My beauty is for myself ...
I cannot give it away
Nor can it be contained
or caged in any way
My beauty is unbidden
I do not bring it to the surface or into the light
It wells up like a tear in a well-controlled eye.
My beauty is possessive
It wraps and twists around every
little
inch of you
It does not let go - and entraps the most fortified wills.
My beauty suffers
But only by the hands of others.
who warp and miss the simplest
the simplest
Of dreams, until they are just floating
like dandelion bits in the wind.
My beauty outshines
That of all those around me
until tormented, they hate
And abuse, and slither away.
It seems they can not take the contest
with the grain of salt through which
they see the rest of the world.
My beauty captivates
the animal - whether human or other creature,
male or female,
of lesser or greater mind.
It spars with their senses
until they give way
to the rapture that follows
Unity.
My beauty does not allow me
to see through rose-colored glasses
or taste the bitterness all around me.
It allows no censure of the sounds permeating
the soft atmosphere that tactile exploration affords me.
Regardless of the dirt existing in every crevice,
my beauty allows no clutter of the mind,
because though there be thorns,
the roses that I forge smell quite lovely.
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Please critique my poetry; I am not bashful. Thanks for your feedback! Melissa ;-)