I'm not one of those people who believes that everyone is beautiful.
I see too much evil and hate in them to be able to classify everyone as being even foundationally kind, much less beautiful. Once darkness is seen in a personality, its appearance becomes altered.
Character is that thing that most poetry romanticizes. Because there are poets who will tell you that beauty is in the contents of your soul, and it's all about the little things you do like write notes on the back of photographs or dip fries in milkshakes.
And sometimes those people are right, but sometimes they're wrong too.
The character you have isn't all good. You must know to some degree that you're composed of much more than just the sappy Disney qualities you've built up in your head. There's a reality to everything. As much as the spark in you that gives you meaning in your life is a foundation to your complexity, you're also formed by doubts, punches thrown at walls, tears that fell for no real reason.
See, those things, no matter what anyone says: They are not beautiful. They're terrifying, they're productions of awful situations and people and mentalities and monsters that can destroy you, and can destroy all the romanticized habits that makes you different and charming.
This is how we get the evil and hateful people.
The spark goes out in them, they get lost in all the doubts and dark thoughts, and all they want to is to feel the beauty again, but they can't. That's the irony -- they want something that they've rejected by going through so much ****
They need to search through themselves and find the drive again, to get past all the awful things and inner demons. They need to go through old Christmas cards, and draw smiley faces on bathroom stalls. They need to exercise the ability to stop blaming, and resenting. Or else they'll become someone else's reason to lose the spark -- like a disease of desperation. Maybe it won't fix everything to try, not for a long time if the feelings are so strong and bleak, but I know from personal experience that the beauty will come back to everything slowly, even to yourself.
I'm not one of those people who believes that everyone is beautiful. I see too much evil and hate in them to be able to classify everyone as being even foundationally kind, much less beautiful. But the ones who look like they're too far gone, that they're helpless and don't even want help, they want it the most. They're not helpless, or too far gone. They can feel the beauty in themselves again, they just need to see it other things too. And when they do, maybe everyone will be beautiful.
And maybe they'll be kind to one another.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 8:26 PM UTC
I would be lying if I said that I would be okay with losing you
I don't care what the reason would be or if you even think about it
I would care, like I care about you being happy and still loving me
I don't know how to really describe the overwhelming dependency I have
Because I am so in love with you, in love with every single moment spent with you
Everything I'm afraid to tell you is still scattered across my floor in the form of sticky notes
Everything I've ever wanted is imprinted on the back of pictures of us written in pencil
I would be lying if I said that I'm happy because I can't be
I don't care how I act with other people around because that's not who I am
I would swear up and down and around the moon if you would believe that I'm only real with you
I'm a cardboard cut-out of a girl smiling and that's about it
The girl you met a year ago is hiding behind, trying to count the number of days she's been without you on her fingers
Because I miss your smile, I miss the details of your face and your hearty laugh
Everything scares me because your hand isn't holding mine and you can't be here while I sleep
Everything gets so blurry and I feel numb without you making me feel alive again
I would be lying if I said that it doesn't scare me to write something this honest
I don't usually explore this part of myself for the obvious self deprecating reasons
I would prefer writing about how amazing love is than describe how its absence breaks me
Because you've always been the one person who I could tell anything to
But I don't feel like writing one of those poems today.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 7:53 PM UTC