There is nothing beautiful about me
I am saggy, burnt skin,
carcinogenic particles stick to my limbs
and rest on all my faults.
I am wear and tear and rust;
a translucent jar,
cracked at the corners,
with peeling paint,
and if you lifted the lid to look deep into my heart,
you will find that
it is black, dark, dusty, cold and empty.
I am rank, I am scum, I am rot.
And every time you look at me, and whisper things that I am not
I feel like the dark pools of quicksand people sink into.
I feel like melting wax, like dirt and ashes, I feel-
There is nothing beautiful about me.
I am ugly, you are not.