The Ugly

I used to love poetry.
The way it could effortlessly articulate complex emotions
 using ordinary words.
Capturing love and loss,
joy and pain,
in a way everyone could feel,
creating the beauty in things that weren’t always beautiful.

I used to love poetry.
But eventually I saw those supposed beautiful things for what they really are;
ugly.
You learn to see The Ugly,
when you lose your friends, your family, your innocence.
You see ugly people, in this ugly world, do ugly things,
 disregarding the ugly wounds
they leave on those they touch.

I used to love poetry.
Now I feel lost in this ugly place,
the ugly thoughts clouding my mind,
everyday spent gasping
for clarity, only to take in more
and more ugly poison,
wondering if there's an end to this ugly suffering.

The worst part of The Ugly is feeling it seep into your skin,
wriggle its way into your brain,
and weave itself into the words tumbling out of your mouth,
realizing you, yourself, might be
ugly.

I used to love poetry.
Maybe I could again; maybe I will find The Beauty again.
The same beauty I used to see and feel and touch.
The Beauty who’s locked away inside, hiding
out of fear of The Ugly.
Maybe it will again feel safe enough to come out;
and maybe
I could love poetry again.