There is something undeniable about this new aesthetic:
Barefoot and barely presentable
as I slow-dance in the kitchen at 3am
Nobody but me, my shadow and a gentle grey kitten who patiently watches me pour another cup of coffee.
I stir in cinnamon,
a taste that's heedy and all too sweet against the roof of my mouth.
So strong it makes me want to gag,
and yet I sing under my breath:
old tunes I have no business remembering
and lullabies brought to me on the wind
[singing] all you have is fire
-and the place you have to reach.

My mother wanted a girl she could put together like a jigsaw.
A girl who would sit still and patiently endure
the effort it took to construct
the perfect plat, perfect updo
perfect winged eyeliner, perfect blush
perfect poise, perfect dress,
Perfect daughter.
Instead she had me
a muddled and confused thing
with a tangled mess of curls and eyes that couldn't quite look away.
Something with ***** fingers that knew the give and take of every leaf and blade of grass
something that couldn't sit still on creaking church pews
because for all the beauty they pursued, she'd seen the unmatched grace of rolling thunder
and the indisputable life of the ocean.
While other girls watched the boy chase the girl to a perfect kiss
she worshiped the women who took up their weapons and refused to keep their peace. - A child raised on a steady diet of Victorian poetry, Greek myth and poison. Stitched together with images of Artemis, Scottish women and a heathenish name.

My mother would lead me in prayer each night before bed, hoping against all hope to change what was in me. But my father made me wonder if I could be a knight one day, taught me to sing their vows of honour and justice during those ungodly hours when sleep was far.
The hours when his blood called to us both in its ancient tongue. The hours where his stories became my Bible. The hours when the smell of lemongrass and rain filled the house.
The hours when I would be barefoot and dancing in the kitchen
Barely presentable yet undeniably free.

imagine living in a world where
“beauty products”
were non-existent
where being
the fullest expression
of yourself
was beauty enough

imagine a world where
human beings were not
shamed for the size of their bellies
defined by their number of “followers”
or judged by the colour of their skin

imagine a world where
we simply accepted each other as
the beautifully imperfect beings
that we are

She has imperfections
     her scars are too deep
for any man can dive.
    As you walk down the aisle,
your feet takes you closer to me
         your eyes signal the words
                     "I do"
        before you can even speak
and yours lips
    holding the most beautiful vows
That's the time I knew
             This is for a lifetime

You were sweet, yes. I won’t be the poet who compares you to honey for it, but yes. You were honey.
But not for your sweetness; honey–
Not in spite of your acid, but because of it.

You are the gods painted
in our imperfect, mortal image.

In your mortality, in your burning
In your acidic, golden eye.

Honey.



-

Love is nothing like what is shown on-screen;
Bouquets lavish, flowers never-dying
Every conflict resolved as if foreseen
Hearts so warm, characters end up singing.
The love that's beyond cameras and lights
Is love embellished with imperfections -
Behind their flowery, script-induced lines
Lies no such true feelings and emotions;
Though love may not be sunny days in June
But the darkness in the sky at winter,
Having real intent behind "I love you"s
Are lines more worthy to be delivered.
Love is nothing like what is shown on-screen;
But more deserving of happy endings.

I use to want a fairytale,
where boy meets girl,
and love prevails.

But now I look upon this fable differently.
I don't want some guy, coming to rescue me.

I want a rocky start, our first fight,
burnt the dinner, partying after midnight.

I don't want clean cut,
I want cut throat,
where boy meets girl and they both laugh until they choke.

An Ode to My Crooked Teeth:

To the pearly stones knocking about
Dancing around each other
Bumping shoulders
Standing sideways

And a little lopsided

To the relentless little bones
That grind senselessly with nerves
That rarely ever chew
Without aches and pains

Braces tried to restrain you once
To make you straight
To match images perfected by society

But my stubborn smile
Won’t change for anyone

As a girl
I have my own version
of a Prince Charming
Described as perfect;
Tall, handsome, flawless man

Yet as I got older
I opened my eyes to reality
And I saw him
Never like the perfect
Prince Charming
A little girl would dreamed of

He was flawed
in a beautiful way
And somehow broken
because of life

Just like that,
I like him the way he is
And who he is

The little girl I once before
would judge me now
She was naive and ignorant
But now she knows:

To love someone
One is required to look
passed the imperfections
And must understand
them wholly
To truly be able to love them.