The Ugliest in Every Room

I walk in, and the room turns cold,
Eyes skim past me, stories untold.
No spotlight finds this shadowed frame,
No whispered words carry my name.

The mirror’s truth is sharp and clear,
A face unmatched, a form austere.
Each blemish blooms like scars that sting,
A canvas cruel, unbecoming.

Beauty, that gilded, fleeting prize,
Eludes the depth within my eyes.
I am the joke, the silent jest,
The one ignored, the unaddressed.

Yet, in this cage of flesh and bone,
A fiercer fire has made its home.
For every glance that turned away,
A strength within chose to stay.

I’ve learned that beauty’s weight is brief,
A fleeting balm to shallow grief.
The ugliest face, the most despised,
Hides a soul the world’s not realized.

So I’ll stand tall, though rooms may freeze,
Though silence mocks and whispers tease.
For ugliness is a fleeting guise,
And my worth is more than others’ eyes.

Each room may cast its subtle gloom,
But I am brighter than their bloom.
The ugliest, perhaps to see,
Yet still, I rise, profoundly free.