The thing about not being beautiful is that
no one bends over backwards to impress you
you walk the streets flockless, sans gaggle of drooling sycophants,
passing through life unseen, unnoticed
you see people as they really are
and you must embrace them for their true, crappy selves
lest you dare attempt to summon the strength to tread life's thorny path alone.
The thing about not being beautiful is that
when someone tells you that you are, you don't know whether
you are being manipulated
he has crazily deluded himself into looking past your crooked teeth
a little of both (?)
And find beauty as you may within, outside yourself
the doubt may never be enough to convince you that the only meaning of waking up
and shutting down is
surviving the rigmarole until
the final sleep.
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