Strange skin

I wouldn't choose myself.I wouldn't pity myself.I wouldn't even consider coming up with an excuse for this incoherent liar I call "consciousness".Have you ever seen a puppy relentlessly beg?That's me,but less cute and more annoying: my need to please others and be accepted by them has become almost disgusting.To be honest,there are days when I can't even look in the mirror; it's not hatred,just disappointment.Disappointment that my actions don't match my values,that my body doesn't listen to my mind,that everything I do comes out flawed.All this decaying narcissism is turning out to be poisonous and it's managing to spoil even these now fleeting joys of the present.Why am I the way I am?!My skin feels strange and my thoughts form in an unknown language: in all truthfulness,I am at peace with my faith.Again,I wouldn't choose myself.