever told you that is brain-damaged.
I know this isn't much of a poem.
I know its not the way you wanted someone to tell you they love you,
But its what i could do.
I care.
I think your beautiful.
I thin your worth it.
I think I love you.
Won't you answer me?
Who told you that you weren't worth it...
Seriously.
I need to know.
Don't feel like talking?
Fine, just listen then.
They were wrong.
Whoever told you that is brain-damaged.
I know this isn't much of a poem.
I know its not the way you wanted someone to tell you they love you,
But its what i could do.
I care.
I think your beautiful.
I thin your worth it.
I think I love you.
I can be pretty too, you know.
I can be pretty too, you know.
You may not be able to see
But maybe it's because your blind.
You may not be able to hear me screaming for help,
but maybe thats because your deaf.
You may not be able to hug me,
but maybe that's because your not real.
I can be pretty too, you know.
I can wear those ugly brown boots,
drench myself in the same sentless purfume.
I can wear the same logo that defines you.
I just don't.
I can be pretty too, you know.
I can play tonnsil hockey with myself and my finger,
I can Pass the food,
I can pop the pills.
I jsut don't.
I can be pretty too, you know.
I jsut choose not to fall to your stupidity.
PS? I am Pretty.
You may not be able to see
But maybe it's because your blind.
You may not be able to hear me screaming for help,
but maybe thats because your deaf.
You may not be able to hug me,
but maybe that's because your not real.
I can be pretty too, you know.
I can wear those ugly brown boots,
drench myself in the same sentless purfume.
I can wear the same logo that defines you.
I just don't.
I can be pretty too, you know.
I can play tonnsil hockey with myself and my finger,
I can Pass the food,
I can pop the pills.
I jsut don't.
I can be pretty too, you know.
I jsut choose not to fall to your stupidity.
PS? I am Pretty.
Pretty People: Sara Beth (I'm not the victim here)
I'm not the vitcim here...
I'm not the pray.
I didn't stand there and wait for it to happen. I was smart about it.
Every kid hears about bullies. THere in practically every fairy tale.
The step-sisters in Cinderella.
The mom in Hansel and Gretel.
The wolf in Little Red riding hood.
But I knew I wasn't in a fairytale...Like I said, I was smart.
Correction I am smart.
Bullies are like Detrivors. They pick at the dead, kill the half-alive, and circle you until you drop dead.
Weakness are parts of us that are dead...
I knew I had to loose a few pounds.
I learned that was my wekness before they did.
But that's good...right?
My friends weren't Barbies.
They were un-discribable.
Pretty. Bruenette.
They looked like me... but i was...thicker than them.
They didn't need to loose weight. They never had.
I always have.
I wasn't about to do this blindley.
I wanted to put of the weight and keep it off.
I started going to the gym alot.
AND EATING!
Not eating, only hurts you. Eating right is better then not eating at all.
If we all jsut put alittle effort into what we eat, we might not have to suffer from bullying on weight.
If you stop yourself from bullying, you may being stopping another person's misery too.
Stand up, grow up, Stop it.
Jsut because your not the target yet, doesn't mean you won't be eventually. Take a stand and make sure your not the target. Stop bullying!
Its wrong, and don't let it happen to you or others.
<3
Pretty People are made out of ugly experiences.
I am pretty person.
Someday.
Every day
Sara Beth 14 years old. November 3, 2011.
I'm not the pray.
I didn't stand there and wait for it to happen. I was smart about it.
Every kid hears about bullies. THere in practically every fairy tale.
The step-sisters in Cinderella.
The mom in Hansel and Gretel.
The wolf in Little Red riding hood.
But I knew I wasn't in a fairytale...Like I said, I was smart.
Correction I am smart.
Bullies are like Detrivors. They pick at the dead, kill the half-alive, and circle you until you drop dead.
Weakness are parts of us that are dead...
I knew I had to loose a few pounds.
I learned that was my wekness before they did.
But that's good...right?
My friends weren't Barbies.
They were un-discribable.
Pretty. Bruenette.
They looked like me... but i was...thicker than them.
They didn't need to loose weight. They never had.
I always have.
I wasn't about to do this blindley.
I wanted to put of the weight and keep it off.
I started going to the gym alot.
AND EATING!
Not eating, only hurts you. Eating right is better then not eating at all.
If we all jsut put alittle effort into what we eat, we might not have to suffer from bullying on weight.
If you stop yourself from bullying, you may being stopping another person's misery too.
Stand up, grow up, Stop it.
Jsut because your not the target yet, doesn't mean you won't be eventually. Take a stand and make sure your not the target. Stop bullying!
Its wrong, and don't let it happen to you or others.
<3
Pretty People are made out of ugly experiences.
I am pretty person.
Someday.
Every day
Sara Beth 14 years old. November 3, 2011.
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