Do I look like I like the way I look?
Look at me. A jumbled mass without form.
Nose askew, chop chinned and my browline’s crooked,
Crimped, creased and completely out of the norm.
Like a late stage Picasso perversion
My lopsided eyes warp reality
Seeing seal small ears stuck in a melon
Oval head brushed up by Modigliani.
Artists can make the ugly desired.
They turn a flaw into a masterpiece.
Through their hands a mole’s a mark admired
As if the spot was created to please.
But nothing in art can ever persuade
Or lead me to love the way I was made.
Body Dysmorphic Disorder