‘Beauty’s only skin deep,’ they say

words they somehow think will help

words fail

fall  like acid drops to litmus mind

absorbed, stored, burnt to memory

like scars.

 

Acute acne leaves its red and pitted trail

and mirrors tell no lies

I reflect upon a ruined face

each blemish magnified.

 

For many years

I shun the light

that sheds its brightness

onto every ugly pore

firmly plant the sun behind my back

seek solace in the sanctity of shade.

 

One day I meet a woman who shuns the world,

disliked by those who tried and failed,

she somehow chats to me,

forgetting rules of play

gets trapped before a rising sun

so I see through beyond her wrap round shades

to the horror of her waking life

the patched and cottered stitch-work of her flesh

the gaping slits that once were eyes

the broken dreams, the love that died

I hold my breath,

sustain normality as best I can

try not to hold a mirror

to what I feel inside.

 

Later I wonder what is best

to never have

or have and lose

and whether she was ever told

that beauty was skin deep.