Disfigured

At birth I was perfect – ten fingers, ten toes,
Two eyes, two ears, one mouth, and one nose.
A mass of dark hair, later grew to my shoulders.
The rest was defined as I got older.
Body

I dressed to impress, to boost my esteem.
Bought clothes that would flatter; shoes that did scream.
I coiffed my dark hair, manicured perfect nails;
Created a picture like an artist might sell.
Vanity

It happened so sudden, everything was so fast
I don’t know what hit me, but its impact would last.
I looked in the mirror and it looked back at me.
The image reflected, I refused to believe.
Denial

My face was grotesque, my body distorted.
The wreck left me scarred, but was never reported.
I lay prostrate in anguish, my heart writhed in pain.
I cried out in silence, for I shouldered the blame.
Shame

No surgeon has the skill to create from this mass,
The impossible dream of an unsightly lass.
No artist could ever, in a lifetime of his,
Restore from this heap, my undying wish.
Failure

The clothes do not cover what I have to hide.
My body has morphed till it can no longer lie.
What man would be attracted to a woman like me?
Though if I were in his shoes, I’d have to agree.
Truth

Our family portrait is disfigured by me.
I impose on my friends with my obesity.
My worth in this world is eclipsed by my size,
Relegated to oblivion, by a fleshy disguise.
Disfigured

11/15/2002