Beauty was not her strong suit.
Not that of the usual canons.
She had something else. She was fragile, like a snowflake.
Her small frailties that she held between her fingers held her up, without them she would have collapsed.
She had them lined up like toy soldiers, I could see them when she walked, when she talked, when she laughed. You didn't have to make her blush because they would run away from her everywhere like children on the playground.
And then she would burst out laughing... They say you can fall in love with a smile, hers was special, she had hidden so many years from us, all the years in which her fragility had left her naked before two lying eyes that had crumbled her.
She was a rebuilt disaster, a puzzle assembled in bulk, gone mad.
She wasn't beautiful, she was broken.
And that made her beautiful.
[2016©Yelena b.]
(Extract from a novel I'm writing. Original writing, all rights reserved. Pics from pixabay, free pics)
I can feel and imagine every word in the poem. Deep and soulful, amica!