i feel ugly

It is a cold, self-deprecating blast of wind that never blows away. I'm not one to indulge in a melancholic post into cyberspace. Since I haven't posted in a year, since no one reads this anymore and no one is likely to see it, I feel I can expose myself for what I am worth. (Which at this moment feels like a sad sum of nothing.)

It's about time I confess that I am ugly. I'm no paragon of beauty. I'm no Helen who launched a thousand ships. I'm not even that girl with plastic surgery who convinces herself she is gorgeous, even if her face does look like a stack of mismatched lego pieces.

I don't look at myself in the mirror. I don't surreptitiously glance at my reflection in the train when it scurries through the tunnel like an electric robot rat. I have never enjoyed my own refelction, or partaken in moments of self admiration. I don't have Johnny Bravo moments. I'm more a rough combination of Ed, Edd and Eddy, as far as my mind will have me believe.

Is it possible that I love myself so little? I am spent. I just want to be alone. Romance can go make love to itself. I realise I am perhaps better off alone, where there will be no one to chase away in the first place.