Читать книгу Populist Elegance - William E. Scholz - Страница 4

Under the knife,

Feels like a bad habit,

Like tearing the skin around my fingernails.

Like the self-disgust of a pornography addiction.

Like my deepest darkest secret on permanent display,

At The National Portrait Gallery.

How can I go down in history,

Really go down,

If I don't look the part?

Beauty in other women

Flashes before my eyes,

And I'm disgusted with myself.

I notice their eye sockets,

Deep set and provocative,

Could my cheeks be any higher?

I notice their midsection,

Flat and trim,

I'm flabby like dough,

My skin is too thick,

But for a moment,

If you could offer me yours,

I'd feel like I own it,

That toned middle,

Which arouses my desire.

I notice long legs,

And there's no fixing that,

But high heels,

Are a much healthier alt.,

Then carving into my ankles,

And ripping out my fibula.

I've had more plastic surgery,

Than I'm comfortable to admit,

And after every time,

I keep running back to you,

The feminine form, my flower,

Who gives me that which I cannot buy.

Does that make me gay?

The nose,

There's no fixing the nose,

And it’s always the first thing that I see,

Along with everything else,

But because of cartilage,

I can get a nose job,

Over and over again,

And over,

Until it falls off.

When I see a woman with a big nose,

I'm sympathetic and kind,

But when I see a woman with a nose,

Better than my own,

It’s devastating.

It hits me like a flash of lightning,

That leaves the ground desolate,

And me feeling like I want to hide,

And that usually happens right before

Somebody takes my picture.

My chance at history now lost

Because I don't look the part.

They say that over a woman's head is a glass ceiling,

For me, that glass ceiling is a belief that my appearance,

Will never match my soul,

Never be good enough

For the role that I play.

This poem, for example,

Could never be attributed to me,

Because I'm not beautiful enough,

And this poem is everything ugly,

And I'm ugly.

So I'll write it through a medium,

My penpal or typist,

Who has strength,

To bare my soul,

And offer me forgiveness,

For my cowardice and my disease.

I will never get plastic surgery again, but I need a nose job.

I will never get plastic surgery, but I feel so fat.

I will never get plastic surgery again, but I have an appointment next Tuesday.