You thought he was beautiful?

                     Maybe so.

Yet he weeps when he looks in the mirror,
much like an old willow…

Grasping at the earth with
Cracked and tethered vines
With
Anger and sorrow
With
Insecurities drowning his roots

He wonders what the sky looks like,
While he’s forced to
watch himself grow down

He thinks “it must be beautiful”
Maybe so.