It is utterly preposterous
that so many beautiful people
can believe they aren't lovely
that they can wonder if
anyone has ever loved them
that they can look at themselves and see
hopeless, ugly, worthless
because I have loved enough beautiful people
who didn't know they are beautiful
to let you know that
chances are, if you don't realize your loveliness,
you are beyond heavenly- the only reason no one has told you
is because they were scared you wouldn't love them back.
I have loved enough beautiful people
to trace the trend and absorb the sheer irony of it
that all the astronomically lovely men and women
doubt that it even exists.
I breathe, dream, and have cried over you,
O chariot of the gods, you vessel of angels,
I have woken to your sight imprinted on my eyelids,
I have woven your every word into my poetry.
It is utterly preposterous
that so many beautiful people
don't see their own beauty
while I live for the sight of it.