Do I need a lover to let me know
beauty is something I can claim?
one or more to tell me lies
while they ply my body’s prize?

a small measure of attractiveness
seems to escape my self-worth
asking more than it should
to fill the gaps between the cracks

validation of the outer self
contingent on what others think
becomes my search in the wild
a will-o-wisp I’ll never catch

always returning to the clutch
flesh to flesh as a grind
chasing dreams out of reach
when lovers are the measurement.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181212.