Would you love me if I were beautiful?
If my hair was golden blonde
And my body slender and tall,
My skin as bright as sunset
And my face in rightened shape?
Is it the way I move my hips?
Or the way I dress my hair?
Maybe it's the way I present myself,
Not gawdy or at all flashy.
Lesser than peacock,
Moreso of a hen.

I'm envious of your beauty.
Your cheek so fair and curved,
Your eyes filled with luster and clarity.
The soul you have is unfettered,
Ideals that are your own to claim.
Your hair is perfect,
Your smile tight and fine.
The skin you have is unblemished,
I cherish your presence
For it is a gift to all to be in your company.

But look at me,
A maid if anything.
Too old,
And bruised.
I am a rug left hanging after a year's good use.
The dinner parties partly proving my popularity.
A spill of wine that darkens my face.
They wouldn't notice, were it not for the colors underneath
Dying and brown.

But no, nothing like you.
That darling vase on display,
Imported from an ancient tomb
With your beauty unmarred.
The centerpiece to their ballroom,
While I am left to watch
And to wait below.
Could I ever meet you?
Would I be worthy?
Could I see your sheen and touch your glaze?

Maybe someday.
But not today.
When I look into that mirror, I see her
And I see me.
She is so beautiful.
You are so stunning
But I am just a peasant in the presence of a princess.
Someday hoping to rise up,
Someday hoping to become a queen.
Am I going to fill that porcelain beauty
Or am I going to rot deep inside here?

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