I see her.
Her big-too-dark-to be called brown eyes stare at me
I wish I could change her eyes
Soften them a bit, to make the windows to her soul more appealing,
less intimidating, more inviting
But I know she won't let me
She won't let me fix her nose, brush it smaller,
though they are as wide as her lips.
She wiggles them with pride and caresses the bridge as she pays no mind.
She feels her lips. Soft and plump
A little too thick, if you ask me
but she loves it still, how it always seems to be pouting without her consent and the content that spill out of it when she gives it space.
I examine the skin that mattes her features.
It is brown with blotches of black and little bumps scattered around
I think to myself, I could cover it up.
As I reach for her face. To fix her
her dark eyes holds me.
And her chocolate heart shaped lips departs and begins to confess her love.
Her love for her Scars and Spots
For her Wide unaccepted nose
She explains her love for the darkness in her eyes. For they bless her with enigma.
Her defiant face promises to never try to fit the mould of 'BEAUTY'
For she beholds and understands
Whatever they or I say mean nothing
For she doesn't need my validation
You might call it pride
But she calls it