Listen, you will find the most breathtaking beauty in the ugly things.
Scars that are maps to faraway times when your pride was as loud as your heart, a split lip reminder of being braver than you are now, a shape of a star on your knee that is the shape of your heart, fingertips to the sky, soul to the stars.
You’ll find beauty in crooked knees and too long limbs, all over the place, reaching reaching reaching and never pausing because this world is yours to take and who cares if you are a collage of ugly things, if your teeth aren’t straight and if your hair is hurricane messy (not in a good way but in the best fucking way there is), who cares?
You’ve got a story to tell for every scar, every flaw; this one is from when I was reckless and young and wild and this one you can’t see because it was cut into your skin (the shape of a jagged piece of glass) the first time they stomped on your heart but you rose, you rose and you kept burning, got scars to show, been through hellfire and kept walking.
What I am trying to say is that maybe it’s 3am and you can’t sleep, maybe you feel like your lungs are full of the cosmos or maybe you can’t breathe in (some nights are hard, it’s alright, I’ve got you) but you’re good, you always were. You are not a pretty thing, you don’t smile and make the world stop, but you’ve got the kind of body that is a map and it will always, always bring you back home.