Some people live their whole lives
Thinking they are not beautiful
Some people die with the thought;
“I am not beautiful”

One cannot grow into beauty
Because you already are beautiful
Your were born into beauty

Understand that beauty is perception
How others feel about you
Though there is a dictionary entry of the word beauty,
“Beauty” has limitless meanings

There is no real definition
Because it is defined as something different every day
And you
Are a definition of “Beautiful”

Someone finds your laugh
Your intelligence, your thoughts
And every single thing you hate about yourself
Beautiful

Who are They
To judge what “Real Beauty” looks like?
And who are They to tell you you’re not
Beautiful

You Are blinded by your insecurities
And you hide away behind a curtain of fear
But please
Try to know true beauty

Because when I was 13
I wish I knew how beautiful I was

This disease struck me
Like a brick on pavement
Hard

Everything was
Perfect
Then that brick came along
And with the slightest movement
Destroyed everything

“Count it
Perfect it
Measure it
Clean it”
The voices say

Why can’t I let them go?
They keep repeating:

“Count it
Perfect it
Measure it
Clean it”
Why won’t they stop

“Count it
Perfect it
Measure it
Clean it”
I don’t understand

“Count it
Perfect it
Measure it
Clean it”
Someone just HELP me understand

This disease is about
Perfection
But it's the biggest
Imperfection about me

I had my first dream last night that you weren't in.
not even a minor character,
your ****** name wasn't even in the credits,
let alone plastered across the sky in flashing lights
like you want it to be.
my first reality that you didn't belong in,
and it was the most blissful peace that I can remember since we bathed in pools of cloud.

I heard the first song that didn't make me think of you yesterday.
the lyrics, for once, were just lyrics,
not an embodiment of you and the things you do.
guess what?
it was coldplay.
you always hated coldplay.

this morning, I basked in the sun and didn't picture you coated in gold light beside me.
I didn't look at the leaves adorning the trees and picture your face laughing beneath it.

I didn't trace the plate lines of my palm and imagine the earthquake we used to create when yours collided with mine.

I didn't eat new food that I wanted you to try and I didn't want to share the smallest details of my day with you.

you may have won this poem, loverboy,
but don't be too triumphant.
your victory won't last long.
it's the era of my new beginnings without you and I'm going to be just fine.