a thought on our beauty.

by Michael King

Some mornings, I’ll stand
bare feet, hair in tangles

and I’ll survey myself
in the mirror
a twenty-something,
blue boxer briefs,
and, for a flash,
I’ll see it, the
kindness of my eyes
ridged jaw, broad shoulders,
legs carved by miles,
and I’ll believe in it,
my beauty.

How terrible the rarity
that we actually see

ourselves.

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