As children we are deceived

by society’s definition of beauty.

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder

and is in no way perfect.

 

Beauty is leaves dizzily drifting from the trees in a whirlwind of color because they have lost their grip on certainty.

Beauty is a flame licking at the snow sizzling and puttering as its time draws to a close.

Beauty is a sloppy laugh shared with a friend that seems to have no beginning or end.

Beauty is a toddler’s toothless smile because they have not realized the horrors that adulthood hides.

 

By no means is beauty

a hospital room.

Symmetric and sterile

unfeeling yet complete.

 

If we were meant to be perfect, then we would be.

But we’re not.

So we aren’t.

 

Yet we still strive for perfection.

A peak so high with a slope so steep

that we falter at the very thought of reaching it.

We beat ourselves up over a culture that says our best is not good enough,

that we can always be better.

 

I took a step into the light,

and I will never look back.

I silenced the voice in the back of my head

that fooled me into thinking

that I was less than what I was meant to be.

 

Now I know

that even though I am falling apart,

even though I feel like I’ve got it all wrong,

I am here for a reason.

I fulfill a purpose.

And despite the imperfections and the scars and the darkness,

I am exactly who I was meant to be—

Me.

And that makes me beautiful.

 

I wish the world would see the importance of flaws,

and we would all recognize

that it is in our imperfections

that our beauty lies.