Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

When I was someone beautiful—back then
I treated heaven as my halo: sun
and moon at opposite extremes like ear
rings, spiraled milky way like necklaces.
When I was someone beautiful, all earth
had borne my tan complexion, ocean eyes
were drowned in perfect depth of heaviness.
When I was someone beautiful—then Yes
was all the syllable I needed; lies
of private estimation sullied worth
if only they were heard. If someone says
I wasn’t someone beautiful, don’t fear
those words for truth; they matter not—and one
day, I’ll be someone beautiful again.