I Was Never Beautiful
Read more poetry by Britt Wolfe
I was never beautiful
in the way they meant it.
I did not arrive softly.
I did not decorate rooms.
I did not make myself smaller
so someone else could feel tall beside me.
They searched my face
for something easy—
symmetry, sweetness, silence—
and found instead
a woman who looked back.
Unapologetically awake.
I learned early
that beauty was a currency
I was expected to spend wisely:
on politeness,
on compliance,
on gratitude for being noticed.
But I wanted more
than to be admired from a distance
like a vase no one dares to touch.
I wanted weight.
Impact.
A voice that left fingerprints.
I wanted to be useful
in the way fire is useful—
not ornamental,
not safe,
but capable of change.
They told me beauty would open doors.
They did not tell me
how often it would be used
to close my mouth.
So I chose something harder.
I chose intelligence
that made people uncomfortable.
Conviction that refused to smile on cue.
Depth that could not be skimmed
without consequence.
I chose becoming
over being pleasing.
And yes—
there were moments
I wanted the ease of beauty.
The simplicity of being liked
without being understood.
But I have never envied cages,
no matter how gilded.
I did not want to be looked at.
I wanted to be reckoned with.
To be the woman
whose absence is felt.
Whose words rearrange furniture.
Whose presence alters the temperature
of a room long after she leaves.
If beauty is meant to fade,
then I am glad
I did not build my worth
on something time could steal.
I built it on motion.
On growth.
On the relentless refusal
to be reduced to a surface.
I am not beautiful.
I am formidable.
I am curious.
I am unfinished.
And I have always wanted
to be more
than something that could be admired
without ever being known.
Keep My Words Alive
If this poem has stayed with you, you can help keep my words alive or explore more of my work. Every bit of support helps carry the stories forward.
WHERE WORDS MEET MORNING LIGHT
BEGIN EACH DAY WITH SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL
Every morning at 11:11AM, I send a poem — sometimes soft, sometimes devastating, always true.
💚 Subscribe now to read and breathe and feel along with me 💚
Poetry Anthologies by Britt Wolfe:
