Content Ugly (Poetry)

There’s nothing listed —
nothing obvious from appearances
but what’s inside would shock —
unnerve and disillusion with the truth
of bloody raw ingredients —
the angel isn’t all she seems — that glow
is borrowed from a stubborn myth —
those wings a clever touch —
a trick of starlight...
her prim mask a falseness
held in place for show —
a blemish-free traditional disguise.

Her too-sweet face deceives —
her thoughts are not so pretty —
she curses fiercely — her mind seethes
with bitterness — resentment piled like sandbags
against reason’s cold and ever-righteous flood
and all the while she’s plotting wickedness —
a simple hate born out of frustration
that her true nature can’t be allowed
to surface and be seen.

Doomed forever to appear holy
and carry the dead weight of expectation
when every inclination felt
is to cast off all the too-pure white —
the itchy texture of good fabric —
all those feathers smother her true self
for her nakedness is ugly and she knows
this life’s unsatisfying on the whole —
existence is a trial — long-suffering
with no point to all this pious singing
when your heart and soul aren’t in it.