I’m ugly,
Not on the outside,
But in,
With each lie I tell,
My spirit warps a little more,
And I get that much uglier,
I say,
That I’m not lonely,
But I am,
I’m in a self-imposed exile,
Not that I don’t have friends,
Because I do,
But I,
Keep them out,
Where they’re safe from my twisted self,
I say,
That I’m regular,
Because I want to hear them tell me,
That I’m extraordinary,
And I,
Look down on people,
Because I can see their faults,
And ignore the fact that,
Though I can see mine,
I,
Don’t do anything to change,
But I pretend,
To be nice,
And encouraging,
And I have them all fooled,
Only I know how ugly I really,
Am.