by Kimberly Wilder 

I like to be alone.
When I am alone, I am more beautiful.
I do not need to meet some expectation,
be somebody’s image of
butterfly woman
or flower girl.

In nature, everything has its charm,
even crinkly iguanas and
the opaque wings of insects.
Alone, I judge myself by these standards.

In my own mirror,
the thin skin around my eyes is not age,
but the translucent beauty of a rabbit’s ears.
Gray circles are not gray at all,
simply shades of purple and blue
borrowed from the sky over the lighthouse.

Cellulite, with no one there to name it,
reveals itself as beautiful ripples,
the worn edges of mountain peaks
reflected in waves of polished stone.

Alone, I see
the white spots on my fingernails
are not Grandma’s lies,
but swishes of seashell clouds in
a salmon colored sky.

The awkward cup of my heel
is not bone or foot,
but a perfect fit with the palm of my hand,
an unexplored edge of my body.

By myself, I know that
all folds and imperfections
are the awesome imprint
of an extraordinary leopard, or
the draping skin of some exotic creature.

Because, when I am alone
even the iguana parts of me are beautiful.

3 Responses

  1. I wasn’t expecting much when I bumped into this poem of yours – and this website. But now I am glad I crashed in here soundlessly.

    This is a really nice piece. I shall be back for more.

    Could I invite you to visit my blog — Thanks.

  2. Thank you for sharing this beautiful poem, I too enjoy my alone time. Please pop by my blog and say hi. x

  3. Wonderful interpretation of yourself and very personal. It is hard when the outside tries to screw with the inside. Staying positive is great when these forces are shunned.


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