There's beauty in all of her.
In the way she
throws her head back,
covers the half moon her
uneven lips creat.
In the way she
cries some nights,
dies a little more in others,
just to wake up and make
everyone laugh and to
make them feel wanted.
In the way she
has curves that illuminate
in time and possibility.

She craves warm hands,
cold glances cursing
her very existence.
She craves neck kisses,
tummy tickles by hands
that are long gone.
She craves to be
a final, golden chapter
in a book void
of any mistakes.
There's beauty in that too.

She yearns to be free,
a childlike innocence
in the depths of
hills and meadows
in her fickle mind.
Another beauty passing eyes
never dare find.