He smiled at me
for
a while
before
he said it.
"You're beautiful."
I smiled back
with the
radiance
I lack,
hoping my front
will be
enough.
I'm not too tough
when it comes to
fighting
physically,
(technically...literaly)
but when it comes to emotions:
back up
because there's a
motion coming
through.
You're beautiful...
Your beauty's full
of lies
full of crap.
The scars made
in all the
yesterdays
sit on
my lap.
They lay
on my skin
refusing to
fade a w a y .
"You're beautiful,"
they've said.
They've FLED
at the sight
of my
naked
soul;
open and free
for whoever wants to see
me.
"You're beautiful,"
he tells me.
And I believe him
more
than I would like to.
I love
that I'm beautiful
to you,
even when I look
like
me.
Fear has become
my secret
and
secrecy has become
my fear.
Truth is:
I love
that I see myself
more vividly
more lovely
when you're my mirror.
Author notes
This made perfect sense to me.
I'm not sure if it will anyone else though.
Basically, my secret is that I'm fearful
of people calling me beautiful.
People have left after calling me beautiful
because I show them ME.
A contest entry
- bleh by layla..
500 points, ended January 27, 2008, 6 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
i am glad you have found someone like that. this poem offers a lot and its originality helps it to stand out. i am glad you entered and yes, this does make perfect sense to me. good luck.
-
I love this poem. Its a real change from everything else. Im glad your still writing, i wish i could, but i still get looked down upon for writing and i dont want to end up in that situation again.
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