I look forward to the moment beauty is my own
conceived easily like yellow dipped trees,
a lazy dog the afternoon pillow of a lover’s chest
when beauty is memorized and not a plea
taken at the face value of Hollywood
What is beauty anyway, but a shoulder to count on
when others can’t see me in visual context
it is perfect complexity, me entirely rather than
in pieces of cheekbone, lip, eyelash, and flesh
me without the ebb and flow of mirrors
I want beauty that can’t be consumed
by a box of cookies nor moon shadowed eyes
beauty that doesn’t care what beauty says or does
no matter who’s watching, beauty that is but
blood in my veins, my breath, my forgiveness
When I remember beauty,
I hold the balance between heaven and earth, woman and man
I become a sky full of constellations
and the space where light
looks into the window of each day.
When I accept myself, I become as I am.
Beautiful.
