Today, I think I’m beautiful. It won’t last for a few days, it won’t last till tomorrow, it might not even last till tonight or the end of this essay, but right now I know I have value. The purplish blue shadows under my eyes hold value. The acne scars on my forehead, nose, and chin – they have value. The tiny stretch marks on my skin, the split ends in my hair, the imperfect curve of my body – they all have value. The extra pounds I don’t want, the bitten nails I cannot fix. Today I’m finding beauty in my imperfections. The raw, the real, the honest. If you know me, I will always preach about honesty, but if you know me well, it is only because I am not very honest. What we value most is usually what we do not have and seek to gain. When I see myself, I can only see what I would fix. Thicker lashes, greener eyes, a more slender body, straighter teeth, less acne. This is the same with what we feel on the inside. The emotional hang ups, insecurities, hateful thoughts – the demons you cant seem to shake. So many things I wish to change. When I see others, I see what they have that I wish to possess. I’ve met many people who think I’m perfect. The girls I’ve mentored, a few friends I’ve had, some of the boys who have sought my affection. I can see it when they look at me, or just when they merely state that they believe I am perfect. That there is nothing they would change. But I am imperfect, so I let people down and their false version of me shatters, and we are both cut by the shards. When this happens, some people stay and love the scarred being just as much as the seemingly perfect one. Many times they love me more. This time I know its real. But there have been the few who leave. Who are disappointed that the rock they stood upon ended up being a shard of glass. Why is it that the pain few leave often effects a person more than the love that many give? I feel every icy shard of an insult and the fiery burn of rejection. I never liked this characteristic of myself and always viewed it as a flaw. I often hope that every nick of pain would make me harder, like society has tried to tell me, but it just makes me all the more fragile. But I’ve realized, like many do during their course of life, that my biggest weakness has been my greatest strength. I find beauty in this simple truth. I hold beauty. Maybe not a fierce beauty like a super model. But many of us have beauty that is most startling when it is in its rawest form. The same way a desert or rainstorm has beauty. To us, there are attributes to these phenomenons that are undesirable. But they were made by a fiercely loving father and we are awed by them. I am thankful for these broken pieces. I am Thankful I am loved by the Lover of Scars.
Sunday, December 15, 2013
Mirrored Images
Today, I think I’m beautiful. It won’t last for a few days, it won’t last till tomorrow, it might not even last till tonight or the end of this essay, but right now I know I have value. The purplish blue shadows under my eyes hold value. The acne scars on my forehead, nose, and chin – they have value. The tiny stretch marks on my skin, the split ends in my hair, the imperfect curve of my body – they all have value. The extra pounds I don’t want, the bitten nails I cannot fix. Today I’m finding beauty in my imperfections. The raw, the real, the honest. If you know me, I will always preach about honesty, but if you know me well, it is only because I am not very honest. What we value most is usually what we do not have and seek to gain. When I see myself, I can only see what I would fix. Thicker lashes, greener eyes, a more slender body, straighter teeth, less acne. This is the same with what we feel on the inside. The emotional hang ups, insecurities, hateful thoughts – the demons you cant seem to shake. So many things I wish to change. When I see others, I see what they have that I wish to possess. I’ve met many people who think I’m perfect. The girls I’ve mentored, a few friends I’ve had, some of the boys who have sought my affection. I can see it when they look at me, or just when they merely state that they believe I am perfect. That there is nothing they would change. But I am imperfect, so I let people down and their false version of me shatters, and we are both cut by the shards. When this happens, some people stay and love the scarred being just as much as the seemingly perfect one. Many times they love me more. This time I know its real. But there have been the few who leave. Who are disappointed that the rock they stood upon ended up being a shard of glass. Why is it that the pain few leave often effects a person more than the love that many give? I feel every icy shard of an insult and the fiery burn of rejection. I never liked this characteristic of myself and always viewed it as a flaw. I often hope that every nick of pain would make me harder, like society has tried to tell me, but it just makes me all the more fragile. But I’ve realized, like many do during their course of life, that my biggest weakness has been my greatest strength. I find beauty in this simple truth. I hold beauty. Maybe not a fierce beauty like a super model. But many of us have beauty that is most startling when it is in its rawest form. The same way a desert or rainstorm has beauty. To us, there are attributes to these phenomenons that are undesirable. But they were made by a fiercely loving father and we are awed by them. I am thankful for these broken pieces. I am Thankful I am loved by the Lover of Scars.
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