4/21/06

SELF PORTRAIT

Dry hands from years of work run through

A messy mass of wavy, light brown hair that

Borders my pale, unevenly toned face,

Hanging in front of hazel eyes that have

Cried more tears than rain clouds.

This big smile may not mean a thing,

Just as drooping eyes may not tell of sadness.

So many years were spent wishing that

This guise of mine could be different,

But now acceptance exists and I see

That no one else looks quite like I do.