Member-only story
The Beautiful Have Their Scars Too
Prose Poetry
Did you think you knew her from just a look? (Don’t be a fool. She’s layered like a wedding cake, tiers of white hiding a center worth biting into.) You think she’s got it made, don’t you, that perfect face and such a winning smile?
Did you watch her and think to yourself that she was just too good to be true? (Beauty hides all the inner turmoil, a flawless mask for every occasion.) You think her life is such a picturesque model, don’t you, something you wish you could grasp yourself?
Did you see her and wonder what she could be worrying her pretty little head about? (Life doesn’t pick favorites; it’s all such a wicked little game of chance.) You think there’s no unhappy endings for her, don’t you, everything falling in line just to please her?
Did you take your time and see past the surface? (No, you didn’t, did you? I can see the answer on your face.) You think you know her from just a glimpse every day, don’t you, but do you realize you in fact know so very little indeed?
Did you even listen when she spoke, every word just a projection for a world that never heard anyway? (Look, we’ve all made mistakes, but let’s be honest for once, okay?) You think you can see a person’s life through their eyes, but you have no idea, do you?
Look again. Try to see. Look, really look, and tell me: don’t you think we all have our scars?
