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
year nine is so depressing oml
