The ugly ones

 

I didn’t know it then, 

or perhaps I did, 

but I was a part of the ugly ones. 

 

I stood for something though, 

or perhaps I hid. 

I was a part of the ugly ones. 

 

You couldn’t tell us. 

It’s a complex kind, 

the story of wretched ones. 

 

She came along. 

She lagged behind  

to share in a forgotten one. 

 

She left and it showed 

in every light 

that we were all the ugly ones. 

 

But by such nakedness

there comes by night

the freedom to be ugly ones.