Sometimes I obsess about beauty. Only because I live in a world that is obsessed by it. A world that rations it out in small little teaspoons to so many of us.
“Do you have long legs? Well, erh…no…I’m four feet two.
Ok, you get half a tick.
Do you have blue eyes? Actually, my Mother had brown eyes.
Not our problem honey, you should have inherited better genes. You get half a tick.”
The world teaches us how to see & frame bodies & people. How to dress them up or dress them down with our fully loaded, shaken but not stirred beauty vocabulary. There is a centre, a standard to which we shamelessly gravitate towards. Maybe we got handed down these ideals from infancy & it’s the only thing we know. Maybe we are afraid to ask the tough questions of who made us lord over each other in that way. Maybe we just like the way things are because our position on the gradation is secure – we embody beauty in all its defined ways. And who cares anyway, right? Afterall, there is so much else going on in the world & we are too busy. & sometimes, no matter how hard we try to go the other way & see the raw beauty imprinted on each soul, we are strongly pulled back to the centre.
& the centre is vile & filthy. There is no grace there. No purity, no hope.
So, yes, sometimes I obsess about beauty. Because I want someone else other than myself to proclaim it for me, a stranger who has never laid eyes on me before. who can see the gold shimmering off my skin & call it out. Not because he knows someone who looks like me but because he is not afraid to claim the glimmer he sees reflected back to him. He is vulnerable enough & strong enough to want it. To pull away from the centre.
I want to roll with people like that.
When I think of beauty, I stand apart from symmetry. It is never uttered in my thoughts. I am swayed by things un-named that move in the spirit & give each person their being. From that peculiar way their lips curve into a smile to that pulse they try to hide at the intensity of emotion. I think everyone harbours a beauty that is so sexy it floors me. I go about each day proclaiming it & patting God on the back for having stitched so & so together, this person & that person. My days are filled with secret sighs & smiles, watching beauty in all its form pass me by.
Who would have thought to give me curves & volume & a heart that can build things? Pure genius, I tell you.
I want to roll with things like that.
When I think of beauty I think perfect functionality—synchronicity of hearts that are both flawed & perfect. This is the beauty I want to capture. in my hands. in my heart. I want to snuggle up with it, like a warm blaze on a cold autumn morning. Breathe it in until it oozes out of my pores. I want to lie with it skin on skin.
I want to roll with beauty like that.
I am in as much danger of falling in love as I’ve ever been. Only this time, I know my own heart a little bit better. I know where its crevices are & where the boundaries are sealed in molten rock.
& this is the growth that comes from heartbreak & experience. So falling in love this time around will be brilliant. It will be messy, it will be beauty itself.
This is what I want to cradle. & never let go.
Beauty does not lie in the eyes of the beholder—it is essentially & always will be in what is seen. What we need are eyes that see it in its natural state, untamed & untempered. eyes that seek it, eyes that proclaim it. unashamedly so.
I so wish we could roll with beauty like that.