Beautiful

Fri, 01/30/2015 - 01:10 -- katezoe

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I once heard an old wrinkly man

call his old wrinkly wife beautiful.

I cringed and squinted, turned my head and tried to understand 

what part of her old wrinkly face was beautiful.

Was it the freckles peppered across her old wrinkly skin? 

The blooming discolored spots of brown, yellow, and purple?

The entwining threads of blue veins up her frail legs?

His eyes were cloudy white,

like murky waters that were once clear ocean blue,

turned to her with love and kindness. 

They need not see her to feel her beauty.

A kindness that reverberates from within

like a song singing from her soul. 

I once heard a blind girl call the world beautiful,

I wondered what made her say that. 

For her blind eyes couldn't see

all the corruptness society has to offer. 

She smiled and told me

there's beauty in everything

as long as I am willing to open my eyes

and open my heart. 

A boy who loves me calls me beautiful.

Although I can't see why. 

I see the flaws screaming out at me

everything I look into the mirror.

My eyes are denounced as chinky,

my chest too flat,

my butt like a coffee table,

and I'm as short as a stump. 

He said he liked chinky eyes,

and flat chests,

coffee table butts,

and short stumps.

And that I was beautiful.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world

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