RingoThis is not a nanowrimo thing but a poem I tried to write a while back. Needs…so much fucking love lol. But hey I’m just trying to put my shit out there.
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Some people don’t think they’re beautiful and I don’t get that.
Some people tell me I’m amazing and it leaves me wondering. I mean,
yeah I’m good looking.
Whenever I get to see myself I see a magnificent god.
I get it. Yeah, I get it, I got a hot bod.
I sure do, but…So do you.
Don’t believe me? Its cause you can’t see clearly, let’s do an exercise.
Go to your mirror. Take a look at yourself.
No, not with your eyes, put those down, try mine.
Take them.
See I focus on your beauty, looking for it everywhere. Hidden or not, its theres and I find it.
You see that scar and want to turn away. I peer closer. That tells a story. A story of your life. Maybe a past trauma, a wound, emotional and deep.
Or I don’t know, maybe it’s a shame filled memory of teenage acne and old words so petty. That you want to put away with all those times you were laughed at.
Or Speaking of laughing, maybe it’s something funny, a time you took a spill trying to impress the neighbor girl across the street
Baby I don’t care, I just want to hear it. See it. Touch it.
Feel it.
I want to know you through your stories.
But that’s not all.
Look at your nose. You think it’s too big, I think it’s just right. It think speaks to me me, proud and large, it stands out like you. Not afraid of anything in this world. Cause you are that big and your personality can’t be contained.
What about your teeth? Do you think they’re crooked? Too yellow?
I don’t at all. I see them as a beautiful asymmetry that pulls my eyes to your words, every second that you speak. I don’t just hear you, I see your thoughts coming out.
And I
Cannot
tear my vision away from that beautiful sight, that perfectly imperfect mouth. And I’m drawn in every time.
I just want to..
Feel that. Feel you
You talk about fat, I see curves that match the earth, our magnificent mother. My eyes eyes see guitars, peaches, and 50s muscle cars. I see your rolls but why would I turn away, when I know that’s soft and giving and warm?
See I don’t care if you have “imperfections”. I don’t mind your blemishes, your “flaws” or any “ugliness” you think you have.
I don’t see them, I don’t need to.
Cause what is perfection? A made up standard of measure. A set of checkboxes that changes every decade. A certification that is 100% grade A beef, ready for mass consumption by ready and willing zombies.
But you’re not a cow. You’re a person. Not to be speciesist but you’re better than that. We all are,
You have a brain. A unique mind.
And hell maybe that one ain’t that “great” either. Mine sure ain’t.
Maybe you destroyed it with chemicals and negligence.
Maybe you never fed it hard problems and information,
Maybe it came off the line with some quirks of odd chemical fluid flows. Or maybe just low horsepower.
But who cares? I want know that mind. Its unique and different, and all yours. No one else ever had it and ever will again.
You’re a pixel, a splash of pigment on this universal tapestry, all your own. And it’s beauty wouldn’t exist without you.
See the brightest stars in our generation will be forgotten in 1000 years and no one will remember what they said. By then no one will have tears over their funerals and no one will have them over ours either. Cause in the end, we’re all the same. Just a spec on that tapestry. So who cares if you’re a fraction smaller.
See those of us who pursue perfection; it’s just not worth it. I’ve been on this positivity kick for a while now. Its kinda what I have to be about. Naturally I’m a negative person looking for the holes. I’m trying to cast doubt. I’m trying to find mistakes and poke at them, and shred them and pull them all apart.
I don’t want to build anything I want to see it torn to pieces, show you that it’s not as good as you thought it was.
See the problem with that is that if you don’t keep working constantly you never hit perfection. It’s soul destroying to keep poking and patch it up, only to find something new. There’s always something to find, Some thread out of place that you can pull and pull
Until the whole thing unravels,.
Some smeared speck of paint, some out of place word. It doesn’t fucking matter.
To find perfection is absurd .There is no such thing
And if there is I’ve never seen it. Never seen a person be. Never seen a person who could achieve it or perceive it.
And if they exist, I don’t want to meet them. I ain’t trying to be about that life.
Give me them fucked up people with them fucked up eyes. The type that smile before a cigarette; paint displayed on their work jeans and a chipped tooth from a beer bottle.
The typos in a first draft
You don’t need to edit it. Let me see what your about. Let me hear you spirit. I want to read your words. Like kendrick said I don’t need no photoshop, show me some ass with some stretch marks
Cause baby that shits real and that’s a thing I can feel. And please please never change.
Don’t try to rearrange your body or your mind to this fake bullshit. Ideals.
They change every 100s years. Victorians wanted to be fat. 90s skinny. The greeks think small dicks were better.
It doesn’t fucking matter what you look like. There’s beauty in all things. That’s what I want you to realize. What I want you to see. Stop looking with your eyes. Try mine.
See you for the star you are and shine on and fucking shine.