my lips not corral red,
my eyes not deep blue,
nor my cheeks such rosy pink,
and my hair,
broken and dull,
my figure stout and lumpy,
yet why do you look down on me,
why do you dislike me for my looks,
not of your agreeable beauty?
yet i am confused,
for, the sight of me makes you feel good about yourself,
my meager looks of dread,
my dying youthfull glow,
i am ugly,
and you, not of such beauty yourelf,
but they who stand beside me,
not to show affection.
but to feel good about them selfes.

(i am proud though my looks may not be of a heroins)