Usually that includes the blush I put on in the mornings and the boys I talk to at night. If you sparkle I love you and if you shimmer you have my heart.
But sometimes they’re ugly. That can be the mush in my stomach when I have to speak in front of a crowd or the face I make when I taste something super sour.
People like to say that everyday you open your phone and all you see is perfect pretty people perpetually posting pictures. Maybe this is true. Maybe pretty takes on different meanings. There has to be something to say about how pretty a cake looks when it’s been smushed. There’s something beautiful about a flower, but the ones that have petals falling off are the ones that appear in poems.
Boo-hoo! Destruction is pretty! So what? So very much, I think. I believe in the power of imperfection. I think that my nail polish has brought more happiness to people when it’s chipped. I know that my freckles make me a little more interesting (and less like a robot).
Maybe when I look in the mirror I can see the mess that’s behind my eyes and appreciate it more often. Maybe when we mess up we can take a little breath and laugh about it. The world moves too fast. I’m dizzy. It’s a never-ending race for perfection and appeal and I can’t live up to it and I’m out of breath from chasing perfect “me”. Whatever that is.
I know I like imperfect people. I know those flawless creatures that grace my Instagram are just a projection. I think Instagram me is a little boring. I know my best friends like my too loud laugh and my too quiet confidence. I think I should like those things about myself, because the imperfections are a huge part of me.
Ugly can be super cute. Messy is pretty. My heart is very full of sparkles and glitter and messy gunk and I like it that way. Ugly is human. And it’s inherently real. We should like it a little more.