Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

So perhaps it was not beauty that shone in the wrinkled face of my grandmother,

well past a prime she doesn't miss.

                   It was strength

Nor was it beauty on the face of my mother,

the rock of calm in my ocean of turbulent waves.

                   It was steadiness

Nor has it ever been on my sister's face 

                  the one that looks just like mine

                         we who have known and loved one another our entire lives

                 This has always been joy

                   

 Beautiful is not the word to describe us all

Beautiful is becoming an object

                     It is the willingness to let looks define self worth

                      .

                     It is the belief tht self love is reliant on society's acceptance

                      .

                     It is the emptiness of someone saying you are beautiful

                            and not meaning you

                                    discussing the shell you live in as if that would emcompass 

                                                        y              o              u

 

The hardest lesson the women in my life taught me

 

           was how

 

                   to love

                           

                            myself..............................................................................