Hurts a Little Too Much

When you say that I am not as pretty.  I laugh and say it is part of my charm.  But in reality I am suddenly analyzing my flaws.  Is it my nose you were referring to?  It is rather oddly shaped.  Or was it the way my face has been put together?  I will not lie and say that I do not care.  Because on the inside I know that I am no great beauty.  I try to ignore it, yet a part of my heart wishes for the unwishable.   It thinks about doorsteps, and hammers.  That part of my heart desires windows and notes.  It hopes for words to become full again.  So when you say I am not as pretty, you, Oh hopeless male, did not realize that I already knew that.  But it hurts just a little too much for my "clever personality", and "quick wit" to cope with.  The stick dug a little deeper into the abyss of escaped subconscious thoughts which have been noticed.  I will just have to put some tar around the edges of the pothole and call it good.