Beautiful In Someones Eyes (a re-post)

Beautiful In Someones Eyes

I look with awe and a bit of envy at the women on the pages which celebrate
pregnancy and age and sizes and shapes
non airbrushed beauty
and I love that
I admire their courage and how at home they are in their own skin
a “bit” of envy I say tossing it like a pebble
more than a bit
more like…
Wow.
wouldn’t that be great
to be sure of someones love
to be sure of yourself
a spoken word poet blew me away with her reading
about her skinny boyfriend and how beautiful he makes her feel
even though she is considered to be a plus sized woman
Its like staring at a Picasso
I am not completely sure what I am looking at
having a hard time understanding it
but I do know that I want that.
Not in a demanding way, not in a whining way
Wistfully
Wonderingly
I had the flip side
the remarks about self control
about my pregnant stomach being a turnoff
about lines forming in the corners of my eyes
about covering up,disguising my silver threaded hair
and learned early on that asking “how do I look?”
after an hour with makeup and hair curlers and a pretty dress
would only get a shrug and a cutting remark.
So
I stopped asking
and stopped trying
and stopped reaching out
and found there was finally something I was good at after all
it was keeping my feelings clipped as short as a field after a crop fire
If you don’t expect too much
you surely won’t be disappointed
being beautiful
truly beautiful
in someone elses eyes must be very nice.
It must be.
Just not for me…

©jayetomas2014

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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