Father of Lies

Father of Lies
 
Obsessing over your looks by staring blankly into a mirror
wondering how anyone finds you attractive and conclude their opinions must be made in error.
A pimple here, a pimple there, you wish your skin was much more clear.
The wrinkles forming underneath your eyes tell you that you are getting uglier with each passing year.
You grab a knife and gently press it against your face.
You smile and laugh manically since your mind convinces you you are nothing more than a disgrace.  
You press the knife harder against your skin wanting to dig it in deep.
Maybe no face at all would make it easier at night to sleep.
You want to cut, cut, cut all of the skin off of your face!
It’s so ugly and unappalling, it’s better off in the trash can, or launched into space.
Single forever, no one wants to date an ugly fuck,
except someone even less desirable because that’s your luck.
You want your face gone as you press the knife hard into the soft skin.
As you dig in, tears fall from your eyes as you force a grin.
Your mind has you convinced that you are ugly and undesirable.
The father of lies.
 
I enter my bathroom, look into the mirror and lift up my shirt.
What I see taunting me back causes my ego to hurt.
Extra fat here, a bloated, unattractive belly, no one I can’t get a date.
I shake my head and continue to look at myself in the mirror with hate.
I need to lose a lot of weight.
What’s new?  I needed to since I was eight.
Hit the gym hard only to lose focus and revert back to bad habits.
Spend a fortune on diet pills buying into that racket.
Go to the store to buy food and grab a donut over cabbage.  
No wonder I’m currently failing when it comes to my relationship status.
I grab a knife and press it against my bloated stomach.
I laugh as it lets out in hunger a rumble.
Fat ass don’t need any more food!
I look unappalling enough in the nude.
If I can’t lose this fat, I’m going to cut it out of me!
I don’t give a shit if this is how it has to be.
I will no longer support this fat around my waist.
It can go in the garbage along with my face.
My mind has me believing that being an average weight makes me overweight.
The father of lies.
 
You hate how different you are from the rest of your family.
Every night at the dinner table you sit down anxiously,
and stare off into the unknown as you eat absently,
while the rest of the family chats away casually.
Your father stops eating to ask how your day was rather callously.
You say it was alright rapidly.
You feel yourself putting food in your mouth lazily.
You wish you were proud of your life but that is a fantasy.
Saying you were proud of yourself would be blasphemy,
and God would strike you down damnably.  
You excuse yourself from the table as your mom congratulates you on yet another A on your Math test tactfully.
You exit the dining room thankfully,
as you walk by your awards and trophies that should provide you with some vanity  
but doesn’t since your mind has beaten you down craftily.
The father of lies.
 
I hate my hair with how thick and pubic like it is.
I hate when it grows out because when it does,
It curls and curls and never remains straight.
Shaving my head bald would make myself easier to date,
but that presents the other problem of my head being fat and round.
Seeing that sight would make you want dig a hole and bury yourself in the ground.
I hate my face.
I hate my stomach.
I hate how different I am.
I hate my hair and the shape of my head.
No matter what I do, I can’t find the happiness I seek.
My mind has me convinced I’m on quite the losing streak.
The father of lies.