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Her hair was never blonde enough;
Her natural color brown,
Her lashes never long enough,
She didnít own a gown.
She didnít understand his need
To make her something new.
Her smile was nice; her frame was small,
Her clothes would have to do.
She thought the good she held within
Would bring it all about;
Patience, support and servitude
Erasing any doubt.
She fed the babes and washed the clothes,
Grew gardens and piled snow.
She prayed for him with every dawn
And spoiled him head to toe.
His subtle hints possessed her mind
So she began to please -
With dyes and paints and mascara
She searched for his heart keys.
His standard came from tainted page;
With women naked clad.
With camera-men and artist stroke
Perfection could be had.
But years of change to please her man
Was sacrifice ill spent.
Although transformed to trophy wife,
He packed his things and went.
Deep wounds to scars begin to heal.
Another sees her worth -
Attracted by the glow she has;
Her inward outward mirth.
Her inner beauty still in tact;
Her outward now refined,
A new man wants to make her his;
No time to look behind.
Felicia Stone 7-11-02
Here, I share, with stark honesty, my life.