Maybe I’m not that kind of beautiful
dressed in red lipstick and black eyeliner.
I’m not beautiful in the sense of
defined cheekbones, full lips,
curvy hips, and shapely legs.
I’m not beautiful like the sunsets kissing the sky,
the stars outlining evening wishes,
the freshly picked flowers,
and the softly murmured I love you’s.
So maybe I’m the kind of girl
with pale lips and dull eyes.
But I hope someday,
someone kisses the sunsets on my chapped lips
and outlines the stars on my cheekbones.
I hope he waters the flowers beneath the flaws on my skin
and screams I love you’s because his love for me
is meant not to be kept in secret drawers,
but to be plastered in the sky,
on waters, and in the wind.
I hope he loves
the no make up, flawed,
clumsy, and awkward
kind of beautiful.
-on being me (NJ.)
When I first met you, I felt a kind of contradiction in you. You’re seeking something, but at the same time, you are running away for all you’re worth.
-Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore (via forever-and-alwayss)
(Source: larmoyante, via onlyfearcansetmefree)