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# Beauty is subjective, but I'm still ugly. A collection of poems.
- URL: https://j-carvalho.ghost.io/beauty-is-subjective-but-im-still-ugly-a-collection-of-poems/
- Published: 2026-10-18T12:29:37.000Z
- Updated: 2026-10-18T12:50:36.000Z
- Description: A visceral three-part poetry collection exploring the dark, mechanical intersections of OCD, body dysmorphia, and the tragic chase for perfection.
- Author: Jocca97
- Tags: Personal Reflections, Poetry, Body Image, Self-worth, Disorder Awareness, healing, mental health

💡

Content Warning: The following collection contains vivid artistic themes regarding body dysmorphia, severe self-harm, and suicide.

![](https://storage.ghost.io/c/6b/f7/6bf72e2b-c878-4a57-9c63-dcbc678d3490/content/images/2026/10/Untitled-design-1-1-1.png)

# Beauty is subjective but I'm still ugly 

A Collection of Poems 

For everyone who has ever felt that they're not beautiful enough 

## — I —

> I looked in the mirror and saw what they couldn't see.  
> The glass became a reflection of all I've never wanted to be  
> My hands trembled; I held my grip,  
> but the mirror shattered into a million pieces. 
> 
> At the bus stop, everyone was looking at me,  
> for they also saw all they wanted to be  
> And in those tiny shards, their faces twisted into anger and despair. 
> 
> They took those pieces,  
> held them tightly until blood ran down,  
> and the frown turned to millions of despaired smiles. 
> 
> They had finally carved out the perfect piece  
> And it was everywhere. 

## — II —

> He took the ruler and measured it  
> It was 2mm  
> He took note of that  
> He measured another,  
> this one was 2mm too long,  
> He took the protractor,  
> 5 degrees off.  
> He was acutely aware of how much work had to be done 
> 
> With the hammer ready, he started hacking away  
> A feeling of excitement washed through him  
> It was going to be perfect, so he thought 
> 
> Thousands were doing it; it could be done  
> his hacking became more hopeful with each strike  
> He was doing it and once it was done,  
> rest was sure to follow 
> 
> Time passed; he worked  
> Time passed; he hacked  
> Time passed; he hoped  
> Time passed; he finished. 
> 
> A feeling of relief was spiking his body  
> The spikes had reached his brain  
> He was ready once again  
> He took out the measuring tape, the protractor, the hammer  
> He measured, he carved, he hacked 
> 
> The spikes had now more space to move,  
> He no longer needed to hack, measure, or carve  
> It was being done for him. 
> 
> with the chase for relief part of his body,  
> he no longer needed to worry,  
> It would always become perfect,  
> the fuel would never run out,  
>  
> so he measured, he hacked, he carved. 

## — III —

> The crowd clapped as the roaring of lights flickered  
> the contest was won, her parents proud, her friends a little jealous  
> She had grown up to be beautiful, the embodiment of it 
> 
> Only once, a judge gave her a sub-par score of 7 out of 10  
> That evening, the critics flew in  
> She no longer had what it takes 
> 
> It was only a one-time occasion, her mother said  
> that judge is crazy, you're perfect and you will always be, said the grandmother 
> 
> Mary agreed, but deep down something had shifted. 
> 
> 3 points;  
> She took 3 points from me  
> Her dad believed in hard work  
> She had to get them back 
> 
> Samantha was a friend, the second prettiest girl besides Mary  
> Mary carved out her flesh, millimeter by millimeter  
> It was a very meticulous and grueling task,  
> but her dad believed in hard work 
> 
> When the slicing was done, the pasting was to come  
> A bit of flesh here, a bit of flesh there  
> all had to be transferred, all had to be perfect 
> 
> With her new-found beauty, she stood on stage  
> When all judges gave her their score  
> No slicing could be her saving grace 
> 
> On that night, Mary took 3 pills  
> And wasted away on her parents' bathroom floor. 

With Love,

João M. M.