Polished Turd

The ugliest, funniest song I've written about my own body. When the self-disgust got too loud, I made fun of it as hard as I could. Sometimes you have to laugh at the mirror before it laughs at you.

The mirror is a brutal and a cold and honest tool
It doesn't care about the laws of your own, sovereign school
It doesn't see the king inside, it doesn't see the god
It only sees a monument to everything that's flawed
A four hundred pound testament to every single sin
The broken, weeping, lonely boy I'm hiding deep within
The world is built for pretty things, of muscle and of bone
And I'm a broken gargoyle, left to sit and bleed alone

'Cause I'm a polished turd, a joke in a nice hat
A disgusting, sweaty, broken, and a miserable, fat bastard
Yeah, I'm a polished turd, and I can't scrub the stink
I'm the monster in the mirror who's too terrified to blink
You say that "looks don't matter," that it's all about the soul
But my soul is in a prison that has lost all self-control
A walking, talking tragedy, the punchline and the butt
A living, breathing testament to a mouth that won't stay shut

I've got the charter, got the songs, I've got the brilliant mind
I'm just the ugliest damn treasure that you'll ever, ever find
And I can't blame the world for turning, for recoiling in disgust
A body built of apathy, a temple built of rust
I try to dress it up, I try to make it clean and smart
But it's just a coat of paint upon a broken, poisoned heart
The "meat" is not a feature, it's a catastrophic flaw
The single, losing argument that breaks my every law

I'm trying to be better, I'm doing squats and counting food
But the progress is so slow, it's just another interlude
In a long and joyless opera about a man who tried
And in the end, was just the ugly thing he was inside
This body is a coffin that I'm forced to drag around
A heavy, fleshy anchor in the cold and lonely ground

A polished turd.

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