Dear She
I just thought someone should let you know, you are magnificent.
I wanted to tell you that yesterday, you broke my heart, that moment when you let them make you feel like nothing, when you listened to the world that moment just broke my heart and I thought someone should let you know, you are beautiful.
I don't want to tell you that beauty doesn't matter because beauty is everywhere. It is in the savagery of a preying jaguar, dark and deadly but it also lives in the sweet domesticity of the whorled rose. Why do you listen to the crowd, I write this letter, this passionate declamation in praise of your beauties. Beauties, plural. A wolf does not long for the antlers of the deer, she is implicitly perfect in tooth and claw for what she is meant to be. Why then do you look upon others and long for their ideals. Your body that you seem determined to starve, wax, cut and inject into submission is an amalgamation, a celebration of love. You yourself, walk this earth as living proof that inside human skin lies the capacity to create a miracle.
Each whorl of skin, is home to sensation every millimeter delicately sensitive to touch, touch the elemental language of humanity. Your skin is singular, every marking a maker's distinction, your Creator loved you this much. Have you seen the way the sun luxuriates in your hair making it dance with motes of light, this light that travels through the dark of the universe for years, it dances through hair, delights in the silken nets.
I swear every time I look into your eyes I am reminded why humanity chases the dream of space. The mercurial color, the way they darken when you let the world bring your tears and the sure light inside them when you pray. Your eyes are like clear quicksand, drawing people in to drown them in the storm of emotions so clearly writ inside them. A fringe of spiky lashed rebellion, with your eyes I would raze the world to submission.
Sometimes I watch you and wonder how I share space with something this wondrous. I know you hate your body, you measure it by models, you weigh it with magazines. But you have a vintage shape, curved and deep. You may not be heroin chic, you are burlesque. You are not the daisy, you are the night-blooming jasmine, a haunting all-pervading scent of seduction. The size of your jeans is but an arbitrary measurement. Your body is an outright statement of feminity, a declaration of womanity.
Why do you look after those who are far too rough, far too steeped in themselves to understand the value of your softness. Their affections will be triumphed by one who will see the delicacy inside your heart,one who is grown enough to reach up to you and not grasp you down to them. I wish you would see the illuminant light you shine in the world, you yourself. These things of the world, these things you measure yourself against, their glow is but a poor reflection of the true light of you. You draw others like moths they come, why do you think?
Don't let the world twist that innocent wild child dance you were born with. There is a reason your core is softness, like my core is strength. We balance each other, a yin and a yang and because I know you, I can state without any reservation, dear heart, you are beauty. Know it in your soul, walk with it like a cherished secret, make them ache to know why you walk like a conqueror. Why do you seek to be one of many when you are a masterstroke.
Take it from one who knows
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