This poem is how I wanted to be.
Beauty without function is not beauty.
Her mouth is beautiful when she smiles at a child
and speaks tenderly to an old man.
Her hands are beautiful when she touches souls.
Her eyes are beautiful.
With them she sees each shade of a sunset
and the perfect symmetry of a flower at the roadside.
Her eyes are beautiful when she cries someone else's tears.
Her ears are beautiful.
With them she hears symphonies in the wind,
and music in a wristful of bangles.
Her ears are beautiful when she stops to listen
to what no one else wants to hear.
Her body is beautiful
when she forgets
that it is so.
(written in 1991? 1992?)
Reading this today, I think, just maybe, I turned out beautiful after all.