Me, Stripped Down Ugly

Making her out to be ugly’s me at my most odious
reflection in my poetry’s most private mirror —
Hideous. Hideous. Hideous. Hideous. Hideous.

Stop saying I’m not. I feel all the more heinous
when you elevate your desires above all my error.
Acting like she didn’t see’s me at my most odious.

She saw. She knew me at my very most invidious.
You don’t know. That’s why I let you come nearer.
Hideous. Hideous. Hideous. Hideous. Hideous.

Shut up how nice I look in your bed. The fastidious
lover in me knows the lie by its torment and terror.
Letting you chase her off’s me at my most odious.

And she loves me anyway. The whole insidious
heart of it all’s how I’ve fancied her love the horror.
Hideous. Hideous. Hideous. Hideous. Hideous.

Want the longer version? You’d think it tedious
gnawing, shrieking, sobbing, me none the clearer
for losing her. This howl’s me at my most odious.
Hideous. Hideous. Hideous. Hideous. Hideous.

 


 
 

by cyn with maggie,
as an exercise to condense Me, Ugly

 
 

background notes — heptahedral
(including text of both versions)

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