This poem is written in the point of view of a young teenage girl, searching for her beauty, because she doesn’t feel beautiful inside. She doesn’t eat very much or very often, and when she lets her face fall into the palms of her hand, she can’t help but to feel each bone of her face and trace the lines. In these lines, she finds beauty. In the structure of her face, a painting. Making her who she is, and making her feel beautiful.
I like to rest my cheeks in my hands.
Soft and warm.
A contrast to the cold, brittle skin of my hands.
Trace the bones under my eyes,
Uplifted and strong.
I hear this is a quality that beautiful people have.
I like to rest my forehead in my hands.
Trace the bones of my brow,
Lifted from the deep valley of my eyelids.
Casting fragile shadows upon my eyes.
A contrast to the pale of my skin.
I like to rest my chin in my hands.
Trace the bones of my jaw,
A contrast to the others.
No one I know has this jaw.
I like to rest my face in my hands.
As I trace my bones
I imagine the beauty that someone might see-
The beautiful person I picture myself to be.