I am free. I can feel my skin saying the word, “liberated.” I feel no hesitation, no guilt, no remorse to expose the Truth. Truth of being ugly. Yes. I am ugly. Ugly as your secret fetishes. Ugly as the most dirtiest memory you have. Ugly as a sharp tongue. I am ugly as the deepest hush of darkness. I am colourless but ugly when I am naked. I am flawless but imperfect when I myself am the flaw. I am moody when I dance at midnight, but am bad when I swing with my moods. I am woken when touched but shameless when I touch. I am warm when wrapped under a ruffled up blanket and I am cold when uncovered. I am rich when decorated and am desperate when I ask for money. I am now the naked truth stripped by your ego out of sorrow. I am always at my best intentions if accepted in the way I am, but could seem to be the worst if you try to cover up. Look at me. I am none other than your own conscience. I am so true.
Photo: Agnieszka Olejarz
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