Not Beautiful

She was not beautiful. 

There was something about her that

wasn't mahogany hair and

Leaf green eyes that shine like spring. 

She wasn't long tanned legs that

Stretched for days or

A laugh that hung in the air like fairy bells.

Nothing about her was splendid and

She certainly wasn't a swim in a warm lake

Naked and giggling while the sun kisses skin.

She wasn't curves in all the right places

And gentle fingers brushing skin. 

No fresh bite of watermelon or 

the sweet taste of sugar on the lips. 

She wasn't beautiful.

Instead she was withered. 

One look said she'd been hallowed out

And was now the empty husk, 

The exoskeleton of a beetle 

Found behind the dresser and swept away.

She was pale skin, translucent bones,

The feeling that one touch might shatter 

This glass figurine posing as a girl. 

She was nails bitten to the quick and

A cold winter wind on the back of the neck. 

The feeling of being watched and a

desire to run away as fast as possible. 

She was poison to touch

Transmitted through the skin.