I look at her beauty,
Not just simply her body:
I see the attitude on her lips,
A fullness in that pink;
The risk in her hair,
A dash of electric blue;
The bold on her eyes-
More than a look, really:
The daunting played by black coal.
I see through the facade now
I see her past-
Rotting away in a cage of misery,
Sickening in the mirage of beauty
How could she have allowed herself to live thus?
How could she have let situations kill her?
I see her beauty in that resolve
And for the hundredth time,
I appreciate it,
I beautify it,
I love it.
And I hope for more of it.