A beautiful woman, like us all, can be an insecure creature.
She blinks her eyes at twice the rate to avoid the tears.
She stands aloof,
Trying to hide her true feelings.
She rests her hand on her face,
And deflects the pain she feels.
Nodding her head in disbelief.
“I am beautiful though, can’t you see?”
Finally coming back with a true answer of her own.
Hands on hips as a final desperate grasp.
She knows not how to be intellectually assertive,
and lives now in the black minutes of blinking the running mascara from her eyes.