proofs withheld

I hope we never fight, but I expect we will:
You don't think you're beautiful.
I'll restrict myself to cool,
detached observation
and impartial facts. Have
you ever seen your eyes? Probably,
I'd have to guess. Mirror
in the morning, grimacing
through toothpaste foam

and scrutinizing
for such flaws as can be
dealt with out-of-hand
at home, in morning ritual,
before the rush of day
comes on. If I could be there,
taking notes I'm sure I'd point out
all the ways you lean and dart
and fuss, and you'd concede,

"oh yes. I am
adorable, aren't I? Objectively
speaking."

I'd be forced to agree, but
you'd probably protest: "But not beautiful,
though." Infuriatingly enough, if
anyone else said it! Fighting words,
but ok. You have every right,

Even standing ready to face the world,
marvelously sheveled, a credit to any street
you stroll! And beautiful as all. Still

You don't think you're beautiful.
You have every right to be wrong.

I'll do my best to shut up. It would be
a pretty dumb thing to fight about. Just

know this:
I have proof.