On Being Ugly

Every day stuck feeling like a rain cloud dances around you, wiping away any attempts to look better. To look human. Makeup streams down your face, hair looks like a drowned rat. You ask yourself, "why me?" while realizing the cliché.

Everything feels so finnicky, from your yellow teeth to your bitten down nails to your eyes which are neither brown nor green. Some disgusting mucus color that comes between them. It figures. You always feel so... imperfect.

Like the world destined two people to come together and make an ugly, fat child that would never be able to overcome those two adjectives. That would never be able to be more than a picture that makes people turn away.

Too large hips. Too little breasts. Too big nose. Too shiny face. Too everything physically possible.

One large misshapen birthmark right above your eyelid. One broken nose that left a permenant indent on both your face and your self-confidence. One finger that juts out more than the others, but no, I don't understand; it's in a really weird way, a way that makes people uncomfortable to look, but also unable to look away.

You're pigeon-toed and you have one working eye. The other one either closes too much every single time you're exposed to a flash or maybe is just the slightest bit cross-eyed. An asymmetry that discounts you from ever being truly beautiful.

And why should you be? Everyone else deals with this bullshit. The whining voice in the back of your head that whispers you are so ugly. The word feels like what it says to you. You're dirty, broken, busted, and no one wants you around. I know, like you know, that you've felt this way before.

What do you hate about yourself? Why do you hate it?

All of these things I cannot change. And if I can it's not worth it. I accept. I move on.

Why don't you?