Lying Ugly

Nobody had ever told her that her eyes spoke volumes,
or that the charming kink in her grin was enthralling.
That she was a muse and a nymph all at once.

That the finest lady could not hope to hold beauty so pure.

Nobody had ever bothered to pick her up and polish her,
until she shone like her every cell wished to.
So her breath gleamed silver in the freezing pre-dawn,
and her fingers trembled over the line of a
“too strong”
jaw or a
“too crooked”
smile.

So she told herself of her own faults,
and she forgot the way love is whispered in truth.
She bit her lips red-raw,
flinched away from the softest touch,
her eyes veiled in winter fog.
Sullen lips cracked from lack of use and she
Sobbed with doubt,
tears falling like snow from thick lashes

while a poet wrote about the way her movements were like water,
her eyes holding galaxies,
and her features fine as marble.

Sat while she lied Ugly,
smiled,
and captured hers in turn.