April 17, 2008
He feels ugly.
Acne and rosacea are always with him.
His hair grows gray,
The once immovable muscles shrink. His skin hangs,
So, he feels ugly.

This man asks himself,
what can I do since I am not pretty?
He asks the mirror,
does it repulse you to reflect me?
Asks God,
why did you make me so that no woman could love me?
None answer; so ugly not even God will look upon his face.

His hands are spotted,
eyes are cloudy,
his nose is swollen and red from drink,
dry, cracked lips are scarred from fags,
he feels so ugly.

The man says to himself,
I have never been beautiful.
He says to the mirror,
I despise you more than you hate my reflection.
Says to God,
I cannot forgive you for making me this way.
None respond; so ugly he does not acknowledge himself.

There is no respite for the man,
he stands in front of the mirror,
horrified by his body, he cannot look away.

Pitying himself and sobbing,
yearning for someone to make him beautiful,
to smash the mirror,
and plead to God for him…

But no one is there,
the mirror delights in its mockery,
God does not shine on this poor man,
he feels ugly.

Again he asks,
what can I do since I am not pretty?
Again he cries,
God why did you make me this way?
For the last time, Love screams
There is someone waiting for you, to make you beautiful.

But his cries are too loud, the man does not hear,
He just feels so ugly.

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