Most people call me Ugly...

My mother calls me Sean.

Most people call my mother ugly.

I don't really know a better word

To summarize my existence,

As if that was something worth doing.

As if making things easy to understand

Really ever resulted in understanding.

I usually don't do this.

I usually don't cut out my piece.

Assuming it might fit

Might be foolish.

I'm not loud.

I lack the necessary audacity.

I've spoken out of turn before

Only to remember the look

On people's faces.

It broke their symmetry.

Ugliness isn't an appearance

Or even a status.

It's a decision.

As a young boy I decided

To be ugly.

I made it before I could

Take it back and

Lack the tools to

Turn back time.

I came into this world Sean

And will leave it so.

But I dwell here Ugly.

Knowing God lives for me

So that I may sigh lightly.

This in stead of a deep sigh.

The kind that makes Ugly

Despair at mystery,

Tear at the fabric of what

They think is real.

Feel for a world that

Doesn't keep in it uncertainty.

I am Ugly.

Ugly does twist at himself.

He twists at his face and

What lies behind it.

He smoulders in spite and

Despite of himself.

Twisting and smouldering

Bending and burning

Make a sight more ugly than before.

A sound that screeches,

A stench that is putrid.

I am Sean.

Sean does look outward.

He sets his heart to task and

Is battered back at times.

He builds his strength

Despite his weaknesses.

Looking and building

Growing and learning

Make a man just as Ugly as before.

A friend that betrays,

A lover that fails.

My works are like refuse

As they've been in my pocket.

Understand that I've said little

As you expected I might.

Forget it.

Self-indulgence with no

Self to indulge upon.

I beg the reader to forsake all here

Save one request.

I am Ugly.

Please call me Sean.