Sores.

Scars.

Cuts from the horrid, haunting past.

Have I ruined the outside of my temple?

God gave me a shell -

I've ruined the outside of it,

completely covering myself in excess flaws.

The skin that I have is monstrous
(because of me. Myself.)

It is not pure and pretty.

It has lost its natural softness

that attracts love like a magnet.

Even my makeup indicates a desperate

attempt to the hide the permanent ugliness in which I created.

Will anyone ever love my outer shell?

Will they run?

The answer is right in front of me:

I've denied my outer shell.

I ran away from myself -

or, at least I tried to.

Beauty: