Beauty

I’m ugly.
I know because nobody wants me.
My skin is not as bright as yours.
My smile, a grimace, uninviting unlike hers.
T-shirts don’t fit.
Lipsticks just add peculiarity.

I used to believe that my face is unique,
That my features are not like
The usual features gracing some magazines.
I call me unique. They call me ugly.

Am I a joke?
I’m used to people laughing at me.
I keep them entertained by defying their concept of beauty.
Well, atleast I make everyone happy.

At some point their laughters
sounded like hungry lions roaring,
pushing me back to hiding.
Their voices are razor-sharp,
cutting my wings, telling me to stop.

So, I decided to stop…
Because they told me
That dying is the best way to stop the pain.
But…
A small voice inside me,
Struggled to be heard.
“If I die, will they know?”
“If I die, will they care?”

No they won’t.
They won’t know.
They won’t care.
They won’t even notice that I’m no longer there.

So, I won’t let them fuel my misery.
I listened to the voice inside me.
It grew louder than the voices
Of those people who look down on me.

I’m ugly.
According to people’s measurements.
I’m ugly.
According to their proclaimed standards.
I’m ugly according to the society…
But it doesn’t matter because I love me.

Ugly and proud.
In the eyes of God, I am perfect and loved.

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