Jasmine Tsai Poet Free verse

I no longer know Beauty

I
forget—
like how leaves forget their tree
once autumn called them free.
Moments slip and leave
an unsettling void
for dreams to flourish.
Uninvited, wearing
the mask of memory.

A fiction sung in earnest,
stitched in gray hours—
where dreams blend into truth.
A hushed whisper:
“Beauty is truth,”—but
I wouldn’t know 
if the echoes I call "mine"
ever rang—

I am built
of broken facts,
soft edits,
and pills that patch up
what my mind kindly discards—

So I wonder, if beauty is truth—
am I still beautiful
when the scars I wear were never real.

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