Through Older Eyes

I turn to the child and look her in the face, she returns my gaze with hazy eyes.

Her hands pick at tattered cuticles, her teeth gnaw at chapped lips.

Her back curves forward achingly, her skin shines with unwashed oil.

Ugly, she mutters, I know I am ugly.

Barely a teenager already and she tells me she knows.

They stare at her with smirks on their faces, poking at her hair, her body, her voice.

She curls into herself and turns into stone, they cannot touch her if she does not let them.

Ugly, she whispers, they know I am ugly.

You are not ugly, I tell her with firm voice, you are beautiful.

The child looks back at me, haze becoming disbelief.

You are beautiful, I am beautiful, we are beautiful.

She slowly stands up, taller, healthier, happier.

Her hands sit confidently on her hips, her teeth glitter in a bright smile.

Her back straightens to its full height, her skin glows with sunshine.

She was beautiful, I am beautiful, We will be beautiful.