Please Don't Tell Her She's Pretty

She looks in the mirror
and sees only edges,
the curves of her cheeks,
the lines of her mouth,
fragments of her face,
nothing complete.

Her hair slips like silk
over her shoulders,
and she brushes it back,
unaware of how it shines
in the sunlight.

Her laughter comes softly,
falling like rose petals,
but she doesn't hear it,
doesn't know how it settles,
sweet and bright,
In every corner of the room.

She doesn’t see her own light,
how it glows beneath her smile,
softer than a whisper,
warmer than a sunrise.

But don't tell her she's pretty.
Don't tell her any of that.

She won't believe you,
and she never wants to hear those words again.