She is Beauty

She has the name of a season.

My least favorite season, but she makes it adorable.

She has the most beautiful, mesmerizing eyes.

She's got red hair that has an awkward wave to it, but I find it irresistible.
 

Her lips are always painted a pigment of red or pink.

Her eyeliner isn't perfect, but it is to me.

I call her baby, I call her sweetheart, but I most of all call her mine.
 

I get jealous when people crowd around her,

When people hug her or tease her,

But it's okay because I know that I'm her's.
 

Her style is laid-back, PJs all day, hair almost always in a messy ponytail.

Hand intertwined with mine all the way down the hallway,

Small kisses shared as we pass each other by.

She is beauty. She is perfect. She is mine.

This poem is about: 
Me

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