"You are ugly,"
he said to me.
"now you must die
for your hideous eyes"
My eyes are not ugly.
if they were you couldnt tell,
for my eyes ae closed.

"then how do i know they are beautiful?
if they are closed i cannot see"
they are beautiful,
for they are mine.
they see the truth,
and discover a lie.

"You are ugly"
he said again.
"i can give nothing but hate,
for that fat body shape"
my body is not fat.
if it was, you couldnt tell,
for my body is wrapped,
in a loose linin cloth.

"then how do i know that it is beautiful?
if it is wrapped i cannot see"
it is beautiful,
for it is mine.
i have done all that i can
to keep it devine

"You are ugly"
he said a third
"how could stand
those gnarled old hands?"
my hands are not gnarled
if they were, you couldnt tell,
for my sleeves hang down past my knees.

"then how do i know they are beautiful?
if the sleeves hang low i cannot see"
they are beautiful,
for they are mine.
they create wonderful things
both of art and of rhyme

"you are ugly"
he said yet again.
"you cannot stay,
for your hair is grey"
my hair is not grey,
if it was you couldnt tell.
for it is pinned under a hood.

"then how do i know it is beautiful?
if it covered i cannot see"
it is beautiful,
for it is mine.
it floats in the breeze
with the greatest of ease

"You are ugly"
he said a final time.
"your horrid face
will be the last of its race"
my face is not ugly,
if it was you couldnt tell.
for it is hidden behind a mask.

"then how do i know it is beautiful?
if it is hidden i cannot see"
it is beautiful,
for it is mine.
not clouded with cosmetics,
my face is like no other

for i am who i am,
and i am beautiful.