The Problem with Beauty

Beauty

Many times I have wished to be truly ugly,
Because I have have found beauty to be a curse,
While wonderful to look at outside,
it blinds the eyes,Worse,
it’s only the eyes that don’t know to see,
Eyes that all are born with free,
eyes that know no shame,
They can’t see past those parts of us, that never stay the same

I have found that to be a problem, wishing it could change,
That someone might have seen first inside,
to the person that I am
That heart that never changes,
except to chip and crack
Hoping to grow stronger,
while wishing to go back
To times when it felt matched,
with the beauty from without
When our innocence hid from us, the blind sight of those about

But when innocence was lost we gained knowledge,
And truth that made us hard,
and without wisdom to soften
We can tend to fall apart.
Still beautiful on the outside
But dying more from within,
we start to think our inside
Can never be whole again.

We think that if we were ugly
It would explain it all away,
that prior eyes may have found us
To be who we are today,
the hurt and lonely silent soul
Wrapped up and whole inside,
within an iron curtain
We are hoping will provide,
protection as we back away
From blindness that is certain,
to never set us free again
It can’t even find the way,
even know that we are hurting

For the blind can never guide us,
Never find the door, 
Only wisdom past can raise us up from off the floor
Where we may be seen by someone,
who sees through the glare
Of the curse that is our beauty,
that hides all our wounds and care

If we were ugly we may have found the person
That never had to stare,
into the light of things that fade
And found the soul hid there
But the damage done has happened,
only wisdom can lead us out
By knowing there are others who deserve,
and can see to move about

Those who know the temporary light
of our outer beauty fades, 
And though reserved – the soul
behind the curtain will never go away

So ugly has not happened,
and no one has ever found a way
To keep outer beauty from the ashes,
that pile on each day

We can choose to listen to the blind,
still scramble while they seek
Or trust those who ignored the flash,
and found us broken and meek
And who recognize our true beauty,
is the broken soul that hides
Who finds us in our innocence,
to leave all pain behind.

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