What's underneath that mask of grace?
Is it nothing but a perfect face?

When you cry, does your makeup smear?
Does it smudge and run with a single tear?

Beauty is defined in ways so crude.
It's a judgement based solely upon how you're viewed.

When you look in the mirror, what do you see?
Do you see disappointment or pride as you realize,
"This is me," ?

A million faces critiqued and scrutinized
Only to be confronted by millions of lies.

As we grow older, we possess the wisdom it will take
To know the difference between what's real and fake.

When we're not being judged, we're judging ourselves.
We magnify our flaws and see nothing else.

Then comes a person who loves us for who we are.
They see what's deeper; they see past this scar.

They know our flaws, but their love doesn't waver.
We know in our hearts that this person's our savior.

They love us unconditionally, despite how we look,
Irregardless of what we wear.
This is our safe haven; it's a beauty so rare.