Beauty in the Beast
http://www.lulu.com/content/223020
from 
JoeUser Forums
JoeUser Forums
I hate the way I look in mirrors
I like the way I look in my head
and I live in denial of how I really look
but every morning and every evening
I face the naked truth
as I exit the shower
and I really look at myself
hunched over
head dripping
my glorious mane matted down
showing exactly where my bargain hairstylist
botched my 'do
and where I used to have pecs
I now have pointy nipples
and a bustline that most ten-year old girls
would envy
and invariably I look at my stomach
a doughy mass of wet light brown skin
covered with brown hair
kind of like chocolate chip cookie dough
if you dropped it on
the barbershop floor
but I have nice legs
they are long and somewhat still tone
though I haven't jogged in
six years
gazing into the mirror
I strike the pose of
Michelangelo's "David"
holding my breath
but this lasts only a second
and burst out in a horse laff
because the only thing remotely alike
between me and
that sculpture of the great Hebrew king
are our very modest genitalia
out of the corner of my eye
I glimpse my profile in silhouette:
a round mass atop two spindly legs
and I realize
I'm Wazowski from "Monsters, Inc."
I smile
years ago such thoughts would have
sent me into paroxysms of self-loathing
and I've starve myself
denying myself everything
just to look
never quite thin enough
but somewhere along the way
I realized that I was working
so much on my on the outside
because I thought I really needed
something from the outside
but I didn't
and that's no way to spend
the only life that I've got
so I look at the mirror
and I often wince
but I don't hate myself
I look into my own eyes
and think
"well, whoever you are,
you're alright"
and know that deep inside
my soul
there is beauty.
I like the way I look in my head
and I live in denial of how I really look
but every morning and every evening
I face the naked truth
as I exit the shower
and I really look at myself
hunched over
head dripping
my glorious mane matted down
showing exactly where my bargain hairstylist
botched my 'do
and where I used to have pecs
I now have pointy nipples
and a bustline that most ten-year old girls
would envy
and invariably I look at my stomach
a doughy mass of wet light brown skin
covered with brown hair
kind of like chocolate chip cookie dough
if you dropped it on
the barbershop floor
but I have nice legs
they are long and somewhat still tone
though I haven't jogged in
six years
gazing into the mirror
I strike the pose of
Michelangelo's "David"
holding my breath
but this lasts only a second
and burst out in a horse laff
because the only thing remotely alike
between me and
that sculpture of the great Hebrew king
are our very modest genitalia
out of the corner of my eye
I glimpse my profile in silhouette:
a round mass atop two spindly legs
and I realize
I'm Wazowski from "Monsters, Inc."
I smile
years ago such thoughts would have
sent me into paroxysms of self-loathing
and I've starve myself
denying myself everything
just to look
never quite thin enough
but somewhere along the way
I realized that I was working
so much on my on the outside
because I thought I really needed
something from the outside
but I didn't
and that's no way to spend
the only life that I've got
so I look at the mirror
and I often wince
but I don't hate myself
I look into my own eyes
and think
"well, whoever you are,
you're alright"
and know that deep inside
my soul
there is beauty.
I've been wrestling with zippers this week. Nothing fits. 
