I am not afraid to hold myself out for your critical eye just try to pick me apart
I challenge you
to see only my messy hair
my big glasses
and every little blemish
I’ll shove my imperfections at you even
look me in the eyes and tell me
I’m not smart
bold
strong
I dare you
go ahead
try not to believe in me
As I looked in the mirror getting ready to go on a date with my husband, I noticed a blemish on the side of my face. I had not seen it before and decided to make an appointment with the skin doctor to have it checked. I will not worry until I see the doctor.
I just never want us to part..because you make me whole…you are my..little..blemish..and I love you..
Hanna-Kristel
it was a chance in a million but the ink blot landed on my shirt when I didn’t notice. We won’t go with you for this proposal they said at the meeting. Really? I said. I thought it all went very well. Bad dresser they said and left. It was only later that I saw the blemish.
She stares in horror in the small compact mirror. There, on the center of her pinkish forehead, sprinkled with freckles, is it–a huge, disgusting, horrifying pimple. What will her date think? She hadn’t even asked him yet! Today was the big day! She groans and clamps the mirror shut, sliding down the wall with defeat. Maybe next year she’ll ask him. And have have ProActiv.
There is a brief moment, a hesitation, in the way the sun comes above the horizon. It’s early morning pinks and blues, the golden light just starting to warm the top of the mountain in the distance. The cool dampness as I walk to my car is the earth’s soft breath on my face, the intermittently dry pavement underfoot the hand that cradles me. I feel calm, potential wound in my spine, and unlike so many other mornings, for all my complications this ones seems unblemished.
She held a hand, briefly, over the blemish. It was a small one, but to her, quite significant. “So what were you up to last night?” asked her colleague, while they stood at the water cooler.
“Oh, nothing much. Just, you know, watching tv. The usual.” she replied, giving an inane answer to an inane question, which was all it deserved.
“Yeah, me too.”
She relaxed briefly, and forgot about her hand, revealing the blemish as she stooped to pick up her drink from the cooler.
“That’s a nasty little cut you seem to have on your cheek there.”
“It’s not a cut!” she snapped, and quickly calming herself, continued “it’s just a blemish. Nothing fatal.”
Oh God, did she just say that? Damn. Awkward comments were bound to bring out awkward responses, and that was one.
“I gotta go, see you later…” her colleague whirled around and off down the long hallway, his shoes clacking out a fast rhythm on the tiled floor, each step resonating more loudly in her head than the last.
And before she could think of an excuse to call him back, he had already reached the stairwell up to his office, and was gone. He had to know. How could he not? Look at the way he rushed off like that. Maybe she was being paranoid, though with good reason.
Even if he didn’t know the truth, he might let slip his suspicions to someone else, and then… Only one solution remained. He would have to be next.
Pulling out her compact, she turned her back to the main office hallway and in the privacy of a collonade, examined her face again. The scratch was not going down, if anything, it looked more inflamed. The makeup didn’t seem to doing its job any more. After what she’d seen the previous night, she might not have long to fix things. She snapped the compact shut, and slipped it back in her purse. As she did so, she felt the cold, steel shaft of the small screwdriver she kept in there for moments like this. She paused, lost in thought for a few moments.
It would have to do.
She turned quickly and made her way with haste down the hallway to the stairwell that led to her colleague’s office. He worked alone, this would be straightforward.
She had killed before. She would have to kill again.
Only, that’s not quite how it was.
She had actually never killed before. But she was quite convinced she had.
Cheekbones dusted with perfection
Youthful hands reach across the piano
Each note a mystery
A sound sits still in the air
Amidst the crowd
Of blemished souls
Even just one blemish makes me want to cry. One tarnish, one stain, one little mistake. Those are the things I can’t deal with. Not because they’re imperfect, but because I was so close to being perfect. I don’t know why they bother me so much. It’s always the tiny little ones, the specks that no one can see that make me want to break down. I’ll survive one or two or five, but eventually they start to pile higher and higher, until one day, they all tip over.
They were not to be spoken of after they took the long walk, as we called it, down to the basement of the hopital. I can sense a remninsce of the presence of my own grandmothers’ spirit from years before when they took her. The doctor said that she would just be changing rooms not to worry. She was sick, but not unto death. If they, the “kings of Utopia,” would have given her time she would still be here to tell me of family secrets. I would still have her here to pass traditions on to me, that I might do the same for my descendants. To my heart she was perfect. She was a significant part of that which made me who I am. To them though she was a blemish. To them she was an unwanted speck on their society. She was a black dot on a blank white page. I wish I had a choice before they took her down for the long walk.
Like a blemish on the surface of a perfect object, he stood calmly in the middle of the room, blocking the doorway. We caught each other from across and I tried to whisper bloody murder with my eyes.
Myona
“EW! What the hell is on your face, loser.”
I look down at shame as Liz pointed to the large blemish on my face. Just ignore her, I think to myself.
I keep walking to math, not wanting to be late for the first period of the day.
As I walk I keep thinking of things I could have said to her. I imagine myself pushing her up against a locker and yelling in her face “I AM NOT A LOSER.”
Even though I knew I would never be brave enough to do it.
I finally arrive at math and start to work on the problem on the board. I finish the problem before Liz and her friends even get through the door.
Liz sits down in her assigned seat next to me and starts looking at the finished problem on the table. I make no move to stop her. If I even tried I knew I would get bullied even worse than before. Liz gives me a puzzled look, wondering how I got the answer, before writing it down on her sheet.
The teacher comes around to check our work.
“Great job, Liz, the is terrific work!” the teacher says. I wonder what the teacher was talking about, Liz had no work done on her sheet of paper. I look down only to see my paper had been switched with Liz’s.
Amanda
“EW! What the hell is on your face, loser.”
I look down at shame as Liz pointed to the large blemish on my face. Just ignore her, I think to myself.
I keep walking to math, not wanting to be late for the first period of the day.
As I walk I keep thinking of things I could have said to her. I imagine myself pushing her up against a locker and yelling in her face “I AM NOT A LOSER.”
Even though I knew I would never be brave enough to do it.
I finally arrive at math and start to work on the problem on the board. I finish the problem before Liz and her friends even get through the door.
(I will keep copy pasting my story so… If you want to read it, just wait one minute!)
Amanda
“EW! What the hell is on your face, loser.”
I look down at shame as Liz pointed to the large blemish on my face. Just ignore her, I think to myself.
I keep walking to math, not wanting to be late for the first period of the day.
Amanda
I had a blemish on my face again. Not the kind of blemish that you could prick with a needle, just one that was subtle enough to make you too ugly to even think about asking out Sarah Giabaldi. I guess that’s why I was taking Esther Smith to prom. I guess that’s why my date smelled like Fritos.
Tim
i don’t really know what this word means since i’s bulgarian and i learn english only for a while, but it seams nice. BTW What the hell am I doing on this site since I don’t know decent English?
Blemish, ew. I hate them they are so ugly if you have a lot then people will call you pizza face, lol. they’re red and have white puss stuff i them, they are greatly dreaded, you don’t want a blemish, trust me people will make fun of you very bad and you will be humiliated!
Oh look at the blemish on my face. How could this have happened. I took modeling and make up classes so I know how not to let this happen. Can I really stop a blemish or are they just a part of life and may increase as we age.
Blemish, ew. They make you look what society thinks is ugly. they’re dreaded upon. Just about everyone hates blemishes, if you have a lot people probably call you pizza face lol! pepperoni
Liberty
I hate blemishes they’re pimples and red and make you look ugly and stupid they’re just so annoying and a medical problem. if you have a lot then it’s a medical problem lolol. well i hate this. I have a blemish on my face.
Liberty
i have many blemish on my face the to me are my main imperfections they make me want to hide in a shell so no one can see them they make me feel insecure
And it was proven that this spot, this perfect horrid little thing, would mean certain death. It was like a blight on her loveliness, sitting there insolently, bleeding into every facet of her crystal-shaved life. She shone and sparkled and riled and roared, and there it was, hatefully beautiful; a twinkle in its eye.
Flawless. Not a fault. Not a blemish. Not a hair out of place. I ached to see her messy one day, without perfectly applied cosmetics and the superior glare dead from her mascara eyes.
I have a blemish on my face. I never used to have acne. I don’t actually have acne, but once in a while I get a humongous zit on my nose and it is quite unsightly. I wish that I never got horrid blemishes on my skin.
Blemish
Oh how I
Hate you
It is just you
One persistent you
When I think you are
done
humiliating me
you suddenly
reappear
but this time in a
different place
Take mercy blemish!!
I am but a blemish on your personal record, that is all I am, all I ever will be. Why do you still love me, though I threaten to ruin your whole life? You’ve already lost your job because of me… Why don’t you hate me yet..?
You sneer at your reflection, annoyed beyond all compare. You have a pimple. Again. God, you really have horrible skin. Could it be for half of your life you ate nothing but pizza and drank nothing but soda? Probably.
Mynameisapuzzle
there was a blemish on her heart
no one could see
there were only dashed hopes
if she could only be
she’d found a love
to make her whole
but instead it felt like
daggers in her soul
she cried out, helpless
what could break this spell, this
hurt
she weeps
An unruly mark. Something that will harshly affect the aesthetic appeal of an otherwise flawless piece. I had a blemish on my academic record, with a C+ in Anatomy.
Golden tried to dry her tears, looking in the mirror at her face. Covered in blemishes, probably from her tears. Sighing, she sat back in her chair, burying her face in her hands and beginning to cry. Will and Isabella…it was so WRONG.
“Virginia?” Golden looked up in shock and spun around to see her mother – no, Cecilia – standing there. Cecilia smiled softly and crossed the room, brushing her hands over her daughter’s blemish-filled face.
“Talk to me about it,” she urged.
there are a few upon us all not our faces but our souls. we crave forgiveness but don’t receive it, we do things we are not proud of, we are who we are not. and while no blemish goes unnoticed it is our blemishes that color our lives and help us grow into more beautiful people.
You did it. It’s YOUR fault. You manipulated the truth to try and save your skin. And in the doing, you blemished my reputation. The thing is, “truth will out.” The real me is so much more than your skewed image of me. I never claim perfection. I do claim my own honesty.
For the first time in years
My right hand has escaped the blemishing of
Eczema for about a month
My knuckles are usually cracked and dried
Swollen and perhaps bleeding
Like the rest of my body my hands have
Their moments of imperfection
But I can appreciate them.
ellie griffith
uh. blemish. blemish blemish blemish. things that get in the way of a guy asking you out. blemish blemish blemish. ugh. oh blemishes why why do you hate me
I am a blemish upon your life. I know that is true. You wish I didn’t happen to you. Believe me it is not one sided. I am a blemish on my own life I feel you every time I see you. You blemish me with your willingness to forget and your need to erase me as time goes on. But blemishes leave scars. Idiot.
I am not afraid to hold myself out for your critical eye just try to pick me apart
I challenge you
to see only my messy hair
my big glasses
and every little blemish
I’ll shove my imperfections at you even
look me in the eyes and tell me
I’m not smart
bold
strong
I dare you
go ahead
try not to believe in me
Babam yarın Hırvatistan’dan Türkiye’ye gelecek.
As I looked in the mirror getting ready to go on a date with my husband, I noticed a blemish on the side of my face. I had not seen it before and decided to make an appointment with the skin doctor to have it checked. I will not worry until I see the doctor.
I just never want us to part..because you make me whole…you are my..little..blemish..and I love you..
it was a chance in a million but the ink blot landed on my shirt when I didn’t notice. We won’t go with you for this proposal they said at the meeting. Really? I said. I thought it all went very well. Bad dresser they said and left. It was only later that I saw the blemish.
The blemish on my face will heal before the prom.
She stares in horror in the small compact mirror. There, on the center of her pinkish forehead, sprinkled with freckles, is it–a huge, disgusting, horrifying pimple. What will her date think? She hadn’t even asked him yet! Today was the big day! She groans and clamps the mirror shut, sliding down the wall with defeat. Maybe next year she’ll ask him. And have have ProActiv.
There is a brief moment, a hesitation, in the way the sun comes above the horizon. It’s early morning pinks and blues, the golden light just starting to warm the top of the mountain in the distance. The cool dampness as I walk to my car is the earth’s soft breath on my face, the intermittently dry pavement underfoot the hand that cradles me. I feel calm, potential wound in my spine, and unlike so many other mornings, for all my complications this ones seems unblemished.
She held a hand, briefly, over the blemish. It was a small one, but to her, quite significant. “So what were you up to last night?” asked her colleague, while they stood at the water cooler.
“Oh, nothing much. Just, you know, watching tv. The usual.” she replied, giving an inane answer to an inane question, which was all it deserved.
“Yeah, me too.”
She relaxed briefly, and forgot about her hand, revealing the blemish as she stooped to pick up her drink from the cooler.
“That’s a nasty little cut you seem to have on your cheek there.”
“It’s not a cut!” she snapped, and quickly calming herself, continued “it’s just a blemish. Nothing fatal.”
Oh God, did she just say that? Damn. Awkward comments were bound to bring out awkward responses, and that was one.
“I gotta go, see you later…” her colleague whirled around and off down the long hallway, his shoes clacking out a fast rhythm on the tiled floor, each step resonating more loudly in her head than the last.
And before she could think of an excuse to call him back, he had already reached the stairwell up to his office, and was gone. He had to know. How could he not? Look at the way he rushed off like that. Maybe she was being paranoid, though with good reason.
Even if he didn’t know the truth, he might let slip his suspicions to someone else, and then… Only one solution remained. He would have to be next.
Pulling out her compact, she turned her back to the main office hallway and in the privacy of a collonade, examined her face again. The scratch was not going down, if anything, it looked more inflamed. The makeup didn’t seem to doing its job any more. After what she’d seen the previous night, she might not have long to fix things. She snapped the compact shut, and slipped it back in her purse. As she did so, she felt the cold, steel shaft of the small screwdriver she kept in there for moments like this. She paused, lost in thought for a few moments.
It would have to do.
She turned quickly and made her way with haste down the hallway to the stairwell that led to her colleague’s office. He worked alone, this would be straightforward.
She had killed before. She would have to kill again.
Only, that’s not quite how it was.
She had actually never killed before. But she was quite convinced she had.
Blemish on my face. Get off. Now. Please.
I want to meet the man of my dreams.
His face is covered in them.
But mine, must be blemish free.
Spot. Be gone. Blemish away.
Leave me stress free, leave me be.
Cheekbones dusted with perfection
Youthful hands reach across the piano
Each note a mystery
A sound sits still in the air
Amidst the crowd
Of blemished souls
Even just one blemish makes me want to cry. One tarnish, one stain, one little mistake. Those are the things I can’t deal with. Not because they’re imperfect, but because I was so close to being perfect. I don’t know why they bother me so much. It’s always the tiny little ones, the specks that no one can see that make me want to break down. I’ll survive one or two or five, but eventually they start to pile higher and higher, until one day, they all tip over.
They were not to be spoken of after they took the long walk, as we called it, down to the basement of the hopital. I can sense a remninsce of the presence of my own grandmothers’ spirit from years before when they took her. The doctor said that she would just be changing rooms not to worry. She was sick, but not unto death. If they, the “kings of Utopia,” would have given her time she would still be here to tell me of family secrets. I would still have her here to pass traditions on to me, that I might do the same for my descendants. To my heart she was perfect. She was a significant part of that which made me who I am. To them though she was a blemish. To them she was an unwanted speck on their society. She was a black dot on a blank white page. I wish I had a choice before they took her down for the long walk.
Like a blemish on the surface of a perfect object, he stood calmly in the middle of the room, blocking the doorway. We caught each other from across and I tried to whisper bloody murder with my eyes.
“EW! What the hell is on your face, loser.”
I look down at shame as Liz pointed to the large blemish on my face. Just ignore her, I think to myself.
I keep walking to math, not wanting to be late for the first period of the day.
As I walk I keep thinking of things I could have said to her. I imagine myself pushing her up against a locker and yelling in her face “I AM NOT A LOSER.”
Even though I knew I would never be brave enough to do it.
I finally arrive at math and start to work on the problem on the board. I finish the problem before Liz and her friends even get through the door.
Liz sits down in her assigned seat next to me and starts looking at the finished problem on the table. I make no move to stop her. If I even tried I knew I would get bullied even worse than before. Liz gives me a puzzled look, wondering how I got the answer, before writing it down on her sheet.
The teacher comes around to check our work.
“Great job, Liz, the is terrific work!” the teacher says. I wonder what the teacher was talking about, Liz had no work done on her sheet of paper. I look down only to see my paper had been switched with Liz’s.
“EW! What the hell is on your face, loser.”
I look down at shame as Liz pointed to the large blemish on my face. Just ignore her, I think to myself.
I keep walking to math, not wanting to be late for the first period of the day.
As I walk I keep thinking of things I could have said to her. I imagine myself pushing her up against a locker and yelling in her face “I AM NOT A LOSER.”
Even though I knew I would never be brave enough to do it.
I finally arrive at math and start to work on the problem on the board. I finish the problem before Liz and her friends even get through the door.
(I will keep copy pasting my story so… If you want to read it, just wait one minute!)
“EW! What the hell is on your face, loser.”
I look down at shame as Liz pointed to the large blemish on my face. Just ignore her, I think to myself.
I keep walking to math, not wanting to be late for the first period of the day.
I had a blemish on my face again. Not the kind of blemish that you could prick with a needle, just one that was subtle enough to make you too ugly to even think about asking out Sarah Giabaldi. I guess that’s why I was taking Esther Smith to prom. I guess that’s why my date smelled like Fritos.
i don’t really know what this word means since i’s bulgarian and i learn english only for a while, but it seams nice. BTW What the hell am I doing on this site since I don’t know decent English?
ok.
Blemish, ew. I hate them they are so ugly if you have a lot then people will call you pizza face, lol. they’re red and have white puss stuff i them, they are greatly dreaded, you don’t want a blemish, trust me people will make fun of you very bad and you will be humiliated!
Oh look at the blemish on my face. How could this have happened. I took modeling and make up classes so I know how not to let this happen. Can I really stop a blemish or are they just a part of life and may increase as we age.
fixable
Blemish, ew. They make you look what society thinks is ugly. they’re dreaded upon. Just about everyone hates blemishes, if you have a lot people probably call you pizza face lol! pepperoni
I hate blemishes they’re pimples and red and make you look ugly and stupid they’re just so annoying and a medical problem. if you have a lot then it’s a medical problem lolol. well i hate this. I have a blemish on my face.
i have many blemish on my face the to me are my main imperfections they make me want to hide in a shell so no one can see them they make me feel insecure
And it was proven that this spot, this perfect horrid little thing, would mean certain death. It was like a blight on her loveliness, sitting there insolently, bleeding into every facet of her crystal-shaved life. She shone and sparkled and riled and roared, and there it was, hatefully beautiful; a twinkle in its eye.
Flawless. Not a fault. Not a blemish. Not a hair out of place. I ached to see her messy one day, without perfectly applied cosmetics and the superior glare dead from her mascara eyes.
I have a blemish on my face. I never used to have acne. I don’t actually have acne, but once in a while I get a humongous zit on my nose and it is quite unsightly. I wish that I never got horrid blemishes on my skin.
Blemish
Oh how I
Hate you
It is just you
One persistent you
When I think you are
done
humiliating me
you suddenly
reappear
but this time in a
different place
Take mercy blemish!!
I am but a blemish on your personal record, that is all I am, all I ever will be. Why do you still love me, though I threaten to ruin your whole life? You’ve already lost your job because of me… Why don’t you hate me yet..?
You sneer at your reflection, annoyed beyond all compare. You have a pimple. Again. God, you really have horrible skin. Could it be for half of your life you ate nothing but pizza and drank nothing but soda? Probably.
there was a blemish on her heart
no one could see
there were only dashed hopes
if she could only be
she’d found a love
to make her whole
but instead it felt like
daggers in her soul
she cried out, helpless
what could break this spell, this
hurt
she weeps
An unruly mark. Something that will harshly affect the aesthetic appeal of an otherwise flawless piece. I had a blemish on my academic record, with a C+ in Anatomy.
Golden tried to dry her tears, looking in the mirror at her face. Covered in blemishes, probably from her tears. Sighing, she sat back in her chair, burying her face in her hands and beginning to cry. Will and Isabella…it was so WRONG.
“Virginia?” Golden looked up in shock and spun around to see her mother – no, Cecilia – standing there. Cecilia smiled softly and crossed the room, brushing her hands over her daughter’s blemish-filled face.
“Talk to me about it,” she urged.
there are a few upon us all not our faces but our souls. we crave forgiveness but don’t receive it, we do things we are not proud of, we are who we are not. and while no blemish goes unnoticed it is our blemishes that color our lives and help us grow into more beautiful people.
Blemish
You did it. It’s YOUR fault. You manipulated the truth to try and save your skin. And in the doing, you blemished my reputation. The thing is, “truth will out.” The real me is so much more than your skewed image of me. I never claim perfection. I do claim my own honesty.
For the first time in years
My right hand has escaped the blemishing of
Eczema for about a month
My knuckles are usually cracked and dried
Swollen and perhaps bleeding
Like the rest of my body my hands have
Their moments of imperfection
But I can appreciate them.
uh. blemish. blemish blemish blemish. things that get in the way of a guy asking you out. blemish blemish blemish. ugh. oh blemishes why why do you hate me
I am a blemish upon your life. I know that is true. You wish I didn’t happen to you. Believe me it is not one sided. I am a blemish on my own life I feel you every time I see you. You blemish me with your willingness to forget and your need to erase me as time goes on. But blemishes leave scars. Idiot.