People say I look down a lot,
And that when I walk my eyes are glued to my feet.
Looking at people feels awkard to me,
But more than that it hurts.
It hurts to look up and see all the beautiful people
And their beautiful clothes
and everything else in sight which only exists
to enhance their beauty.
I look down because when I look up,
I see people I once knew
Who were no better looking than I,
And have now grown up to resemble queens and goddesses.
I look down because I’m ashamed of my own appearance.
I’m ashamed that all these beautiful people
Will have to look at something so ugly.
I can’t help but wonder why all my old friends
Grew up to be beautiful, and remained together,
And left me,
All because I’m ugly.
I’m not pretty
Or funny
Or interesting
I’m just sort of here…
I was pretty and blonde and skinny as a child
And my glasses were easy to disregard
But their beauty enhanced
And I turned to muck
And stuck to the bottomn of their shoes
Hoping to be near them
But they only wiped me on the welcome matt
And slammed the door in my face.
I can’t help but wonder why
Everyone is so beautiful
Yet I remain
Ugly.

That is why I don’t look up.