Beautiful

When I look in the mirror, what do I see?

Is that my own face staring back at me?

Those are my eyes, I assume.

But from where do they come within my heirloom?

They are Beautiful.

 

I shift my gaze from my eyes to a spot just above.

My eyebrows are feathered like the wings of a dove.

My eyebrows are those of a girl who must not care

About society’s standards concerning facial hair.

My eyebrows are bushy, unplucked and ungroomed,

When I walk through the halls, people must think I’m fumed.

They are Beautiful.

 

When I look in the mirror, the next thing I see

Is my long pointed nose sticking out at me.

My nose is freckled, shiny, and unevenly tanned

From years of living at the beach with it’s exfoliating sand.

My nose, it is crooked, just at the bend

Proof that some things don’t quite mend.

It is Beautiful.

 

I lower my eyes and take in what’s there.

Tiny lips, just a line, a line with a tear.

Chapped lips that split open when I surrendered a yawn

To the battle that restarts at every new dawn.

I can look at these lips, but what do they speak?

They wouldn’t be caught dead telling someone that they’re weak.

I know for a fact that these lips stay kind,

For what doesn’t escape them pollutes my mind.

My lips- they are Beautiful.

 

Now we’ll go deeper, under the flesh.

My thoughts are at war with two minds that don’t mesh.

My brain or my heart, it’s one or the other

My instincts say one thing that my conscience will smother.

This internal fight that I have every day

Often keep my thoughts and opinions at bay.

This fight is Beautiful.

 

All of these things are together yet separate

They are all Beautiful! Which shall be my epithet.

My name shall be Beautiful, and beautiful is me

And oh! How beautiful, Beautiful is she!

This poem is about: 
Me

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