Beautiful

My hand is in a plaster,
My once-long hair cut short.
I look tired, exhausted
More often than I am not.

My shabby sickness tee-shirts
Do everything but flatter.
I push glasses up my nose,
As if it does not matter.

And yet you find me charming,
Say I look cute and nice,
And I think of all those times
You gazed into my eyes

And said you found me lovely
(be it sunshine or rain);
I cannot help but smile
And feel beautiful again.

  • – June 2016
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