Quasi-Modo

Quasi-modo

The sun is overbearing, too bright, yellow fire-alarm,
highlighting the vicious pinks of my cheeks,
the scars that illustrate my arms;
limbs speckled in blisters, red and sore,
words, jagged lines and nothing more.

Am I so terrible, so bad that I was born such an ugly child,
harsh, terrible features, too fierce, too wild –
a troll, maybe, a small troll doll –
bulging, screaming.

I am a gnome, a pig, a raging ghoul, I feel a clown, I look a fool,
Ugly, pasty, pink and covered in rash,
stood in the spotlight of the scolding sun.
Flash. Flash. Flash.

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