persia
01-29-06, 11:25 PM
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
I see it more and more as I get older
My own eyes are the most important in life
Acceptance of the original, without the aid of a surgeons knife
My body is a temple. my palace
Regardless of what others say, empty words filled with malice
Eyes green as spring’s first grass
Hypnotizing men when I pass
The curves that I once thought to be a curse
Now as essential to my wardrobe as a Gucci purse
Skin the color of a caramel sundae
Contains the same glow as the first glimmer of sunlight for the day
Soft and inviting as a Georgia peach
Waiting to be caressed like the waves on a Caribbean beach
Hands as strong as a soldiers resolve
Somehow contain a tough as soft and sweet as a mother’s love
Perfection in my blood, right down to the toes
“She thinks she’s cute.” They call as I pass by
Angry because my sights focus higher, my nose pointed to the sky
How do you expect me to reach perfection?
Looking at what you’re doing, having no direction
I need and am capable of more than could ever be imagined
My Lord never intended for me to be a has-been
You could never impede the strength of my fight
Because you’re too focused on others, looking for sympathy for your plight
To you, I will say again
Beauty is and will be in the eye of the beholder, not of not account men
Until the day you open your mind and see, you ill always wonder what might have been.
I see it more and more as I get older
My own eyes are the most important in life
Acceptance of the original, without the aid of a surgeons knife
My body is a temple. my palace
Regardless of what others say, empty words filled with malice
Eyes green as spring’s first grass
Hypnotizing men when I pass
The curves that I once thought to be a curse
Now as essential to my wardrobe as a Gucci purse
Skin the color of a caramel sundae
Contains the same glow as the first glimmer of sunlight for the day
Soft and inviting as a Georgia peach
Waiting to be caressed like the waves on a Caribbean beach
Hands as strong as a soldiers resolve
Somehow contain a tough as soft and sweet as a mother’s love
Perfection in my blood, right down to the toes
“She thinks she’s cute.” They call as I pass by
Angry because my sights focus higher, my nose pointed to the sky
How do you expect me to reach perfection?
Looking at what you’re doing, having no direction
I need and am capable of more than could ever be imagined
My Lord never intended for me to be a has-been
You could never impede the strength of my fight
Because you’re too focused on others, looking for sympathy for your plight
To you, I will say again
Beauty is and will be in the eye of the beholder, not of not account men
Until the day you open your mind and see, you ill always wonder what might have been.