I don't want to be beautiful,
I want to love my ugly.
Not the "ugly" of stretch marks and blemishes, or the dark hairs on my stomach.
I mean the ugly that creeps in, sticking like tar to my insides, coloring my veins the same color as my mood.
The ugly that tastes bitter in my mouth, that burns acrid in my words.
The ugly that makes me see monsters in my reflection at night.
Whose presence haunts me and leaves bags under my eyes.
The ugly that feeds me lies of my wrong doing, that tries to mask the beauty of my imperfections.
I want to love the ugly that makes me forget it's beautiful to just be human.