Leah Palmer

 

Why, if your eyes glow green in the gloaming

And your hair cries its wares in the bazaar

Why, if your long white wrists break gently

If your feet flesh fiercely, tiny, neatly

If your gaze sends God-heart beating fleetly

And your hands keep sweetly meeting, seeking

 

Why can you think, with your idiosyncrasies and beauties beyond bare bodies 

With your spirit housed behind fleshly façade 

With your kindness and caring and special and soul 

 

Why can you think 

I'm not beautiful