27/30: “Beautiful.”
She’s a kind of beautiful.
She speaks in half heaven, half Holocaust.
Part English, part body language
Honesty laden with the echoes
Of breaking hearts and crashing teardrops.
She had a penchant for yelling
Over the rooftops at the top of her fingertips
And her silence could serenade songbirds.
Head to toe she seemed perfect.
Her toes were roots…
Dug deep into her history.
Toes curling around grains of sand
Like they were stars
And she had infinity in her palms,
Galaxies behind her eyes,
And constellations behind her eyes.
She has the stars at her fingertips
Spreads her fingers
Reaches through continents for a home
And she carries the generation gap
Of her ancestry like it was brand name.
She was a kind of beautiful.
Her steps could make the pavement
Jump for joy.
Scorching in the summer sun
But sweating in her shadow.
She shone with all the sunlight
That she held ransom in her skin
But never realized how bright she could burn.
Never explaining how badly she’d crashed before.
(Source: wordsinajar)
