A sonnet

Sometimes, when the world is looking the other way,
I am gorgeous. My eyes and hair shine, I have a glow
I walk with my shoulders back, more graceful than any ballet.
I am a goddess – not that anyone would ever know.
When glances fall on me, I stumble, stutter, spill -
become clumsy and clownish, my radiance fades.
It doesn't matter. Another glorious moment will
sneak up on me, when life's dull tirades
grind me so far down that I need to be lovely again.
I keep my beauty, like treasure, in a velvet box
ready to be applied, a secret balm for secret pain –
a shield against time passing, a curse on clocks.
Remember, when you look, the surface that you see
is only your impression. It never was me.