Beautiful

 Should I be beautiful to everyone but me?

Or should I be beautiful to just me?

Or can I be beautiful to others, as well as me?

I have a deformity, yet I am myself,

And I am normal in every other way.

I’ll go down the street in my jeans and sneakers

To get the paper, and say hello.

And when it rains bats wings up and spread,

And I have an umbrella over my head,

And naturally I am dry,

And if it’s windy, I can fly!

 

But people laugh at me and go whee,

Then I wonder about myself,

The laughter affecting my mental health.

The townsfolk’s mockery ring in my ears,

And now when it rains, I won’t go out.

 

I like rain, the way it cleans the air,

The way the wet sun brings dull colours back to life,

The way it softens soils and rigid minds.

People grumble about the rain and think of me,

And continue their merry laughing spree,

Could I be beautiful to them, and be happy with me?

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