My head hangs
like a bridled horse,
I am worked to the bone,
I long for a loosened mane,
for open wilds,
for photographers to seek
my natural prancing
with praise
Oh I desire
to rear my giant legs
neighing unfaltered
and still
be glorified

I-
I-
am sick to my stomach
stiff like driftwood
thinking about you and her together
I-
I-
am sick to my stomach
knowing you are not honest

ugly girls cannot stomp their feet,
ugly girls cannot hoist their nose
                  cannot spit demands
                  or scream childish fits,
ugly girls cannot take
                     only give
                     only serve
             only be complacent,
ugly girls may not be served,
may not be shown off,
may not be pampered,
and they may not request so,
for they are only beautiful in soul, not appearance,
therefore,
to the world,
are not worth the trouble.
The ugly girls
must remain
ugly.

They said
    "there's no one else here, so we'll use you"
but even after
  hair and makeup,
they snapped 3 pics
        and refused "no more"
for even when there are no other options,
  I am still not good enough.

These harsh wounds on my face
were once mistaken
for "smile lines",
I could not muster to say
these lines were truly
from the thousand hours
I have spent,
in agonizing sobs.