the short brunette

A woman is not written in braille, you don’t have to touch her to know her.

i’m watching Bee Movie for the first time

Society says beauty is a measurement. Beauty is a weight. Beauty is the amount of makeup on your face. Screw society. Beauty is all the orange and red and blue and green and pink of the sunset on the horizon, sinking just below the trees. It’s daytime giving into the millions of stars and the full moon hanging over the land, keeping watch until the sun returns. Beauty is a newborn child screaming just because he can, to prove he exists, to make sure the world knows he has arrived. It’s the sweat on his mother’s face, and the smile on her lips because that baby is hers and she loves him already. It’s the realization of his father that *oh my god I have a kid I have to take care of him he’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever laid eyes on*. Beauty is singing at the top of your lungs with the windows rolled down, not caring whether you’re in tune or not. It’s laughing as your best friend dances in his seat and your hair flipping in the wind. Beauty is arguing with your daughter on the couch, your persistence and her stubbornness going head to head. And you both end up forgetting what you were debating on a fit of tickling and laughter. Beauty is watching your friend receive his high school diploma and watching his mother shed tears because *my baby is all grown up, he’s going places, he’s going to do amazing things with his life, he’s not a teenager anymore, and he won’t need me much longer*. It’s his father smiling the widest smile you’ve ever seen on his face. You’re more proud than you think is possible because your best friend is free of high school and he’ll be moving on soon. Beauty is sitting by your mother’s bed and reading her favorite book to her even though she may not know who you are. It’s seeing her laugh and smile like she’s never heard the story before, because she can’t remember ever hearing it before. It’s listening to her tell stories about you as if you aren’t in the room, hearing her tell about when you were only twelve years old as if it happened yesterday. It’s reminiscing with her even though she doesn’t recognize you. It’s hearing how much she loves you and how she believes you must be going places. Beauty isn’t how you look or what you wear. Beauty is personality. Beauty is all those little moments that make life worth living. Beauty is humanity. And humanity is beautiful.

“Gay Pride was not born of a need to celebrate being gay, but our right to exist without persecution. So instead of wondering why there isn’t a Straight Pride movement, be thankful you don’t need one.”