Why do I feel so ugly?
So broken, so hideous, so
of the only beauty
our Mother Earth's one love?
I'm no different from the rest
those other creatures that walk around on two legs
and fake smiles, built on
crippling bank accounts
and hefty bar tabs.
I'm no worse than the other
globs of cellulite and mistrust
parading their shameful existence
for all the streets to witness,
while I hide
in my knowing
of our nasty broken hearts
covered in fake plastic masks
in rubber boots and fucking mittens,
Ignoring the sun, washing ourselves
in the clouds
and the bottle
that drips of whiskey and camaraderie.
What's in the knowing?
Lonely, corroded hearts
buried by tortured minds.
What do you guys think, do you like hearing a bit of backstory, or leaving it up to the imagination? Feel free to weigh in and I can add to it!
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Others in the Poetry Fridays series on Steemit: