About Me

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Hi! My name is Donna, and this is my korean skincare blog. You might be wondering, “Why Korean skincare?” Well, east asians have been practicing skincare since 3000 BC, so I guess you could say that we care about our skin. Both budget friendly and effective, it’s the perfect mix of experimental and quality products. I didn’t start using any skincare products until my freshmen year of highschool. Then, my face erupted with acne. I was so self-conscious about my skin, I began obsessively researching skincare. I read about ingredients, products, acids, textures, and the structure of skin until I felt as though I knew every product on the market and understood how it worked. About a year later, my friends and I were talking about skincare, and I began to tell them about some of the things I had learned. After trying products and techniques I had talked about, they too became excited about korean skincare. That’s when I realized that I wanted to tell more people about what I had learned, and so came this blog.

I also enjoy creating art and writing poetry.

The Graveyard

Where fleshly bodies ripely rot
in circles mourners buzz amid
their swarm, soft skin of marigold split
— a feast of the fallen

The Universe is a Bowl of Runny Soup

Salamandrine spoonfuls sizzle with spice
splattering speckles of stars in the sky
we drink it all in, and spit it all out
choking, wheezing, noses turned spouts
we burn our throats and still chug on,
sav’ry, salty, liquid chiffon,
in moments of reason we wait for the soup,
se escapa y de repente, tĂș–
a bowl of cold soup is nothing more
than cleaning latrines, a horrible chore
when every last drop of soup is gone,
and no more battles are left to be won
let go of the throttle , let go of the reins,
for mars always tells, the soup runs away.

 

Celestial Arm

Machine polished steel whirs at supernatural speed
God loves to see the soybeans crushed,
crushed with the fist of elemental power,
loves to see them milked,
wringed of their pearly essence.
the silver hand relentless,
not even for those who follow,
if it could, it would
crush them and drain them too,
of their color, their lifeblood
and still they follow, they listen, obey.
hooked on the earthly smell
fast to the carnage taste
offering fruits of somebody’s labor
and praying for accessories, amenities, accommodations aplenty
They gape at the luster, the power, the sheen
and forget the one who polished,
painted, and mixed the silken gleam
the grimy hands and calloused fingers
beseech the presence of the divine

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