Bully in the Mirror

[Celestina Waters]

She spends five hours getting ready for school
Knowing all her hard work is for naught
For by the time she gets to her locker she will be tripped into a reality that feels a nightmare
The names she can handle, as she has heard various versions her whole life
What hurts the most are the way people stare,
As if she has worms in hair
Some look her way in horror,
Some in wrath, she shys away from everyone's path
Beautiful and shy the kids at school whisper as she passes,
Only she hears FREAK, Slut, Crazy.
In class there is no reprieve,
Her teachers ignore her hand for the answer
Looking through her is worse than being glared at
Invisible is miserable
At lunch she sits alone
Stomach to tight to eat
Afraid she will have food and garbage thrown her way
The bell signaling the end of school could not come a second sooner
A rush to home she slams her bedroom door hard
Shaking she knows deep within is where self hate is born
She can not bare to look in the mirror for she fears her own reflection. When she finally does
All she can see is nonexistent self extreme glaring back.

**
welcome to my words. Please leave feedback if you are so moved. I am not afraid or shy to answer any questions you may have about poetry or everyday life. Writers are family.

[Brownlie]

She spends five hours getting ready for school
Knowing all her hard work is for naught
For by the time she gets to her locker she will be tripped into a reality that feels a nightmare
The names she can handle, as she has heard various versions her whole life
What hurts the most are the way people stare,
As if she has worms in hair
Some look her way in horror,
Some in wrath, she shys away from everyone's path
Beautiful and shy the kids at school whisper as she passes,
Only she hears FREAK, Slut, Crazy.
In class there is no reprieve,
Her teachers ignore her hand for the answer
Looking through her is worse than being glared at
Invisible is miserable
At lunch she sits alone
Stomach to tight to eat
Afraid she will have food and garbage thrown her way
The bell signaling the end of school could not come a second sooner
A rush to home she slams her bedroom door hard
Shaking she knows deep within is where self hate is born
She can not bare to look in the mirror for she fears her own reflection. When she finally does
All she can see is nonexistent self extreme glaring back.

**
welcome to my words. Please leave feedback if you are so moved. I am not afraid or shy to answer any questions you may have about poetry or everyday life. Writers are family.

I do sympathize with teenage angst as I've been through quite a bit of that myself, but then I got barraged by a bevy of people that told me "self pity avails us nothing." I think writing can be used as a great therapeutic tool, but therapeutic writing isn't necessarily literary. I would recommend visiting some of the resources on the site and learning about some of the tools used in poetry. I'm not saying I am necessarily an omniscient seer on the subject, but that seems like a decent way to proceed on your intended goal.

[Celestina Waters]

She spends five hours getting ready for school
Knowing all her hard work is for naught
For by the time she gets to her locker she will be tripped into a reality that feels a nightmare
The names she can handle, as she has heard various versions her whole life
What hurts the most are the way people stare,
As if she has worms in hair
Some look her way in horror,
Some in wrath, she shys away from everyone's path
Beautiful and shy the kids at school whisper as she passes,
Only she hears FREAK, Slut, Crazy.
In class there is no reprieve,
Her teachers ignore her hand for the answer
Looking through her is worse than being glared at
Invisible is miserable
At lunch she sits alone
Stomach to tight to eat
Afraid she will have food and garbage thrown her way
The bell signaling the end of school could not come a second sooner
A rush to home she slams her bedroom door hard
Shaking she knows deep within is where self hate is born
She can not bare to look in the mirror for she fears her own reflection. When she finally does
All she can see is nonexistent self extreme glaring back.

**
welcome to my words. Please leave feedback if you are so moved. I am not afraid or shy to answer any questions you may have about poetry or everyday life. Writers are family.

I do sympathize with teenage angst as I've been through quite a bit of that myself, but then I got barraged by a bevy of people that told me "self pity avails us nothing." I think writing can be used as a great therapeutic tool, but therapeutic writing isn't necessarily literary. I would recommend visiting some of the resources on the site and learning about some of the tools used in poetry. I'm not saying I am necessarily an omniscient seer on the subject, but that seems like a decent way to proceed on your intended goal.

---

Perhaps this was not the best way to introduce my poetry here. I am half my life past my teenage years. I am a counselor at a high school and see this student, and many more like her everyday. I hoped in writing this poem, there might be reader who wouldn't feel they were the only one feeling bullied by self and society. Life for most does get "easier" but at the time it is not easy to understand or accept that "self pity avails us nothing."
Thank you for your quick and open feedback. I will soon return the favor.

[George]

She spends five hours getting ready for school,
knowing all her hard work is for naught,
for by the time she gets to her locker- tripped - into a reality that feels a nightmare
The names she can handle, as she has heard various versions her whole life
What hurts the most is the way people stare,
As if she has worms in hair I like this image, I wish there were more in this poem!
Some look her way in horror, Some in wrath,
she shys away from everyone's path Beautiful -
shy the school whisper as she passes,
Only she hears FREAK, Slut, Crazy.
In class there is no reprieve,
Her teachers ignore her hand for the answer
Looking through her is worse than being glared at
Invisible is miserable
At lunch she sits - alone -
Stomach too tight to eat
Afraid she will have food and garbage thrown her way . . .

The bell signaling the end of school could not come a second sooner
A rush to home she slams her bedroom door hard
Shaking, she knows deep within is where self hate is born . . .
She can not bare to look in the mirror, fears for her own
reflection, and when she does
all she can see
is nonexistent self extreme,
glaring back.

**
welcome to my words. Please leave feedback if you are so moved. I am not afraid or shy to answer any questions you may have about poetry or everyday life. Writers are family.

Hello Celestina, Here's my two cents.

I have corrected the poem for grammar and spelling errors, added some punctuation because it would of killed me if I didn't and changed the flow of the poem.

I like this poem and the idea of has a place in my heart, but you need to look forward on editing it. I would like to see more similes metaphors, and poetic devices added in.

The length of the poem is fine, if you're trying to signify how long the day drags on, but work on the tempo, the flow, how you want the readers to read it. I've corrected some to how I've read it but I don't know if that's how you want it to be.

Cheers,
George

[Todd]

Hi Celestina, welcome to the site:

A few initial comments without doing a line for line.

You've got a lot of flat exposition going on here, and it would be good to stick more with imagery to make your point. I'll give you a few examples, and maybe an idea or two to pursue on rewrite.

She spends five hours getting ready for school
Knowing all her hard work is for naught--This is a conclusion and not emotionally charged. Also "naught" just feels like an outside observer and not the character.
For by the time she gets to her locker she will be tripped into a reality that feels a nightmare--Again show the nightmare don't tell us what's coming.
The names she can handle, as she has heard various versions her whole life--Names feel out of place here let me explain where I'm coming from below

You have an interesting perspective in the title. She is her own bully. Her worst bully probably. Or the mirror itself is the bully. Or the people are her mirror. I think when you have the speaker break the gaze to go to the locker or get called names you lose focus. It's most important to focus on her bullying herself. If you do introduce other characters make them more passive with their looks and have her interpretation of meaning carry the emotional force.

What hurts the most are the way people stare,--The focus on "stare" sort of gets to the idea
As if she has worms in hair--The first interesting image. You should consider doing more of this as you drive to the conclusion. It feels a bit clunky with the prepositions. Either "in her" or "for" (if you want a medusa thing going on
Some look her way in horror, --look is the right word but the line is too telling
Some in wrath, she shys away from everyone's path
Beautiful and shy the kids at school whisper as she passes,
Only she hears FREAK, Slut, Crazy.
In class there is no reprieve,
Her teachers ignore her hand for the answer
Looking through her is worse than being glared at
Invisible is miserable
At lunch she sits alone
Stomach to tight to eat
Afraid she will have food and garbage thrown her way
The bell signaling the end of school could not come a second sooner
A rush to home she slams her bedroom door hard
Shaking she knows deep within is where self hate is born
She can not bare to look in the mirror for she fears her own reflection. When she finally does
All she can see is nonexistent self extreme glaring back.

**
welcome to my words. Please leave feedback if you are so moved. I am not afraid or shy to answer any questions you may have about poetry or everyday life. Writers are family.

I think you get the idea. Hope it helps.

Best,

Todd

[Celestina Waters]

WOW! I love this place! the format, the feedback, the honesty. I am looking forward to submitting many more poems here. I also plan to read and review those who have reached out to make my poem better. I thank you all for you time and dedication and enlightenment.

Hi Celestina, welcome to the site:

A few initial comments without doing a line for line.

You've got a lot of flat exposition going on here, and it would be good to stick more with imagery to make your point. I'll give you a few examples, and maybe an idea or two to pursue on rewrite.

She spends five hours getting ready for school
Knowing all her hard work is for naught--This is a conclusion and not emotionally charged. Also "naught" just feels like an outside observer and not the character.
For by the time she gets to her locker she will be tripped into a reality that feels a nightmare--Again show the nightmare don't tell us what's coming.
The names she can handle, as she has heard various versions her whole life--Names feel out of place here let me explain where I'm coming from below

You have an interesting perspective in the title. She is her own bully. Her worst bully probably. Or the mirror itself is the bully. Or the people are her mirror. I think when you have the speaker break the gaze to go to the locker or get called names you lose focus. It's most important to focus on her bullying herself. If you do introduce other characters make them more passive with their looks and have her interpretation of meaning carry the emotional force.

What hurts the most are the way people stare,--The focus on "stare" sort of gets to the idea
As if she has worms in hair--The first interesting image. You should consider doing more of this as you drive to the conclusion. It feels a bit clunky with the prepositions. Either "in her" or "for" (if you want a medusa thing going on
Some look her way in horror, --look is the right word but the line is too telling
Some in wrath, she shys away from everyone's path
Beautiful and shy the kids at school whisper as she passes,
Only she hears FREAK, Slut, Crazy.
In class there is no reprieve,
Her teachers ignore her hand for the answer
Looking through her is worse than being glared at
Invisible is miserable
At lunch she sits alone
Stomach to tight to eat
Afraid she will have food and garbage thrown her way
The bell signaling the end of school could not come a second sooner
A rush to home she slams her bedroom door hard
Shaking she knows deep within is where self hate is born
She can not bare to look in the mirror for she fears her own reflection. When she finally does
All she can see is nonexistent self extreme glaring back.

**
welcome to my words. Please leave feedback if you are so moved. I am not afraid or shy to answer any questions you may have about poetry or everyday life. Writers are family.

I think you get the idea. Hope it helps.

Best,

Todd

[ChristopherSea]

Greetings Celestina, I like the theme and recognize the reality and the complexity of the problem discussed herein. Self-image is a huge issue for teens and bulling has become a coping mechanism for some, as bullies suffer from the same low self esteem as their victims do.

I think that your poem is too revealing and all narrative. I would strike that second line. It's too conclusive and the naught is archaic. The worms in her hair similie was a highlight.

Your penultimate line is the stronger close. You don't need to rehash the obvious in a self-esteem/extreme line. If anything you could leave us with a Gorgan or Harpy image. Welcome to the site and all the best with your next edit./Chris

[tectak]

She spends five hours getting ready for school
Knowing all her hard work is for naught
For by the time she gets to her locker she will be tripped into a reality that feels a nightmare
The names she can handle, as she has heard various versions her whole life
What hurts the most are the way people stare,
As if she has worms in hair
Some look her way in horror,
Some in wrath, she shys away from everyone's path
Beautiful and shy the kids at school whisper as she passes,
Only she hears FREAK, Slut, Crazy.
In class there is no reprieve,
Her teachers ignore her hand for the answer
Looking through her is worse than being glared at
Invisible is miserable
At lunch she sits alone
Stomach to tight to eat
Afraid she will have food and garbage thrown her way
The bell signaling the end of school could not come a second sooner
A rush to home she slams her bedroom door hard
Shaking she knows deep within is where self hate is born
She can not bare to look in the mirror for she fears her own reflection. When she finally does
All she can see is nonexistent self extreme glaring back.

**
welcome to my words. Please leave feedback if you are so moved. I am not afraid or shy to answer any questions you may have about poetry or everyday life. Writers are family.

Hi and welcome,
It may be unfortunate that your opening gambit was veracity verse. By overtly stating that the piece has honourable intentions you remove some of the motivation to critique the work on poetic merit for fear that you may feel slighted by honest comment.
Nonetheless, and accepting that this is a New Member posting, I have to say that I would rather read some of your work with more poetic endeavour than what surely can at best be described as a third party complaint to a school governor's board regarding the much over-described teenage angst.
There is very little in this which uses poetic technique and as prose it shows no imagery or metaphor but clinical, untranslated, factual listing. Further, the expedient and random punctuation, combined with the faux-poetic capitalising of every line may lead one to assume, perhaps unfairly, that you do not know how to punctuate correctly or more kindly...consistently.
I hope you will receive this criticism as it is transmitted but I will now say something which I may regret. I an unsure why your enjoinder offers the readers here advice on life and poetry...considering, as I have, this piece in isolation and find it demonstrates little expertise in the areas you suggest your admonitions may be of benefit. Please understand that I am more than happy to be wrong in this opinion but my comments relate solely to the content of this one piece...not to you. That the overall tone of the work is, by your own words, reeking reality , I must square this circle and refrain from further critique...suffice to say that I hope to read more from you in future postings.
Very Best,
tectak

[billy]

the content and intent is clear. sometimes too much clarity can be a bad thing, drawing out a truth or the context of an idea can be equally bad..not always mind you but often. for me the main thing about the poem is that it holds little life. it doesn't grip me as such an action as bullying should. i don't need blood but i need an emotional and rational connection.
a suggestion would be to try and edit out the fluff (things that don't add anything to poem, remember your writing a poem not a page in a book)

an example and that's all it is, without adding my own words.

She spends hours getting ready
Knowing her hard work is for naught
when she gets to her locker she will be tripped
into a reality that's a nightmare

think of words that might add. does ready in the first line do a good enough job? would pretty or something else add to the outcome of the poem. you've written the poem down and that's really good, now take the building blocks from what you have and build the poem proper chop and add cut and grow the poem you want to write. don't waste phrase that can be alluded to or left to the imagination of the reader. we already know it's about bullying. on main problem was ..is the girl in the mirror the bully or the bullee, the title says she's the bully but the poem says the opposite.

thanks for the read

She spends five hours getting ready for school
Knowing all her hard work is for naught
For by the time she gets to her locker she will be tripped into a reality that feels a nightmare
The names she can handle, as she has heard various versions her whole life
What hurts the most are the way people stare,
As if she has worms in hair
Some look her way in horror,
Some in wrath, she shys away from everyone's path
Beautiful and shy the kids at school whisper as she passes,
Only she hears FREAK, Slut, Crazy.
In class there is no reprieve,
Her teachers ignore her hand for the answer
Looking through her is worse than being glared at
Invisible is miserable
At lunch she sits alone
Stomach to tight to eat
Afraid she will have food and garbage thrown her way
The bell signaling the end of school could not come a second sooner
A rush to home she slams her bedroom door hard
Shaking she knows deep within is where self hate is born
She can not bare to look in the mirror for she fears her own reflection. When she finally does
All she can see is nonexistent self extreme glaring back.

**
welcome to my words. Please leave feedback if you are so moved. I am not afraid or shy to answer any questions you may have about poetry or everyday life. Writers are family.

I do sympathize with teenage angst as I've been through quite a bit of that myself, but then I got barraged by a bevy of people that told me "self pity avails us nothing." I think writing can be used as a great therapeutic tool, but therapeutic writing isn't necessarily literary. I would recommend visiting some of the resources on the site and learning about some of the tools used in poetry. I'm not saying I am necessarily an omniscient seer on the subject, but that seems like a decent way to proceed on your intended goal.

---

Perhaps this was not the best way to introduce my poetry here. I am half my life past my teenage years. I am a counselor at a high school and see this student, and many more like her everyday. I hoped in writing this poem, there might be reader who wouldn't feel they were the only one feeling bullied by self and society. Life for most does get "easier" but at the time it is not easy to understand or accept that "self pity avails us nothing."
Thank you for your quick and open feedback. I will soon return the favor.