Soulful Noises

atelophobia

Late at night,
I snuck through
Her backdoor so
Her parents wouldn't
Know she had
Someone over.
She was all fun
And games with
One of the most bubbly
Personalities known
To man. Her smile
Could make beasts
Crumble and her
Beauty was
Extraordinary- even
For the very souls
That claimed to
Have seen angels.

One of the most
Confident, well known
And loved girls in school.
She loved staring
At her makeup
Stained reflection
In the mirror and
She knew that in
The eyes of all the
Boys and men; her
Body was heaven.

Her red lipstick
Beauty was all
She had, so she said.
Of course drop
Dead gorgeous Ashley
Had the perfect life.
All so perfect:
The perfect face,
The perfect body,
The perfect makeup,

But as I look back
On my highschool
Days; I recall one
Other friend.
A feeble teenage
Girl that could
Never believe in
Her capabilities
Regardless of the
Many times I had
Told her 'I can
Never be as good
At anything as you
Are at maths and
All subjects enriched
With aromas of
Knowledge of
Life and all the
Beautiful cracks
Inbetween'.

I do still remember
Walking through
Her front door to
Do my homework
With her because
We were best friends.
Her parents loved
Having me over
Because they
Thought I was the
Only thing that
Kept their atelophobic
Little girl going.

I remember how
She told me she
Never felt beautiful..
How she hated being
Smart, how
She hated being
Different because
She couldn't be perfect.
She didn't have
The perfect face,
The perfect body
And the perfect makeup.

So one day she
Unmasked her freckled
Face and rid herself
Of her 'nerdy' glasses.
She then tightened
Her forehead and
Straightened her
Teeth so she could
Stare at her perfect
And makeup stained
Reflection in
The mirror each day.
She unclad her
Not-good-enough
Body until it seemed
Like heaven to all
The boys and men
And now her red
Lipstick beauty is
All she has.

Oh, Ashley- the
Most confident,
Well known and
Loved girl in school.
She has the perfect face,
The perfect body
And the perfect makeup,
Yet she still doesn't
Feel good enough.

So now I sneak
Through her backdoor
Late at night to sing
Her to sleep by flooding
Her atelophobic
Mind with my poetic
Words and soothing
Habitual  phrases like
'I can never be as
good at anything
As you are at maths
And all subjects enriched
With aromas of
Knowledge of life and
All the beautiful cracks inbetween' because
No matter how much
Her smile crumbles
Beasts; no matter how
Extraordinary her
Beauty is to even those
Who claim to have
Seen angels, she is only a
Facsimile of her
Atelophobia.

Even her red lipstick-beauty
Cannot rid her of
This fear of being
Imperfect; this fear of
Not being good
Enough- so late
At night whilst I sit in
The dark feeling her
Rough and curly hair
I sing to her and
Sooth her bitter heart
With my poetic
Words, but deep
Down I'm praying-
Praying to God and
All the angels in
Heaven's vicinity
That they ease her
Tempests.