For so many years we said "But it's pretty!" when we meant "How awful! How awful these things in life can be!" At least they were pretty. That was the one thing they still had going for them. They mocked us with their pretty. We mocked their pretty right back. We knew, without the words for it, that the pretty was the awful thing itself. They were pretty. They had nothing going for them, and yet everyone else was drawn to them like bees . . . well, you know bees.
Down here there's no beauty that isn't part insides coming out. Part torn up, busted, watch your hands.
We never trusted pretty. We stuck with trash.