Who do I compare her to?
With features perfect and silky hairLips parted as if to ask a question, but changing her mind,Because about the answer, she does not really care.
Her eyes remain a constellation of far off thoughtsThoughts that justify all she does wrongThat no mistake would be noticedAnd would be forgiven if it is
A pride in the perfection of all that’s outwardMakes her take for granted his loveHurts him until there are tears bleeding out his heartBut apologizes she does not; of that she’s above
Vanity remains a feeble weaponThe delusional wearer of it considers herself strongBut to hurt a heart that loves youBeauty turned to a weapon is just wrong.
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