She Was Beautiful

She was beautiful.

It was not in a way that you could fit evenly into a frame,

Or rate on a sliding scale

Her features sometimes disagreed with each other

One eye would be more open

One arm a little stronger than the other

But she was beautiful.

Not in a way that fits perfectly with pen onto paper

Not like a model;

All of her features adding evenly up to an all around ten


The way her body curled and bent and moved against the sky was not something that could stride a runway, or curl up comfy in the glossy perfumed pages of a magazine.

She didn’t have a waify body that all clothing hung perfectly around

She was short, and round, and imperfect.

But she was beautiful.

Her hair slid and curled in all directions and wound up at her waist.

There was a curling halo of mahogany frizz that framed her face

And when she danced her hair swung all around her and her body moved wildly like someone who had never unlearned the love you feel when you’re a brand new child.

The sun and the moon would shine their round faces down on her like new parents.

Sometimes she would get stark naked and dance with wild abandon, all the wildest parts of her untethered to any notion of worldly perfection.

All the bends and curves of her would flow rhythmically one with the air around them, her tiny hands and feet each dancing a dance of their own.

She would unbind herself from perfection, and in that moment she would find it, and it would find her.


There was always a little kiss waiting to be taken in the smallest crease of her smile

Sometimes, she would eat chocolate and write love letters to herself. The chocolate would wind up in imaginative places, leaving traces all over her body. The love letters would go straight to her hips.

Despite all, nothing could stop her from being herself. And nothing could stop her from being beautiful.

If you ever were around her, and felt the pure warmth radiating off of her,

Or if you ever looked her in the eyes and saw how they were chestnut brown in the shade of a tree but honey gold and ocean deep when the light pierced them, then you would know.

She had scars and hairs and tattoes lacing up her body like a network of a life fully lived.

She was soft and hugged truly, not out of necessity, but out of complete and utter love for you.

Whoever you are, she would hold you soft like a mother if that is what you needed. No questions asked.

She was beautiful.