Not a beautiful thing (original poem of mine)

I was never a beautiful thing
More,
My own creation,
The limbs and the whims
And the skin.
Nothing that hinted
Nothing to squint at.
I was feeble
And translucent
Like a fog,
That rises to greet you
Before the rain takes over.

There wasn’t much,
I never went from here,
To there.
All of life
Was an understatement,
And a gathering realisation,
Of the steps I had taken,
And the backs I’d broken.

I spoke and I lived
With my withered injustices
An etiolated whisper
On the back of your tongue,
But never resting in your mind.

When anger arose
It never bubbled
Or flowered.
Into effervescent rage,
It was silent destruction,
Corruption
of my senses,
My good faith
remained,
The eruption,
That couldn’t reach the surface.

I’d have given you my heart,
But there is nothing left to be sold
My secrets they let me go, long ago
And my love is rare
As liquid gold.