empathy

For those seeking perfection, outside of their own bodies: look inside

Photography by Izumi Miyazaki

Darling, don’t flinch and chafe at the utterance of this term,
For it seems to have been used one too many times for you.
You, who are an exquisite chaos of
Psychedelic splotches of coloured emotions
Delighting in the mess of incoherence upon the mind’s tapestry.
You, whose one dark blotch of insecurity overshadows the laughter:
Never hang tenaciously to even a speck of doubt
Or hear the criticism ring louder than your self worth,
You are beautiful.
It is written in the zephyrs that lightly brush your hair,
Letting it flow like a sacred river between its fluid digits,
Delighting in the playful strands that poke their way out of the whole
Because that’s what makes it so beautifully human, natural, pure.
In the earth that never finds you too big a burden nor too light a care;
In the rain that longs to have its slivers of moisture seduce and envelope you in its touch,
Leaves trails of its love down your skin, regardless of the colour, texture or tone because
The drops, my love, are of rainbow
That fell all the way to find the pot of gold at the end that is you.
You must read it in the heady petrichor that is a remnant of the rain’s embrace,
A scent of gratitude for the earth-
For carrying you and nourishing the trees that shield you from
The precipice.
Never encumber yourself with self doubt, with eyes that drag
Their line of sight begrudgingly to the mirror,
Which then find only flaws that makes the mirror the enemy when
The enemy is the seething complex that simmers, bubbles, splatters and scalds
Your sense of self so you finally feel scarred.
The enemy is that man from many years ago who compared your features to another’s,
Who spoke of finding perfection there when
It was sitting right in front of him,
Eyes being prickled once more by self doubt and shame.
Perfection is subjective; perfect hair, perfect skin, perfect body,
Whatever these may be, all belong to you.
It is in the little gestures and mannerisms unique to you,
Whether it is the flare of your nose when
The rush of dopamine makes you laugh,
Or the twitching eyebrows or the
Upside down smile that isn’t quite right but forms
The crinkle in your eyes nonetheless that exudes the warmth of your soul.
You are the product of blood, bones, fire and the
Power in your mind which lays slumbering behind your eyes,
That always look into the mirror and find inadequacy.
Unleash it, attack the crippling snags in the mirror
That disable you, that hold you captive
Stab the self doubt, maim those memories
Of other damaged beings finding solace in
Feeding off your insecurity,
Rise above that girl who called you fat,
That boy who called you ugly,
That woman who called you too skinny,
That man who had his eyes on another when deep down,
You were the Other Woman, because
We’re all different definitions of perfect
And nobody, dear girl, is entitled to tell you otherwise.
Rise above it, defeat it,
And fly to your rightful place
In the sky and beyond.
Your beauty is
The sixth element.

—

Submitted to ArtParasites by Romi N

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