Beautiful

 

Somedays,

      I don't feel very beautiful,

      even when they tell me.

Sometimes,

       I find it hard believing them.

 

Once,

     he used to say so.

     Those wasted days we walked.

But,

    to him I was nothing; a prize

    he loved for my legs,

                           my lipstick.

 

Though,

   he really didn't think me beautiful-

   he called me crazy when I grew weary

Of

   him

   and his selfish vanity.

 

Somedays,

  I don't want to leave the house.

  Close the blinds and dream - 

  write love songs,

            love letters.

But,

   my dreams only serve to disappoint.

   You look only once.

 

All day,

  I play melancholy songs on my piano.

  I bleed on the keys

With

   a tearful heart.

 

Mascara

   makes it better.

   Lots of foundation.

   It covers the acne that stares

Back

   in the mirror.

 

Somedays,

  I hate these words.

  Because they're true.

  They chew me up, spit me out on paper

And

  force me to believe them.

 

 

 

It's good

    to wash it all away.

    To be beautiful in skin of your own.

It's great

    to step outside, step away

Because

    I don't really need the mascara,

    the foundation,

    the make-up-mask

Because

    even on the worst of

Days,

   I love this beautiful life

   and I love these words,

I do.

 

 

They are the heart-beat of my very soul.

 

 

 

The End

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