i come home crying tears slither down my cheeks i am simply ugly for my nose is too big, horribly wide and contorted my eyes are too small, beads of obsidian on my pale face and my chapped lips are thin like crushed scribbled paper my forehead is too big, i could write all of this down on it if i wanted to why must i seek validation from those who will never respect me, even in my purest form but my purity is not good enough society gazes upon me with it's large luminous eyes i am sorry that my hair is not straight enough or i am flat and when i look in the mirror my reflection cries, its hands reaching out to me through the fractured glass yet why must i weep beauty is in everything, in the smoldering fire which dimly lights my cold room, sending marmalade sparks across the floor, in the grimey walls, grout growing in the cracks and spray paint slowly crackling off, in the failed paintings, where the splotches of cobalt and splashed of marigold are too thick, in the cheap foundation i slather across my face, in the maths equations my brain cannot contemplate, and even in me, there is beauty