(S)he

She's never been told that she was ugly. It has always been the look. The twice over glance, the once over the shoulder. She catches them off guard. She is an arrival at the exact moment. A departure moments too soon. She's beautiful and doesn't know it. Her insecurities mask the pain that she endures daily. Often hoping to catch a glimpse of her self passing by.... Her silent confidence betrays her.. Causes others to whisper. Her quiet arrogance, oft not believing she's better than others, just all knowing... Selflessly aware of her presence and the consequences of such.. Her frailties, her inadequacies glaring and blinding her, leading her toward the path of abandoned destruction. As they see, only what they want to see . Like the others, they never truly see her. They see the reflection of their judgment mirrored in the coffee brown of her eyes... A bottlomless view toward self assessed discovery. She's beautiful and doesn't know it. Whispers and jeers from others hurt, scathe. The androgynous mystic of her core, is what attracts them to her... Charming, chivalrous, mannerable flirtatious, unattainable, unapproachable to both sexes, yet they are truly baffled by her magnetism. They are drawn to her, like the illusive riches that lie just past the rainbow. Life riches, or so it seems.... Only to find she is emotionally bankrupt and morally discharged. Desperation of her voice wanting only, that which she craves... An equal.... She's beautiful and doesn't know it. She doesn't know why they fear their curiosity and place the blame upon her. Her sexuality and intimacy are just that, hers... There are no overt or covert gestures to suggest otherwise, yet they balk at her incessant pleas to be left alone or feign hurt when passively ignored..She... Prefers the companionship of solitude and aloneness... Never being faithful to either lover, but loving them just the same, as they satisfy her cardinal natures and desires. She will never understand the pointless need for them to speak in shadows that seemingly scream. She's beautiful but doesn't know it. Scrapped knees, crooked teeth, skin and bones. Dresses fall off corners of frail shoulders. Slight tears and small rips from playing too hard. She plays hard to forget. Pulls hair in tight pony tail, no bangs, no big fru-fru curls. Her father is her hero. She emulates him, not because she's tomboyish, but because he's her only parent. Girly things need mothers, there are no mothers, only great-grand and grand.. She remembers in 3rd grade boy yells, "Your mother is old." She cries. She cries. She cries. She's beautiful but doesn't know it... They have always liked her. Wanted to be her friend. They have always loved her. Wanted to be near her. Felt the need to fill her voids. They love her hair. Her coy smile. The insecure gap in her walk. They say, "she looks like she needs to be taken care of..." And they try. They leave hurt. She doesn't understand. Nor do they. She will never recognize her beauty, nor will she understand their need to blame her for it....