With trembling fingers,
And keen concentration,
She outlined her eyes in black,
Her lips in gloss.

She grabbed her purse,
And walked out the front door.

She comes home,
Her make up smeared,
Her face,
Tear streaked.

She takes one look in the mirror,
And starts sobbing,
Pounding the mirror,
In a vain attempt,
To erase the ugly image before her.

Her screams fill the room,
“Why am I so ugly?!”
“Why can’t I be . . . beautiful?”

Why, indeed.
Why can’t you see,
That the beauty you wish to possess,
Lies under all those layers of paint,
And tears on your own face?
Why can’t you see,
That the wings of your soul,
Are struggling to take flight?
And most of all,
Why can’t you see,
That beauty is
In you?

Come,
Dry your tears,
Wash your face,
And open your eyes.

Do you see a tiny glowing spark
Within you?
Care for it,
But most of all,
Love it.

And soon,
It will grow
Into a shimmering star,
And illuminate someone’s dark night.