Mela Nin

The girl looked up from the magazine and gazed at her own reflection.

 

Her skin,

Bronze,

Warm,

Earthy,

addicted to the kisses of the golden umber sun.

 

A St. Tropez spray tan,

Naturally

the shade of a thousand wave-battered shores.

Volcanic radiance.

 

With eyes like sunset, after the last strains of light have almost faded away.

Even in the darkest moments,

Unreadable,

Unpredictable power.

 

Worthy.

Valid.

Enough.

 

The girl looked up, and saw herself,

Beautiful.

This poem is about: 
Me

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