"She was beautiful, but not in thw beautiful ways you might like to think so
she did not have hair that dripped gold
her eyes were not the color of the cold sea
her smile was crooked and bent
her lips were chapped and thiin
she did not have a gentle laugh
nor did she speak humble thoughts
but she was bautiful
in the way the shore kisses white feet
the way the moon hides itself in the curtain of darkness
she was bautiful in the way wind dances in hair
and in the way shy lovers hold hands
she was bautiful in the way of morning hair and black coffe,
and the love poems that live in each broken heart
spillng red oil into blue lungs,
suffocating happiness right out of it's shell,
and she was bautiful
because she refused to taste sadness
even when that was the only thing she had left to eat."