Ugly is a strong word.
More often than not, I find myself feeling unpretty.
There are times when I feel gorgeous, but then I look in the mirror: and feel unpretty.
My hair doesn't hang right, that zit popped up overnight, and God, my glasses: wouldn't I **** for better sight. I am unpretty.
I suppose I could handle being unpretty if my roommate was not pretty.
But she is.
And I am not.
And I sit here as the unpretty one.
Her hair is long and thick, curls to perfection, and straightens upon command.
It's pretty.
She's pretty.
And I sit here as the unpretty one.
Knock Knock Knock
There's a guy at the door! I open it: "is your roommate in?"
No.
Bu I'm here. why not come in and wait for her. Talk to me for a while, even if I am the unpretty one. "No, that's okay, tell her I came by."
Okay.
Will do.
Not like I wanted to talk to you.
I wish it were just the guys who notice that I'm the unpretty one.
No.
It's the girls too.
My entire floor flocks to my door, wishing it were my roommate more
than me.
I answer the door and faces fall; can't they just pretend to be happy at all
to see me?
No.
I guess not.
It's a side effect of being unpretty- the unpretty one.
I am not ugly.
I used to not even feel unpretty-not until I became the unpretty One.
Life used to be so flirty and fun- now I am the unpretty one.
Life is a comparison, I guess: and now I'll always be second best.
I am the unpretty one.

Each breath rattles my fragile windpipe;
Each glance towards you is a mistake.
Every step is another further towards my grave.
I trace my veins with the back of my hand, defying your commanding gaze.
I resist what every fiber of my being demands.
Breathe in, breathe in, and yet again, in.
Til the air bubbles back and I am left gasping and aching.
Each kiss fulfills the here and now; ceases all thought.
The braking of a train, the breaking of my heart.
Detach and try to untangle myself from this web of sweet perfection.
I pretend that I am omnipotent; I pretend the emotions that pass between are translucent.
Each touch, each caress, is the start of a bitter sweet addiction.
Every moment, every second, every minute, every hour with you is a beautiful disaster.

How heavy the days are.
There's not a fire that can warm me,
Not a sun to laugh with me,
Everything bare,
Everything cold and merciless,
And even the beloved, clear
Stars look desolately down,
Since I learned in my heart that
Love can die.

I foster demons
So if have any that scare you at night
wake you from dreams with a terrible fright
make themselves known at inopportune times
or force you to contemplate terrible crimes
bring them to me.
Tell me your tales about sad childhood days
regrets for things done in a teens drunken haze.
Name all the people who hurt and betrayed you,
sick evil ******* who laughed as they played you.
Recount the memories that cause so much pain
open your heart, let the bad feelings drain.
I foster demons
I'll welcome them into my soul, I will tame them
directing their rage into good, I will train them.
And when the times right and I know they are strong
I'll channel their anger to where it belongs.
You see-
I'm working on a hit list, it grows longer every day
and soon those demon makers are gonna have to pay
I foster demons
Bring them to me.

If you call it a digression, I have to agree
Not every mundane occurrence can be made into poetry.
Take for instance what happened the other day in the bus
An aged woman was struggling to cope with the office rush.
All the men occupied their seats looking the other way
Offering her a seat being too heavy a price to pay.
Of the all one kind soul vacated her his seat
I call him kind because not many like him you meet.
The episode could end here with her polite thank you
The act wasn’t so great that more than it was due.
But that woman god bless her kissed him on forehead
Said, ‘sweet angel, you are in heaven made.
A stranger though in you I see more than my son
Our paths may not meet again but my heart you’ve won’.

What’s there in this account of a mundane occurrence,
To make from it a poetry and burden your patience?

Don't pretend that you know me
because I bet you didn't know I could count to 3000 in less than 3 seconds,
want to hear me? It's the same sound as a girl pulling a trigger. Bang.
-
"Bang me right here," I'll say, a smirk on my face, daring you to dare me to say it louder.
You would blush and we wouldn't.
(we'd have to be crazy)
-
that's crazy you're crazy
the purple beneath your eyes - it's crazy
you need a crazy amount of rest
you're acting like a crazy person
what is crazy and who ever decided it wasn't normal?
-
If I called you and said, "Be there in 10,"
what would you prepare yourself for?

But next to my tombstone, sunflowers won't grow,
and what would it matter anyway,
I wouldn't be there to see them