Katrina Kaye

Don’t call me beautiful
because you like the shape of my face
or the shade of my eyes.
Don’t honor me with words
based on a temporal glance
and the reflection of sunlight on hair.

Instead,
feel the soles of blistered feet,
trace the scars of cuts on hands,
sketch stretch marks and belly scars.
Recognize motherly concern
mixed with childish innocence in eyes
brown enough to know better.
Find the beauty in patient creases of forehead
and the tense quiver in lips pressed in concentration.

Know my tongue,
curse words and foolish phrases,
The unavoidable allusion
to every song and movie I know by heart.
Laugh at my jokes because they are yours too.
Know my midnight whispers
alongside my wild laugh,
the flick of my tongue beside your own at two am.
Recognize the tune I hum
so far off from any known key.

Find beauty in the parts of me
I would readily carve out of my body
with blade and bullet.
In my crumpled face,
red and weak with tears.
Find beauty in my careless mistakes
and broken promises.

Trace spine and caress shoulder blades,
Sing with me,
it doesn’t matter if you know the words.
Tease in the same tone you take,
Block my punches and throw your own.
Remember my oaths, recite my vows,
but refrain from tossing them back to me.

Fumble through all the wreckage
that makes me who I am.
Show me,

you know me,

accept me,

then, tell me.

 

“Beautiful” is previously published in They Don’t Make Memories Like That Anymore (2011).