The Beauty in the Mess

ruffles macro

Within each crease, beneath each scar, and etched in every vein

Her petals form a tale alive with hope carved out of pain;

Though deeply marred, disfigured, torn, her beauty proves to me

The choice to bloom despite her wounds is what has set her free.

I read within imperfect folds a novel penned by grace,

For harshest hurts transformed, redeemed, become the very place

Where subtle hues and fragile scent, those glories forged by stress,

Release our truest, highest self – the beauty in the mess.

 

 

The Beholder and the Beheld

If beauty is in the eye of the beholder,

then beauty is what I behold.

My eyes trace your veins,

your rough edges,

the places where you have been bruised by life’s bumps and grinds.

I see the vulnerable places,

where skin is transparent,

where  cellophane wraps cells

in discomfiture,

uncertainty stretches you taut.

Human-packaged humanity,

comfort in warped wrap,

friendship in flawed form.

Yet here,

now,

I behold you –

real.

Imperfect.

Beautiful…