The last thing I want,
is to be beautiful.
For beauty is shy
and thin as silk --
currents and waves
pass through it's
woven threads,
threadbare and broken.
For beauty is transparent,
translucent, and only
noticed on the surface
of what's slippery
and skeleton-like.

For beauty is finicky;
you either grow out of it,
or you grow into it.

And so the last thing I want
is to be beautiful.
Because if it were the first,
it'd be gone before the second.