We throw around the word ‘beautiful’ a lot.
As poets, as dreamers, as people moving about in the world.
Beautiful gives off a sense of purity, a sense of righteousness, a societal achievement.
I will begin to push away the beautiful for the whole sense of self.
I am whole.
I am not beautiful.
I do things that I know I should not do, things that will age me, make me ugly, make me unkempt, make me hated, make me self hate.
But I bring these things into myself to create a whole.
Whole not as in the common meaning of the word when a half and a half meet and they meet perfectly and become one.
But when you look at an aspect of your being and you think
This is me-
It is not perfect
But I am doing the best that I can.
I am a whole person.
I will self destruct, I will implode, I will love, I will be loved, I will hate, I will rage, I will write, I will procrastinate, I will be lazy and self hate for a month, I will run into a glorious sunset the next.
I will taste every broken shard of this existence and they may make me bleed and I will look to the sky and plead for more.
I will embrace the fractured parts of myself and love them enough to call them a divine whole.