There should be an absoluteness of beauty simply in the act of being a woman.

 

And yet we spend our time changing ourselves into something we hope is better.

 

There should be a knowledge that what we are, what we do, how we move is pretty

 

simply because we do it

 

simply because we are women.

 

The colors we adorn ourselves with, the shapes we attempt to adhere to, 

 

how can they be any more than we already are. 

 

Are we not already women?

 

What could we possibly need to change to attempt to be what we already are?

 

And men, beautiful men.

 

I feel their shape in my arms, and know that there has never been anything better there,

 

a quality that I have no desire to describe as the abstractness of it curls my toes.

 

These genders matter, to some people. 

 

But people, beautiful people.

 

Why would we try to change to improve when we already exist 

 

in our most genuine form.

 

To make ourselves more like women, like men, like people?

 

Impossible.

 

If we try to change, it is to make ourselves less so.

 

To dedicate ourselves to the lie that we are not good enough.

 

That less-human is better.