Did you know. . . ?

Did you know. . . ?

*****

I die a little every time,
You look into the silvered glass
And purse your lips and with a sigh,
You say that you are ugly?

A phantom vision fills your mind,
A goddess fair without compare.
Compared to her, it's true you'll find,
That you are plain and ugly.

Your nose too big, your ass too wide,
Your legs too short, your thighs too soft,
You poke the blubber at your side,
And tell me you feel ugly.

Your scalpel tongue you wield with skill
Rending flesh and spilling blood,
Cleaving bone as butchers will,
While saying you feel ugly.

If all these words you say be true,
Then what, pray tell, does that make me?
If I should see in that same glass,
My goddess Aphrodite?

Am I a liar, with forked tongue,
Sweet as honey, smooth as silk,
Preying on a timid soul,
Seducing others of your ilk?

Or do you think me such a fool,
Forsaking gold and choosing brass,
Shunning diamonds, snubbing jewels,
For worthless baubles made of glass?

Your eyes are nothing like the sun,
As Shakespeare said, and said it best.
Your breath may reek, your breast be dun,
Yet still I'll choose you o'er the rest.

So call me a not lying slime
A worthless fool who knows not worth,
Because it kills me every time,
You look into the glass and sigh,
And see yourself with hateful eyes,
You tell me that you're ugly.