On beauty...
Sometimes I think,
"I can be as hideous as I want to."
or
"It's OK to be ugly."
or
"I don't have to be beautiful, I can just be striking."
Really this last one is quite nice, mostly because I love the word 'striking', and I love striking things and people. But it STILL comes from a strange place of semi-loathing, this balance struck within the self during low moments.
Then it crosses over into brain power, in moments where I seem to be fused with a peanut and making decisions is haaaaaaaaard, and usually I'm in front of some very efficient dope who's gonna lord my one mistake or bad behavior over me to their imaginary office deities....forever.
I got off track.
the thing is, there are times when i look into my eyes, in the mirror glass and i think, 'nobody is ever going to look exactly like me.'
and then i think, 'i am so very beautiful.'
and then i think, 'i am uniquely beautiful and not for everyone (for you know, the beholder, gentle soldiers, the beholder is to be considered, if only telepathically or conceptually for the sake of this article). But in mein own beholder, I can see the simple evocation of something medieval or of someone who came before.
my unmakedup'd lashes in the sun and pale face going a bit flushy red.
my under eye circles enlargening my eyes.
yes, even the imperfections, glow in the sunlight.
i passed by a handsome man with a tan and had a moment of fearful but joyful reckoning. (aren't those the best?!?) Oh yes, joyfear!
we walked past, toward each other. i felt myself searching and then looking away and thinking, "well, there's a handsome man." (I do think thoughts like this, perhaps i speak the tongues of an older time), and he looked like his name would be Jordan or some eternally sunny name.
i can see myself with my middling brown hair (which i love, and when i say middling, i know mean of one of every possibility, because it changes with the seasons, and i change too.) it reminded me of a picture when young, on a horse, and my hair was bleached out, as much as it can go, i suppose, in the sun. and on top of a horse, my eyes are heavy lidded but strong. i've always looked felt strong in this one photo, not that i was a genius on horse back or some whisperer, but i just liked them so and i suppose i look young child vacation content.
so tan man Jordan comes forthward and i size myself up in my son's sun's shining eyes and then we pass and everything sparkles and just before leaving beyond into the over the shoulder realm, eyes are briefly met and a scan of remembrance of our long love past (or you know, maybe, kinda like that sort of thing that might happen if you believed it) and we continue onwards then, back down the old flat hills of city sidewalk yore.
i still see his tanness and he delightful un-citified, in the freedom uniform of non-corporate wear, i mean. in this moment, me too. jeans, a flowing shirt and i feel flowing good. i see he and i passing again and again in the plainness of a moment that might be a mere blip of nothing to a stranger (who can tell, who can know?) i see my own blonded out summer future past come to light and life again.
and i am not afraid of myself then, which feels like a good almost beauty quality.
everyone is beautiful of course, it's just in how you...
its how you present it or not.
the love must be there (maybe?)
implied?
there?
i'm trying to avoid LOVE YO SELF bumper sticker proclamations, but here we are in the realm of it coming through anyway. whoops.
i just mean: beauty happens before you know it in deep comfort and the non-mirror reflection of someone else you're seeing and attracted to.
it also happens by yourself in front of the holy object of candles and in the magnificence of having a body and touching it, touching yourself, coming, holding a gaze, holding your own gaze. i light candles and hold my own gaze and call god, on and on and on and on, and then i know a piece of myself and peace within god, not just in the mirror (for the mirror rots occasionally or the camera bites)
but i mean the flesh, and let the mirror see it, and let you see it in this reflective glass.
i want to be held and touched and to say my love on that summer's day i caught you and call you walking on by and you look back with a sweet touch that went right through me.
holding onto the summer gaze.
oh to write before just being tired and sleep.
oh to write at all.
i'm trying now, girls and boys,
can't you tell i'm trying?
i'm a tired writer now, tired writing, but trying.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox,
goodnight, loves.
i hold your hands and we look on with candles burning pillow talk asleep into the night of greened out yearning.
(((((((((goodnight)))))))
"I can be as hideous as I want to."
or
"It's OK to be ugly."
or
"I don't have to be beautiful, I can just be striking."
Really this last one is quite nice, mostly because I love the word 'striking', and I love striking things and people. But it STILL comes from a strange place of semi-loathing, this balance struck within the self during low moments.
Then it crosses over into brain power, in moments where I seem to be fused with a peanut and making decisions is haaaaaaaaard, and usually I'm in front of some very efficient dope who's gonna lord my one mistake or bad behavior over me to their imaginary office deities....forever.
I got off track.
the thing is, there are times when i look into my eyes, in the mirror glass and i think, 'nobody is ever going to look exactly like me.'
and then i think, 'i am so very beautiful.'
and then i think, 'i am uniquely beautiful and not for everyone (for you know, the beholder, gentle soldiers, the beholder is to be considered, if only telepathically or conceptually for the sake of this article). But in mein own beholder, I can see the simple evocation of something medieval or of someone who came before.
my unmakedup'd lashes in the sun and pale face going a bit flushy red.
my under eye circles enlargening my eyes.
yes, even the imperfections, glow in the sunlight.
i passed by a handsome man with a tan and had a moment of fearful but joyful reckoning. (aren't those the best?!?) Oh yes, joyfear!
we walked past, toward each other. i felt myself searching and then looking away and thinking, "well, there's a handsome man." (I do think thoughts like this, perhaps i speak the tongues of an older time), and he looked like his name would be Jordan or some eternally sunny name.
i can see myself with my middling brown hair (which i love, and when i say middling, i know mean of one of every possibility, because it changes with the seasons, and i change too.) it reminded me of a picture when young, on a horse, and my hair was bleached out, as much as it can go, i suppose, in the sun. and on top of a horse, my eyes are heavy lidded but strong. i've always looked felt strong in this one photo, not that i was a genius on horse back or some whisperer, but i just liked them so and i suppose i look young child vacation content.
so tan man Jordan comes forthward and i size myself up in my son's sun's shining eyes and then we pass and everything sparkles and just before leaving beyond into the over the shoulder realm, eyes are briefly met and a scan of remembrance of our long love past (or you know, maybe, kinda like that sort of thing that might happen if you believed it) and we continue onwards then, back down the old flat hills of city sidewalk yore.
i still see his tanness and he delightful un-citified, in the freedom uniform of non-corporate wear, i mean. in this moment, me too. jeans, a flowing shirt and i feel flowing good. i see he and i passing again and again in the plainness of a moment that might be a mere blip of nothing to a stranger (who can tell, who can know?) i see my own blonded out summer future past come to light and life again.
and i am not afraid of myself then, which feels like a good almost beauty quality.
everyone is beautiful of course, it's just in how you...
its how you present it or not.
the love must be there (maybe?)
implied?
there?
i'm trying to avoid LOVE YO SELF bumper sticker proclamations, but here we are in the realm of it coming through anyway. whoops.
i just mean: beauty happens before you know it in deep comfort and the non-mirror reflection of someone else you're seeing and attracted to.
it also happens by yourself in front of the holy object of candles and in the magnificence of having a body and touching it, touching yourself, coming, holding a gaze, holding your own gaze. i light candles and hold my own gaze and call god, on and on and on and on, and then i know a piece of myself and peace within god, not just in the mirror (for the mirror rots occasionally or the camera bites)
but i mean the flesh, and let the mirror see it, and let you see it in this reflective glass.
i want to be held and touched and to say my love on that summer's day i caught you and call you walking on by and you look back with a sweet touch that went right through me.
holding onto the summer gaze.
oh to write before just being tired and sleep.
oh to write at all.
i'm trying now, girls and boys,
can't you tell i'm trying?
i'm a tired writer now, tired writing, but trying.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox,
goodnight, loves.
i hold your hands and we look on with candles burning pillow talk asleep into the night of greened out yearning.
(((((((((goodnight)))))))
Comments
Post a Comment