notebook

but there are things about me that are ugly. i live in society, i know the rules and where i fall short of them. i know about my arm jiggle and the scars and the bad skin and the square fingernails. i know about them.

i find these body-positive pieces odd to read, you know. they still put me into little parts: my frizzy hair, my crooked nose, the rest of me. they list possibly ugly categories; stretch marks, freckles, teeth.

but i don’t really care about that? i don’t really care about the reception of my body? either you’re going to find me beautiful or ugly or somewhere in between.

i want to be body-positive in the sense that you don’t point out my flaws, because it’s fucking mean. that you let me live in my silk robes and sweatpants equally.

you’ve got a body and it exists. it might not be flawless. it might not be beautiful. but it deserves to exist in the way you want it to exist. it deserves to be ugly without punishment. you deserve to be judged by the quality of your person instead of the skin you’re in. you deserve to be a person, wholly, without regard to appearances. 

physical form is annoying. i’m looking to return mine and get a refund. but there are beautiful things about it that aren’t beautiful aesthetically. it’s beautiful when i kiss somebody. when i touch softness. when an animal sits on your lap. it’s beautiful when i catch something out of the air and everyone in the room goes crazy; it’s beautiful to be outside when a thunderstorm is coming. it’s beautiful to exist in the sense that i wouldn’t know about a sunset without it. 

you might not be beautiful. who cares. your experiences are what’s worth it, not your body. new music is worth it, art is worth it, a book you haven’t written yet is worth it. you’re worth loving not because someone can add up the parts of you and forgive the flaws. you’re worth loving because you’re in this world, that’s all. 

i’m happy people find strength in body positivity. i’m happy there are people out there kind enough to be trying, who endlessly compliment things. maybe i’m just jaded and mean.

i don’t need to be lied to, you know? no matter how many times you tell me that my body is beautiful, it won’t change how people see me. what matters is how i see myself, and i want to be more than beautiful. i want to be smart, and kind, and better at maths. some things are ugly. but i love ugly sweaters and ugly socks and ugly dogs. and i love them regardless. 

sometimes love makes things beautiful by default. when you love yourself, you see beautiful as a result. i feel like this process is reversed, somehow: if we tell you you’re beautiful enough, you’ll find love. it’s an equation that can’t always go in that direction, you know? at least i think, i’m bad at maths, so.

be ugly. who cares. but go find beautiful things to experience. the first snow and wedding invitations and eating a whole loaf of good french bread. i’m ugly, okay.