Blame Game

When you grow up ugly, you learn to doubt:

No one actually wants to be seen with you.

They only speak when you have something they want:

Belongings, smarts, or labor.

That, or they seek to mock:

"Look, isn't she pathetic?"

"Oh, she's absolutely hideous!"

"I wouldn't be caught dead in something like that."

But deep down, I know they're right;

I'm disgusting, worthless,

Not owed anything.

I don't need kindness; I don't deserve attention.

I cannot expect praise when I have so little to offer;

Even if I was praise-worthy, asking for love

Is just entitled, selfish, and demanding.

And so I'll be quiet, keep my standards low,

Accept whatever I can get,

And know I don't even deserve that much.

It's all my fault, after all; I can blame no one but me

For my lack of interesting traits and abilities.

For the responsibility lies solely on me;

Clearly I deserve their words, and thus it's not cruelty.