Touch the Perfection

I hate those who flash smiles,
That perfect 32.
Making me feel inadequate - I smile sheepish. Conscious.

I despise those with gorgeous bodies,
Admired and desired by all.
While I try and hide these 'curves',
In yards of cloth.

I abhor flawless skin,
Smooth - reflecting character.
My own indented, coarse and ugly.

Hair like the night, captivating - chokes me
"feel mine!", I scream.
Sparse and cropped - jute like.

I writhe in pain.

But then -
I love eyes - expressive and reflecting clarity
And hands -
Which bear each one's detiny,
So different yet so similar.
And a peculiar abnormality - a crooked nose.

But then,
When I cant hear,
Cant speak,
Cant see -
How do I trust this perception I created in my head?

Im beautiful he says.
I feel it.