Humans have flaws that have
shaped history since before we
even began to write it, but maybe
the most tragic is how we learn to
love people for the outside first
and the inside second, that we
fall for characteristics they didn’t
have to cultivate, like:

skin that was always going to glow
whether she moved to Mexico or not,
smiles that were always going to be
picture perfect even if there is no one
carrying a camera, hands born to be
bold enough to hold yours—

lips, limbs, and fingers, and other petty
predetermined qualities that we don’t
control, that sit in our blood and beg you
to believe that the body is what’s beautiful
when it should be the soul, something of
more substance than strings of DNA that
reflect your idea of what perfect looks like,
and I know, this is just who we’re born to be,

it’s just natural to choose people based on
body parts and beauty they were born into,
because it’s all you can see, but someday,
I’m warning you, you will love someone more
than you love everyone, and when you ask
yourself why, the reasons will be the details
you can’t find in descriptions, parts of them
that can’t be pointed out in pictures—

Someday we will learn how to love people
at first word, for demons they have defeated,
and dreams they have shared with us: 

we will reach inside and appreciate the 
prize underneath the wrapping paper, but 
for now we’re still sleeping, thinking that loving
the outside is the same thing as knowing what
someone’s insides look like, battle wounds,
beating heart, broken parts and all.