She was beautiful,
but not in the beautiful ways you might like to think so
she did not have hair that dripped gold
her eyes were not the color of the cold sea
her smile was crooked and bent
her lips were chapped and thin
she did not have a gentle laugh
nor did she speak humble thoughts
but she was beautiful
in the way the shore kisses white feet
in the way the moon hides itself in the curtain of darkness
she was beautiful
in the way wind dances in hair
and in the way shy lovers hold hands
she was beautiful in the way of
morning air
and black coffee
and the love poems
that live in each broken heart
spilling red oil, into blue lungs
suffocating happiness right out of it's shell
and she was beautiful
because she refused to taste sadness
even when that was the only thing she had left to eat
I.K.
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