The Beholder and The Beheld


A million selfies, now a million and one
I've sent to the eyes of the man who held the gun.
The gun of the happiness I asked him own
On account of the interest and affection he'd shown.
"What do you think?" and I'd hold my breath
But truth to be told he just wasn't impressed.

The mirror had cruel and critical eyes
And made imperfections seem larger-than-life.
It defined me by inches, by color and height,
And the more that I looked, the less that I liked.
It drained life away with what I would see
And only left me thinking about me.

My facebook has eyes that rarely tell all
It tells of my heights, but never my falls.
An image created by stories and tags
Perfectly crafted by clicks and drags.
But just leaves me lonely when I never show
What my image doesn't want to be truly known.

But one has called me beautiful and fair
And the Father tells me I'm beyond all compare.
There are those who help me and build my desire
To also love others and build them up higher.
The eyes of these bring out the kind and the good.
I am not lost or misunderstood.

Who can know who "authentic me" is?
I've asked many, at a cost and a risk.
But if my beauty is in the eye of the beholder
I like who I am when I rest on their shoulder.
Those who can see me with no filters or lies
are those who behold me with love in their eyes.

This poem is about: 
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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